CHAPTER VI
THE TRAP
Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for thepossibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the doorhad been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been superfluous;for now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish the forms of thethree men around him, since the window curtains of the car were tightlydrawn. Nor was he given the opportunity to do more, even had it beenpossible. The car stopped, the door was opened, he was pushed towardit--and even as he reached the ground, the door was closed behind him,and the car was speeding on again. But where he could not see before,it took now but a glance to obtain his bearings--he was standing on acorner on Riverside Drive, within a few doors of his own house.
Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it disappearedrapidly up the Drive. And with a sort of grim facetiousness his brainbegan to correlate time and distance. Where had he come from? Wherewas this Crime Club? They had been, as nearly as he could estimate, twohours in making the journey; and, as nearly as he could estimate, intheir turnings and twistings had covered at least twice the distancethat would be represented by a direct route. Granting, then, an averagespeed of forty miles an hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safeside, and the fact that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, whichnow lay before him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewherewithin the area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which henow stood, and whose radius was forty miles--OR FORTY YARDS! He forceda laugh. It was just that, no more, no less--he was as likely to havestarted on his ride from within a biscuit throw of where he now stood,as to have started on it from miles away!
But--he aroused himself with a start--he was wasting time! It must bevery late, near morning, and he would have need for every moment thatwas left between now and daylight. He turned, walked quickly to hishouse, mounted the steps, and with his latch-key--they had at leastpermitted him to retain the contents of his pockets when they had forcedhim to change his clothes--opened the front door softly, and, steppinginside, closed the door as silently as he had opened it.
He paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. The servants,naturally, would have been in bed hours ago. Even old Jason--Jimmie Dalesmiled, half whimsically, half affectionately--whose paternal custom itwas to sit up for his Master Jim, who, as he was fond of saying, he haddandled as a baby on his knee, had evidently given it up as a bad jobon this occasion and had turned in himself. Jason, however, had left thelight burning here in the big reception hall.
Jimmie Dale stepped to the switch and turned off the light; then stoodhesitant in the darkness. Was there anything to be gained by rousingJason now and telling him what he intended to do--to instruct him toanswer any inquiries by the statement that "Mr. Dale had gone away fora trip"? He could trust Jason; Jason already knew much--more than oneof those mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had passed through Jason'shands.
Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; he could communicate with Jason fromdowntown in the morning. He had half expected to find Jason up, and,in that case, would have taken the other, as far as necessary, intohis confidence; but it was not a matter that pressed for the moment. Hecould get into touch with Jason at any time readily enough. Was thereanything else before he went? He would not be able to get back as easilyas he got out! Money! He shook his head again--a little grimly thistime. He had been caught once before as Larry the Bat without funds!There was plenty of money now hidden in the Sanctuary, enough for anyemergency, enough to last him indefinitely.
He stepped forward along the hall, his tread noiseless on the rich,heavy rug, passed into the rear of the house, descended the back stairs,and reached the cellar. It was below the level of the ground, of course;but a narrow window here, though quite large enough to permit of egress,gave on the driveway at the side of the house that led to the garage inthe rear.
Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness, littleless than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and felt alongit to the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just slightly belowthe level of his shoulder. It opened inward, if he remembered correctly.His fingers were feeling for the fastenings. It was too dark to seea thing. He muttered in annoyance. Where were the fastenings! Atthe sides, or at the bottom? His hand began to make a circuit of thesill--and then suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned forward!
WHAT DID THIS MEAN? Wires! No wires had ever been there before! Hisfingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their messageto his brain. The wires ran through the sill close to the corner ofthe wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on thesill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, thosesensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again thatsickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilishcunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced, thatnight. He had thought to forestall them--and he had been forestalledhimself! This could only have been done--they had had no interest inhim before then--while they held him at the Crime Club, while he wasspending that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so longin coming? Was that why the car had stopped that time--that those withhim might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need nolonger be kept away?
He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then, thepossibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. Therewas no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean onlyone of two things--and the Crime Club would have little concern in hiselectric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew,ran into the cellar from the underground service in the street. He wasracing like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had theydone that! Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Wasthe game, all, everything, she herself, at their mercy already? If shehad telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk--he wouldlook there first--afterward he would waken Jason.
He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran theentire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst in,switched on the light---and stood stock-still in amazement.
"Jason!" he cried out.
The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at thelight, and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a loungingchair.
"Jason!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
"I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim," stammered the man. "I--I must havefallen asleep, sir."
"Jason, what are you doing here?" Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
"Well, sir," said Jason, still fumbling for his words, "it--it was thetelephone, sir."
"The--TELEPHONE!"
"Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, hasbeen telephoning every hour or so, and she--"
"YES!" Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the otherfiercely by the shoulder. "Yes--yes! What did she say? QUICK, man!"
