CHAPTER V
THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into theback alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street--andsmiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shiftedits position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even--andit was his move.
Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias JimmieDale, millionaires' clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of theMORNING NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age, shuffled alongin the direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged deep in the pocketsof his frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious,wistful way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence onRiverside Drive. It was his move--and it was an impasse, ironical,sardonic, and it was worse--it was full of peril.
True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights before,when Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had no reason tobelieve that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the man Kline wantedHAD entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had beenshadowed day and night. The result was both simple and disastrous--toJimmie Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might comeand go as he pleased--but to emerge from the Sanctuary in the person ofJimmie Dale would be fatal. Kline had been outwitted, but Kline had notacknowledged final defeat. The tenement had been searched from top tobottom--unostentatiously. His own room on the first landing had beensearched the previous afternoon, when he was out, but they had failed tofind the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under the oilcloth inthe corner, an impromptu wardrobe, that would proclaim Larry the Bat andJimmie Dale to be one and the same person--that would inevitably leadfurther to the establishment of his identity as the Gray Seal. In time,of course, the surveillance would cease--but he could not wait. That wasthe monumental irony of it--the factor that, all unknown to Kline, wasforcing the issue hard now. It was his move.
Since, years ago now, as the Gray Seal, he had begun to work with HER,that unknown, mysterious accomplice of his, and the police, stung tomadness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the press and bythe humiliating prod of their own failures, sought daily, high and low,with every resource at their command, for the Gray Seal, he had neverbeen in quite so strange and perilous a plight as he found himself atthat moment. To preserve inviolate the identity of Larry the Bat wasabsolutely vital to his safety. It was the one secret that even she, whoso strangely appeared to know all else about him, he was sure, had notdiscovered--and it was just that, in a way, that had brought the presentimpossible situation to pass.
In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he hadset himself doggedly and determinedly to the renewed task of what hadbecome so dominantly now a part of his very existence--the solving ofHER identity. And for that month, as the best means to the end--means,however, that only resulted as futilely as the attempts that had gonebefore--he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat, returning to his home inhis proper person only when occasion and necessity demanded it. He hadbeen going home that evening, two nights before, walking along RiversideDrive, when from the window of the limousine she had dropped the letterat his feet that had plunged him into the affair of the CounterfeitFive--and he had not gone home! Eventually, to save himself, he had, inthe Sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, againbeen forced to assume the role of Larry the Bat.
That was really the gist of it. And yesterday morning he had remembered,to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left the night before.He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply--when he got home.Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed money--needed it badly,desperately. With thousands in the bank, with abundance even inhis safe, in his own den at home, a supply kept there always for anemergency, he was facing actual want--he rattled two dimes, a nickel,and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason evenknew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance cameto the house, and the old man always meant well--but he dared not trusteven Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do?He needed money imperatively--at once. Thanks to Kline, for the timebeing, at least, he could not rid himself of the personality of Larrythe Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of JimmieDale--he must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secretservice officer gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf between JimmieDale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's eyes!
Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in orderto counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad--to the extent ofa telephone call--upon his slender capital. A too prolonged andunaccounted-for absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious,blundering solicitude, would have the fat in the fire at that end--andthe city, and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with thestartling news of the disappearance of a well-known millionaire. Thecomplications that would then ensue, with himself powerless to lift afinger, Jimmie Dale did not care to think about--such a contretemps mustat all hazards be prevented.
Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it intersectedthe Bowery, and paused languidly by the curb. No one appeared to befollowing. He had not expected that there would be--but it was as wellto be sure. He walked then a few steps along the Bowery--and slippedsuddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view of thestreet corner that he had just left. At the end of ten minutes,satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate movements, heshambled on again down the Bowery.
There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephonebooth. Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and thebullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded unctuously tohim over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered; Larrythe Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciouslypleased to acknowledge the proletariat salutation with a curt nod. Hewalked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth--and wascarelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him.
He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited forthe connection. After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, "I shall be outof the city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and--" hestopped abruptly, as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire.
"Thank God that's you, sir!" exclaimed the old butler wildly. "I've beennear mad, sir, all day!"
"Don't get excited, Jason!" said Jimmie Dale a little sharply. "The merematter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause you anyconcern. And while I am on the subject, Jason, let me say now that Ishall be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in future."
"Yes, sir," stammered Jason. "But, sir, it ain't that--good Lord, MasterJim, it ain't that, sir! It's--it's one of them letters."
Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable,loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect--and a strainedwhiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face.
"Go on, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
"It came this morning, sir--that shuffer with his automobile left it.I had just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was gone. Andthen, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through the day that awoman, sir--a lady, begging your pardon, Master Jim--hasn't rung upon the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I could get you, andwhere you were, and half frantic, sir, half sobbing, sometimes, sir, andsaying there was a life hanging on it, Master Jim."
Larry the Bat, staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument,subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and subconsciouslynoted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were damp.
"Where is the letter now, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale coolly.
"Here on your desk, Master Jim. Shall I bring it to you?"
Bri
ng it to him! How? When? Where? Bring it to him! The ghastly ironyof it! Jimmie Dale tried to think--prodding, spurring desperately thatkeen, lightning brain of his that had never failed him yet. How bridgethe gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale in Jason's eyes--not justfor the replenishing of funds now, but with a life at stake!
"No--I think not, Jason," said Jimmie Dale calmly. "Just leave it whereit is. And if she telephones again, say that you have told me--that willbe sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries. And Jason--"
"Yes, sir?"
"If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes from."
"I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir," said the oldman eagerly. "And I've been trying that sir, all day. They've all comefrom different pay stations, sir."
A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips. Of course! He mighthave known! It was always that way, always the same. He was as near tothe solution of her identity at that moment as he had been years ago,when she, in some mysterious way, alone of all the world, had identifiedhim as the Gray Seal!
