CHAPTER VIII
THE TOCSIN
It was only a little way back along the street from the Sanctuary tothe corner on the Bowery where as Jimmie Dale he had left her, where asLarry the Bat now he was going to meet her again; it would take onlya moment or so, even at Larry the Bat's habitual, characteristic,slouching, gait--but it seemed that was all too slow, that he must throwdiscretion to the winds and run the distance. His blood was tingling;there was elation upon him, coupled with an almost childlike dread thatshe might be gone.
"The Tocsin! The Tocsin!" he kept saying to himself.
Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed tobuy her miserable pencils--and then, with a quick-flung whisper to himto follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started slowly downthe street.
"The Tocsin! The Tocsin! The Tocsin!"--his brain seemed to be ringingwith the words, ringing with them in a note clear as a silver bell.The Tocsin--at last! The woman who so strangely, so wonderfully, somysteriously had entered into his life, and possessed it, and filled itwith a love and yearning that had come to mold and sway and actuatehis very existence--the woman for whom he had fought; for whom he hadrisked, and gladly risked, his wealth, his name, his honour--everything;the woman for whose sake he, the Gray Seal, was sought and hounded asthe most notorious criminal of the age; she whose cleverness, whoseresourcefulness, whose amazing intimacy with the hidden things of theunderworld had seemed, indeed, to border on the supernatural; she, theTocsin--the woman whose face he had never seen before! The woman whoseface he had never seen before--and who now was that wretched hag thathobbled along the street before him, begging, whining, and importuningthe passers-by to purchase of her pitiful wares!
He laughed a little--buoyantly. He had never pictured a first meetingsuch as this! A hag? Yes! And one as disreputable in appearance as hehimself, as Larry the Bat, was disreputable! But he had seen her eyes!Inimitable as was her disguise, she could not hide her eyes, or hide thepledge they held of the beauty of form and feature beneath the tatteredrags and the touch of a master in the make-up that brought haggard wantand age into the face--and dimly he began to divine the source, themeans by which she had acquired the information that for years hadenabled her to plan their coups, that had enabled him to execute themunder the guise of crime, that for years had seemed beyond all humanreach.
Where was she going? Where was she taking him? But what did it matter!The years of waiting were at an end--the years of mystery in a fewmoments now would be mystery no more!
Ah! She had turned from the Bowery, and was heading east. He shuffled onafter her, guardedly, a half block behind. It was well that Jimmie Dalehad disappeared, that he was Larry the Bat again--the neighbourhoodwas growing more and more one that Jimmie Dale could not long lingerin without attracting attention; while, on the other hand, it was thenatural environment of such as Larry the Bat and such as she, who wasleading him now to the supreme moment of his life. Yes, it was that--thefulfillment of the years! The thought of it alone filled his mind, hissoul; it brushed aside, it blotted out for the time being the danger,the peril, the deadly menace that hung over them both. It was only thatshe, the Tocsin, was here--only that at last they would be together.
On she went, traversing street after street, the direction alwaystrending toward the river--until finally she halted before what appearedto be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness ofthe ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-contained dwellingthat bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced store yard of somedescription. He drew his breath in sharply. She had halted--waiting forhim to come up with her. She was waiting for him--WAITING for him!It seemed as though he drank of some strange, exhilarating elixir--hereached her side eagerly--and then--and then--her hand had caught his,and she was leading him into the house, into a black passage where hecould see nothing, into a room equally black over whose threshold hestumbled, and her voice in a low, conscious way, with a little tremour,a half sob in it that thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears:
"We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while--but, oh, Jimmie, whathave I done! What have I done to bring you into this--only--only--I wasso sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!"
The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples. It seemed allunreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a dream--adream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.And then he laughed out wildly, passionately. No--it was true, it wasreal! Her breath was on his cheek, it was a living, pulsing hand thatwas still in his--and then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed andlost in a mad ecstasy--and she was in his arms, crushed to him, and hewas raining kisses upon her face.
"I love you! I love you!" he was crying hoarsely; and over and overagain: "I love you! I love you!"
She did not struggle. The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he couldfeel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his own. Shewas his--his! The years, the past, all were swept away--and she was hisat last--his for always. And there came a mighty sense of kingshipupon him, as though all the world were at his feet, and virility, and agreat, glad strength above all other men's, and a song was in his soul,a song triumphant--for she was his!
"You!" he cried out--and strained her to him. "You!" he cried again--andkissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.
And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying softly;but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon his face,and held them there, and because it was dark, dared to raise her head aswell, and her eyes to look into his.
Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neitherspoke--and then with a little startled, broken cry, as though the periland the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the moment, were thrustlike a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew herself away, and ran fromhim, and went and got a lamp, and lighted it, and set it upon the table.