"Good Lord, Master Jim!" faltered Jason. "I--she--"
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, "what did she say?Think, man! Every word!"
"She didn't say anything, Master Jim. Nothing at all, sir--except tokeep asking each time if she could speak to you."
"Nothing else, Jason?"
"No, sir."
"You are SURE?"
"I'm sure, Master Jim. Not another thing but that, sir, just as I'vetold you."
"Thank God!" said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
"Yes, sir," said Jason mechanically.
"How long ago was it since she telephoned last?" asked Jimmie Dalequickly.
"Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say. You see, as I said, Master Jim, Imust have gone to sleep, but--"
They were staring tensely into each other's face. The telephone on thedesk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness of theroom.
Jason, white, frightened, bewi
ldered, touched his lips with the tip ofhis tongue.
"That'll be her again, sir," he said hoarsely.
"Wait!" said Jimmie Dale tersely.
He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought before.He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in--THEY knew hewas in, it would be but showing his hand to that "some one" who wouldbe listening now on the wire. He dared not speak to her, or, above all,allow her to expose herself by a single inadvertent word. He dared notspeak to her--and she was here now, calling him! He could not speakto her--and it was life and death almost that she should know what hadhappened; life and death almost for both of them that he should know alland everything she could tell him. True, it would take but a minuteto run to the cellar and cut those wires, while Jason held her on thepretence of calling him, Jimmie Dale, to the 'phone; only a minute tocut those wires--and in so doing advertise to these fiends the fact thathe had discovered their trick; admit, as though in so many words, thattheir suspicions of him were justified; lay himself open to some newmove that he could not hope to foresee; and, paramount to all else, robher and himself of this master trump the Crime Club had placed in hishands, by means of which there was a chance that he could hoist themwith their own petard!
The telephone rang again--imperatively, persistently.
"Listen, Jason." Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly. "Say thatI've come in and have gone to bed--in a vile humour. That you told me alady had been calling, but that I said if she called again I wasn'tto be disturbed if it was the Queen of Sheba herself--that I wouldn'tanswer any 'phone to-night for anybody. Do you understand? No argumentwith her--just that. Now, answer!"
Jason lifted the receiver from the hook.
"Yes--hello!" he said. "Yes, ma'am, Mr. Dale has come in, but he hasretired. . . . Yes, I told him; but, begging your pardon, ma'am, hewas in what I might say was a bit of a temper, and said he wasn't to bedisturbed by any one."
Jimmie Dale snatched the receiver from Jason, and put it to his own ear.
"Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now," afeminine voice, her voice, in well-simulated indignation, was saying,"it will be a very long day before I shall trouble myself to--"
Jimmie Dale clapped his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of theinstrument. Thank God for that clever brain of hers! She understood!
"Repeat what you said before, Jason," he instructed hurriedly. "Then say'Good-night.'"
He removed his hand from the mouthpiece.
"It's quite useless, ma'am," said Jason apologetically. "In the raretemper he was in, he wouldn't come, to use his own words, ma'am, not forthe Queen of Sheba herself, ma'am. Good-night, ma'am."
Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hook--and with his handflirted away a bead of moisture that had sprung to his forehead.
"Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir? What's happened, sir?And--and those clothes, Master Jim, sir! They aren't the ones you wentout in, sir--they aren't yours at all, sir!" Jason ventured anxiously.
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, "switch off the light, and go to the frontwindow and look out. Keep well behind the curtains. Don't show yourself.Tell me if you see anything."
"Yes, sir," said Jason obediently.
The light went out. Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the room--to thewindow overlooking the garage and yard.
"I don't see anything, sir," Jason called.
"Watch!" Jimmie Dale answered.
A minute passed--two--three. Jimmie Dale was staring down into the blackof the yard. She understood! She knew, of course, before she 'phonedthat something had gone wrong to-night. She knew that only peril of thegravest moment would have kept him from the 'phone--and her. She knewnow, as a logical conclusion, that it was dangerous to attempt tocommunicate with him at his home. Those wires! Where did they lead to?Not far away--that would be almost a mechanical impossibility. Was itinto the Crime Club itself--near at hand? Or the basement, say, of thatapartment house across the driveway? Or--where?
And then Jimmie Dale spoke again:
"Do you see anything, Jason?"
"I'm not sure, sir," Jason answered hesitantly. "I thought I saw a manmove behind a tree out there across the road a minute ago, sir. Yes,sir--there he is again!"
There was a thin, mirthless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips.
Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper shadow,stirred--and was still again.
"What time is it, Jason?" Jimmie Dale asked presently.
"It'll be about half-past four, sir."
"Go to bed, Jason."
