CHAPTER XV
RETRIBUTION
His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastlymockery. The Crime Club! HERE! He had thought to creep upon thatman--and he had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these hellfiends' nest!
Silently he stood there, holding his breath as he listened now,motionless as a statue, forcing his mind to THINK. He remembered thatlast night his impression of the place had been that it was more likesome great private mansion than anything else. Well, he had been right,it seemed! He could have laughed aloud--sardonically, hysterically. Itwas not so strange now that there were no rooms on the right-hand sideof the corridor! And what could have suited their purpose better, what,by its very location, its unimpeachable character, could be a more ideallair for them than this house! And how grimly simple it was now, theexplanation! In the five years that the false Henry LaSalle had been inpossession, they had cunningly remodelled the upper floor--that was all!It was quite clear now why the man never entertained--why he had neverbeen caught or found or known to be in communication with his fellowconspirators! It was no longer curious that one might watch the door ofthe house for months at a stretch and go unrewarded for one's pains, asthe Tocsin had done, when access to the house by those who frequented itwas so easy through the garage on the side street--and from the garage,if their work there was in keeping with their clever contrivanceswithin the house, by an underground connection into, say, the cellar orbasement!
Again Jimmie Dale checked that nervous, unnatural inclination to laughaloud. Was there anything, any single incident, any single detail of allthat had transpired, that was not explained, borne out, as it could beexplained and borne out in no other way save that the Crime Club shouldbe no other than this very house itself? It was the exposition ofthat favourite theory of his--it was so obvious that therein lay itssecurity. He had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on thatscore--and now it was the beam in his own eye! It was so obvious now, soglaringly obvious, that the Crime Club could have been nowhere else; soobvious, with every word of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like asignpost--and he had not seen it!
And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid. WAS THERE SOMEONE IN THE CORRIDOR? Was it some one moving--or was it only fancy? Helistened--while he strained his eyes through the darkness. There was nosound; only that abnormal, heavy silence that--yes, he remembered that,too, now--that had clung about him last night like a pall. He couldsee nothing, hear nothing--but intuitively, bringing a cold dismay, thegreater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT as thougheyes were upon him, that even in the darkness he was being watched!
And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale thesense of peril and disaster. It was not intuition now--it was certainty.He was trapped! It was the part of a fool to imagine that with theirdevil's cunning, their cleverness, their ingenuity, he, or any one else,could enter that house unknown to its occupants! Had he made electriccontact when he had opened the front door, and rung a signal here,perhaps, upstairs--had he set some system of alarm at work when he hadtouched that window? What did it matter--the details that had heraldedhis entrance? He was certain now that his presence in the house wasknown. Only, why had they left him so long without attack? He shook hishead with a quick, impatient movement. That, too, was obvious! He wasunder observation. Who was he? Why had he come? Was he simply a paltrysafe-tapper--or was he one whom they had a real need to fear? And then,too, there might well be another reason. It was far from likely, in factunreasonable, to imagine that all the men he had seen here the nightbefore were in the house now. Not many of them, if any, would LIVE here,for CONSTANT, daily coming and going, even through the garage, couldnot escape notice; and, of the servants, probably a lesser breed ofcriminal, some of them, at least, no doubt, were engaged at thatmoment in watching his own house on Riverside Drive! There was eventhe possibility that the man posing as Henry LaSalle was, for the timebeing, here alone.
He shook his head again. He could hardly hope for that--he had no rightto hope for anything more now than a struggle, with an inevitably fatalending to himself, but one in which at least he could sell his life asdearly as possible, one in which, perhaps, he might pay the Tocsin'sscore with the man he had come to find! If he could do that--well, afterall, the price was not too great!
There were no tremours of the muscles now. It was Jimmie Dale, the GraySeal, every faculty alert, tense, keyed up to its highest efficiency;the brain cool, keen, and active--fighting for his life. The front doorthrough which he had entered was an impossibility; but there was thewindow in the library that he had opened--if they would let him get thatfar! That was as good a chance as any. If he made an effort to find,say, a way to the flat above and chanced some means of escape there, itwould in no wise obviate an attack upon him, and he would only be underthe added disadvantage of unfamiliar surroundings.
Feeling out with his left hand, his automatic thrown a little forwardin his right, he began to retrace his way along the blank wall of thecorridor, pausing between each step to listen, moving silently, histread on the heavy carpet as noiseless as though it were some shadowcreeping there.
Stillness--utter, absolute! Always that stillness. Always that sense ofdanger around him--the tense, bated expectancy of momentary attack--arevolver flash through the darkness--a sudden rush upon him. But stillthere was nothing--only the darkness, only the silence.