And Jimmie Dale, still standing there, watched her. How gloriously hereyes shone, dimmed and misty with the tears that filled them though theywere! And there was nothing incongruous in the rags that clothed her, inthe squalour and poverty of the bare room, in the white furrows that thetears had plowed through the grime and make-up on her cheeks.
"You wonderful, wonderful woman!" Jimmie Dale whispered.
She shook her head as though almost in self-reproach.
"I am not wonderful, Jimmie," she said, in a low voice. "I"--and thenshe caught his arm, and her voice broke a little--"I've brought you intothis--probably to your death. Jimmie, tell me what happened last night,and since then. I--I've thought at times to-day I should go mad. Oh,Jimmie, there is so much to say to-night, so much to do if--if weare ever to be together for--for always. Last night, Jimmie--thetelephone--I knew there was danger--that all had gone wrong--what wasit?"
His arms were around her shoulders, drawing her close to him again.
"I found the wires tapped," he said slowly.
"Yes, and--and the man you met--the chauffeur?"
"He is dead," Jimmie Dale answered gently.
He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm; herface grew white--and for a moment she turned away her head.
"And--and the package?" she asked presently.
"I do not know," replied Jimmie Dale. "He did not have it with him;he--"
"Wait!" she interrupted quickly. "We are only wasting time like this!Tell me everything, everything just as it happened, everything from themoment you received my letter."
And, holding her there in his arms, softening as best he could the morebrutal details, he told her. And, at the end, for a little while she wassilent; then in a strained, impulsive way she asked again:
"The chauffeur--you are sure--you are positive that he is dead?"
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale grimly; "I am sure." And then the pent-up floodof questions burst from his lips. Who was the chauffeur? The package,the box numbered 428, and John Johansson? And the Cri
me Club? Andthe issue at stake? The danger, the peril that surrounded her? Andshe--above all--more than anything else--about herself--her strangelife, its mystery?
She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon hislips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her head.
"No, Jimmie; not that way. You would never understand. I cannot--"
"But I am to know--now! Surely I am to know NOW!" he cried, a suddensense of dismay upon him. Three years! Three years--and always the"next" time! "I must know now, if I am to help you!"
She smiled a little wanly at him, as she drew herself away, and,dropping into a chair, placed her elbows on the rickety table, cuppingher chin in her hands.
"Yes; you are to know now," she said, almost as though she were talkingto herself; then, with a swift intake of her breath, impulsively:"Jimmie! Jimmie! I had thought that it would be all so differentwhen--when you came. That--that I would have nothing to fear--foryou--for me--because--it would be all over. And now you are here,Jimmie--and, oh, thank God for you!--but I feel to-night almost--almostas though it were hopeless, that--that we were beaten."
"Beaten!" He stepped quickly to the table, and sat down, and took oneof her hands away from her face to hold it in both his own. "Beaten!"he laughed out defiantly; then, playfully, soothingly, to reassure her:"Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal and the Tocsin--BEATEN!And after we have just scored the last trick!"
"But we do not hold many trumps, Jimmie," she answered gravely. "Youhave seen something of this Crime Club's power, its methods, itsmerciless, cruel, inhuman cunning, and you, perhaps, think that youunderstand--but you have not begun to grasp the extent of either thatpower or cunning. This horrible organisation has been in existence formany years. I do not know how many. I only know that the men of whomit is composed are not ordinary criminals, that they do not work inthe ordinary way--to-day, they set the machinery of fraud, deception,robbery, and murder in motion that ten years from now, and, perhaps,only then, will culminate in the final success of their schemes--andthey play only for enormous stakes. But"--her lips grew set--"you willsee for yourself. I must not talk any longer than is necessary; we mustnot take too much time. You count on three days before they begin tosuspect that all is not right with Jimmie Dale--I know them better thanyou, and I give you two days, forty-eight hours at the outside, andpossibly far less. Jimmie"--abruptly--"did you ever hear of PeterLaSalle?"
"The capitalist? Yes!" said Jimmie Dale. "He died a few years ago. Iknow his brother Henry well--at the club, and all that."
"Do you!" she said evenly. "Well, the man you know is not PeterLaSalle's brother; he is an impostor--and one of the Crime Club."
"Not--Peter LaSalle's brother!"--Jimmie Dale repeated the wordsmechanically. And suddenly his brain was whirling. Vaguely, dimly, inlittle memory snatches, events, not pertinent then, vitally significantnow, came crowding upon him. Peter LaSalle had come from somewhere inthe West to live in New York; and very shortly afterward had died. Theestate had been worth something over eleven millions. And there hadbeen--he leaned quickly, tensely forward over the table, staring at her."My God!" he whispered hoarsely. "You are not, you cannot be--the--thedaughter--Peter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!"
"Yes," she said quietly. "I am Marie LaSalle."