"Yes, sir; but"--Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the darknessfrom the upper end of the room--"Master Jim, sir, I--"
"Go to bed, Jason--and not a word of this."
"Yes, sir. Good-night, Master Jim."
"Good-night, Jason."
Jimmie Dale groped his way to the big lounging chair in which he hadfound Jason asleep, and flung himself into it. They had struck quickly,these ingenious, dress-suited murderers of the Crime Club! The housewas already watched, would be watched now untiringly, unceasingly; not amovement of his henceforth but would be under their eyes!
His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until theybecame tight-clenched, knotted fists. What was he to do? It was not onlythe Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her peril--there was theunderworld snapping and snarling at his heels, there was the police,dogged and sullen, ever on the trail of the Gray Seal! His life, evenbefore this, in his fight against the underworld and the police, haddepended upon his freedom of action--and now, at one and the same time,that freedom was cut away from beneath his feet, as it were, and a thirdfoe, equally as deadly as the others, was added to the list!
For months, to preserve and sustain the character of Larry the Bat, hehad been forced to assume the role almost daily; for, in that sordidempire below the dead line, whose one common bond and aim was theGray Seal's death, where suspicion, one of the other, was rampant andextravagant, where each might be the one against whom all swore theirvengeance, Larry the Bat could not mysteriously disappear from hisaccustomed haunts without inviting suspicion in an active and practicalform--an inquisitorial visit to his squalid lodgings, the Sanctuary--andthe end of Larry the Bat!
If, as he had thought only a few hours before, he was through foreverwith his dual life, that would not have mattered, the underworld wouldhave been welcome to make what it chose of it--but now the preservationof the character of Larry the Bat was more vital and necessary to himthan it had ever been before. It was a means of defense and offenseagainst these men who lurked now outside his doors. It was the solemeans now of communication with her; for, warned both by Jason'swords, and what must be an obvious fact to her, that their plans hadmiscarried, that it was dangerous to communicate with him as JimmieDale, she would expect him, count on him to make that move. Therewould be no longer either reason or attempt on her part to maintain themystery with which she had heretofore surrounded herself, the crisishad come, she would be watching, waiting, hoping, seeking for himmore anxiously and with far more at stake than he had ever sought forher--until now!
He got up impulsively from his chair, and, in the blackness, began topace the room. The next move was clear, pitifully clear; it had beenclear from the first, it had been clear even in that ride in the car--itwas so clear that it seemed veritably to mock him as he prodded hisbrains for some means of putting it into execution. He must get to theSanctuary, become Larry the Bat--but how? HOW! The question seemed atlast to become resonant, to ring through the room with the weight ofdoom upon it.
Schemes, plans, ideas came, bringing a momentary uplift--only to bediscarded the next instant with a sort of bitter, desperate regret.These men were not men of mere ordinary intelligence; their cleverness,their power, the amazing scope of their organisation, all bore grimwitness to the fact that they would be blinded not at all by any paltryruse.
He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale withouta
pparent hindrance--that was obvious enough. And so long as he pursuedthe usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be interferedwith--only WATCHED. It was useless to consider that plan for a moment.It would not help him to reach the Sanctuary--without leading them therebehind him! True, there was always the chance that he might shake themoff his trail, but he could hardly hope to accomplish anything like thatwithout their knowing that it was done DELIBERATELY--and that he darednot risk. The strongest weapon in his hands now was his secret knowledgethat he was being watched.
That telephone there, for instance, that most curiously kept oninsisting in his mind that it, and it alone was the way out, was thelast thing he could place in jeopardy. Besides, there was another reasonwhy such a plan would not do; for, granting even that he succeeded ineluding them on the way, and managed to reach the Sanctuary, his freedomof action would be so restricted and limited as to be practicallyworthless--he would have to return to his home here again within areasonable time as Jimmie Dale, within a few hours at most--or againthey would be in possession of the fact that he had discovered theirsurveillance.
That, it was true, had been his original plan when he had entered thehouse half an hour previously, but it was an entirely different matternow. Then, he had counted on GETTING AWAY without their knowing it,before they, as he had fondly thought, would have had a chance toestablish their espionage, and when they would have had no reason tosuspect, for a time at least, that he was not still within the house,when they would have been watching, as it were, an empty cage.
He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into thelounging chair again. That was it, of course. An empty cage! If he couldescape from the house! Not so much without their seeing him; thatwas more or less a mechanical detail. But escape--and leave them inpossession of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he was still there!That would give him the freedom of action that he must have. He smiledwith bitter irony. That solved the problem! That was all there wasto it--just that! It was very simple, exceedingly simple; it wasonly--impossible!
The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely. No;it was not impossible! It MUST be done--if he was to win through, ifhe was even to save himself! It must be done--or FAIL her! It COULD bedone; there was a way--if he could only see it!