He gained the head of the stairs and began to descend--and now thestrain began to tell upon his nerves again. Again he was possessed ofthe mad impulse to cry out, to do anything that would force the issue,that would end the horrible, unbearable suspense. Why did that revolvershot not come? Why had they not yet rushed upon him? Why were theyplaying with him as a cat with a mouse? Or was it all wild, fancifulimagination? NO! What was that again! He could have sworn this time thathe had heard a sound, but he could neither define its character, norlocate the direction from which it had come.
He was at the foot of the stairs now; and, guiding himself by the wall,moving now barely an inch at a time, he reached the library door thathe had left open, and stole in over the threshold. Halfway down the roomand diagonally across from where he stood was the window. In a momentnow he could gain that, but they would never let him go so easily--andso it must come now, in that next moment, their attack! Where were they?Where were they now? The table--he must remember not to bump into thetable! A pause between each step, he was crossing the room. He washalfway to the window. Had it been all fancy, was he to--And then JimmieDale stood motionless. SOME ONE HAD CLOSED THE LIBRARY DOOR SOFTLY!
Stillness again! A sort of deadly calm upon him, Jimmie Dale feltout behind his back for the big library table that he had beencircuiting--if the window were wide open it might be done, but to jumpfor it and stand silhouetted there during the pause necessary to flingthe window up was little less than suicidal. He edged back noiselesslyuntil his fingers touched the table; then, lowering himself to hisknees, he backed in underneath it, and lay flat upon the floor. It wasnot much protection, but it had one advantage: if they switched onthe lights it would show an EMPTY room for the first instant, and thatinstant meant--the first shot!
Where were they now? By the library door? How many of them were there?Well, it was their move! Two could play at cat and mouse until--untilDAYLIGHT! That wasn't very far off, now, and when that came he mightstill have the first shot, but after that--he turned his head quicklytoward the window. There was a faint scratching noise as of finger nailsgripping the sill; then the window, very slowly, almost silently, waspushed steadily upward, and a dark form loomed up outside; and then,crawling through, a man dropped, as though his feet were padded like acat's on the floor inside the room. The Magpie!
A flashlight's ray shot out--and, with a twisted smile propped nowon his left elbow to give free play to his revolver arm, Jimmie Dalefollowed the white spot eagerly with his eyes. But it did not circlearound; instead, the light was turned almost instantly toward the lowere
nd of the room--and, a second later, was holding steadily on the opendoor of the safe, and the litter of papers on the floor.
Came a savage growl of amazed fury from the Magpie: then his stepdown the room; and, as he reached the safe, a torrent of unbridledblasphemy--and then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned suddenlyforward examining the knob of the dial:
"The Gray Seal!"
A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon,turned, and started back for the window, his flashlight dancing beforehim--and stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips. The flashlight wasplaying full on Jimmie Dale under the table!
"Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! By God!" choked the Magpie. "You--you--"The Magpie's flashlight, as he shifted it from his right hand to hisleft and wrenched out his revolver, had fallen upon two men crouchedclose against the wall by the library door--and he screamed out in anaccess of fury. "De double cross! A plant! De bulls! You damned snitch,Larry!" screamed out the Magpie--and fired.
The bullet tore into the carpet beside Jimmie Dale. Came answering shotsfrom the men by the door; and then the Magpie, emptying his automatic atthe two men as he ran, the flame tongues cutting vicious lanes of firethrough the darkness, dashed for the window. There was a cry, the crashof a heavy body pitching to the floor--and the Magpie had flung himselfout through the window, and in the momentary ensuing silence within theroom came the sound of his footsteps running on the gravel below.
There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering andlurching around--and then the lights went on. But for an instantJimmie Dale did not move. He was staring at the form of a man still andmotionless on the floor in front of him--the man who had posed as HenryLaSalle. Dead! The man was dead! His mind ran riot for a moment. Wherewere the others--were there only these two? Only these two in the house!Only these two--and one was dead! And then Jimmie Dale was on his feet.One was dead--but there was still the other, the man who was reelingthere, back turned to him, by the electric-light switch. But even asJimmie Dale sprang forward, this second man, clawing at the wall forsupport, slipped to his knees and fell upon the carpet.
Jimmie Dale reached him, snatched the revolver from his hand, and bentover him. It was the man whose name he did not know, but whose face hehad reason enough to know too well--it was the leader of the Crime Club.
The man, though evidently badly wounded, smiled defiantly in spite ofhis pain.
"So you're the Gray Seal!" he flung out contemptuously. "A cleverenough safe-cracker--but only a lowbrow, like the rest of them. Anotherillusion dispelled! Well, you've got the money--better run, hadn't you?"
Jimmie Dale made no answer. Satisfied that the man was too badly hurt tomove, he went and bent over the silent form in the centre of the room. Amoment's examination was enough. "Henry LaSalle" was dead.
He stood there looking down at the man. It was what he had comefor--though it was the Magpie, not himself, who had accomplished it!The man was dead! The words began to run through his mind in a queerreiteration. The man was dead--the man was dead! He checked himselfsharply. He must think now--think fast, and think RIGHT.
The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal--and as fast as theMagpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire through theunderworld. "Death to the Gray Seal! Death to the Gray Seal!" He couldhear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as he had never heard itbefore--with a snarl of triumph now as of wolves who at last had pulledtheir quarry down. He had not a second to spare--and yet--that manwounded there on the floor! What of him--guilty of murder, the brains ofthis inhuman, monstrous organisation, the one to whom, more even than tothat dead man, the Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the griefand despair that had come into her life! What of him? What of the CrimeClub here? What of this nest of vipers? Were they to escape? Were theyto--
With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and,snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
"Give me"--his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a manfighting for every word--"give me--police--headquarters! Quick! QUICK!I've--been--shot!"
The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
"What are you doing?" he demanded in a startled way. "Are you mad! Thankyour stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive--and get outnow, while you have the chance!"
Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of thetelephone.
"I'll go," he said, with a cold smile, "when I've settled with you--forthe murder of Henry LaSalle."
"That man!" ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on thefloor. "So that's your game! Going to try and cover your tracks! Why,you fool, I LIVE here! Do you think the police would imagine for aninstant that I killed him?"
"I said--HENRY LASALLE," said Jimmie Dale evenly.
The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his face.
"What--what do you mean?" he cried hoarsely.
But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone--gasping, chokingout his words as before:
"Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle. Fifth Avenue. I--I've beenshot. Take down this statement. I'll--I'll be dead before you gethere--I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all. We murdered HenryLaSalle--in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here. We--we triedto kill the daughter, but she ran away. This house has been ourheadquarters for the last five years. The man who shot me to-night isthe leader of the gang. We quarrelled over the division of a haul.He's here on the floor now, wounded. Get them all, get them all, damnthem!--do you hear?--get them all! They're out of the house now, butlay a trap for them. They always come in through the garage on the sidestreet. Oh, God, I'm done for! Break down the west walls of the roomsupstairs--if--you--want proof of what--the gang's been doing. Hurry!Hurry! I'm--I'm--done for--I--"
Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his handto the table.
The face of the man on the floor was livid.
"Who are you? In God's name, who are you?" he cried out wildly.
"Does it matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale grimly. "Your game is up. You'llgo to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'--if it is by proxy!Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to prove every wordof that dying 'confession'--but to-morrow, added to it, will come thestory of Marie LaSalle herself."
For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face workingin ghastly fashion--and then suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carriedone hand swiftly to his mouth--and laughed again--and before Jimmie Dalecould reach him was lifeless on the floor.
A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet. Jimmie Dale picked it up. Adrop or two of liquid still remained in it--colourless, clear, likethat liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth the nightbefore, like the liquid in the glasses they had carried into that thirdroom, like the liquid that his man had said was from a formula of theirown, that was instantaneous in its action, that defied detection byautopsy!
The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed. It was justice--but itwas also death. In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely morethan twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him--and then, ominouslydominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld, "Death to theGray Seal!" came ringing once more in his ears. It brought him, with astartled movement of his hand across his eyes, to a realisation of hisown desperate position. Yes, yes, he must go! The way was clear now forthe Tocsin--clear now for her!
He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe, quicklyscraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the packages ofmoney from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the floor among thelitter of papers already there--she would get it back again when it hadserved its purpose, it would be self-evident that it was the proceeds ofthat day's sale of the estate's securities over which the "quarrel" hadoccurred!
And now the window! He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then,laying the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the man,he stepped
across the room again and drew the body of "Henry LaSalle"closer to the table--as though the man had fallen there when thetelephone had dropped from his hand.
It was done now! On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon--and bothof the revolvers had been discharged several times. Jimmie Dale pausedon the library threshold for a final survey of the room. It was done!The way was clear--for her. And now if he could only save himself! Therewas no chance for Larry the Bat! Could he save--JIMMIE DALE!
He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on hislips, unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him--andin another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along like ahare along the side street.