"Very good, Jason," he said quietly. "Don't bother about it any more.It will be all right. You can expect me when you see me. Good-night." Hehung the receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanicallyreached the street.
All right! It was far from "all right"--very far from it. It was notrivial thing, that letter; they never had been trivial things, thoseletters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and death--asthis one now, perhaps, as her actions would seem to indicate, involvedlife and death more urgently than any that had gone before. It was farfrom all right--at a moment when his own position, his own safety, wasat best but a desperate chance; when his every energy, brain, wit, andcunning were taxed to the utmost to save himself! And yet, somehow, someway, at any cost, he must get that letter--and at any cost he must actupon it! To fail her was to fail utterly in everything that failure inits most miserable, its widest sense, implied--failure in that whichrose paramount to every other consideration in life!
Fail her! Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn line--and thenparted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile. It would be a strangeburglary that he had decided upon, in order that he might not failher--stranger than any the Gray Seal had ever committed, and, in somerespects, even more perilous!
He started along the Bowery, walking briskly now, toward the nearestsubway station, at Astor Place, his mind for the moment electing to facethe situation in a humour as whimsical as his smile. Supposing that,as Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next hour, inJimmie's Dale's residence on Riverside Drive! With his arrest as Larrythe Bat, Jimmie's Dale would automatically disappear. Would follow thenthe suspicion that Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, had met with foul play,and as time went on, and Jimmie Dale, being then in prison as Larrythe Bat, did not reappear, the assurance of it; then the certaintythat suspicion would focus on Larry the Bat as being connected withthe millionaire's death, since Larry the Bat had been caught in JimmieDale's home--and he would be accused of his own murder! It was quitehumourous, of course, quite grotesquely bizarre--but it was equallyan exceedingly grim possibility! There were drawbacks to a dualpersonality!
"In a word," confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious lightcrept into the dark, steady eyes, "I'm in a bit of a nasty mess!"
At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he changedto an express, and at Ninety-sixth Street he got out. It was but a shortwalk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a fewblocks farther on.
Jimmie Dale did not slouch now. And for all his disreputable attire,incongruous as it was in that neighbourhood, few people that hepassed paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a casualglance--Jimmie Dale swung along, upright, with no attempt to makehimself inconspicuous, hurrying a little, as one intent upon a definiteerrand. As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little until acouple, who were passing in front of it, had gone on; then he went upthe steps, but noiselessly as a shadow now, to the front door, openedit softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched for a moment in thevestibule.
Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors hecould see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond. Thehall was empty. Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely tobe about; the other servants would have no business there in any case,and whether in their quarters above or below, they had their own stairsat the rear.
Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the doora cautious fraction of an inch--to listen. There was no sound--yes,a subdued murmured--the servants were downstairs in the basement. Heslipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and, treading likea cat, went up the stairs. He scarcely seemed to breathe until, with alittle sigh of relief, he stood inside his den on the first floor, withthe door shut behind him.
"I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful," mutteredJimmie Dale facetiously. "Here's all my property at the mercy of--Larrythe Bat!"
An instant he stood by the door, looking about him--in the brightmoonlight streaming in through the side windows the room's appointmentsstood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the great, luxuriouseasy-chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas, as he had left it;the big, flat-topped, rosewood desk, the open fireplace--and then, hissteps silent on the thick velvet rug under foot, he walked quickly tothe desk.
Yes, there it was--the letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocket--themoonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dared not turn on thelights.
And now money--funds. In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie Daledropped on his knees before the squat, barrel-shaped safe, and openedit. He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the billsin his pocket--and hesitated a moment. What else would he require? Whatact did that letter call upon the Gray Seal to perform in the next fewhours? Jimmie Dale stared thoughtfully into the interior of the safe.Whatever it was, it must be performed in the role of Larry the Bat, forthough he could get into his dressing room now, and become Jimmie Daleagain, there were still those watchers outside the Sanctuary--THEY mustnot become suspicious--and if Larry the Bat disappeared mysteriously,Larry the Bat would be the man that Kline and the secret service of theUnited States would never cease hunting for, and that would mean thathe could never reassume a character that was as necessary for hisprotection as breath was to life, so long as the Gray Seal worked. True,he could change now to Jimmie Dale, but he would have to change backagain and return to the Sanctuary before morning, as Larry the Bat--andremain there until Kline, beaten, called off his human bloodhounds. No,a change was not to be thought of.
What, then, would he require--that compact little kit of burglar tools,rolled in its leather jacket, that, unrolled slipped about his body likea close-fitting undervest? As well to take it anyway. He removed hiscoat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the safe, untied thethongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed it around his body,life belt fashion, secured the thongs over his shoulders, and put onhis coat and vest again. A revolver, a flashlight? He had both--atthe Sanctuary, under the flooring--but there were duplicates here! Heslipped them into his pockets. Anything else--to forestall and providefor any possible contingency? He hesitated again for a moment, thinking,then slowly closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung theouter door shut--and, in the act of twirling the knobs, sprang suddenlyto his feet. Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the telephonebell on the desk rang out clamourously.
Jimmie Dale's face set hard, as he leaped out from behind thecurtain--had Jason heard it! It rang again before he could reach thedesk--was ringing as he snatched the receiver from the hook.
"Yes, yes!" he called, in a low, guarded, hasty way, into themouthpiece. "Hello! What is it?" And then one hand, resting on the desk,closed around the edge, and tightened until the skin over the knucklesgrew ivory white. It was--SHE! She! It was HER voice--he had only heardit once in all his life--th
at night, two nights before, in a silverylaugh from the limousine as it had sped away from him down the road--buthe knew! It thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for themoment of every thought save that she was living, real, existent--thatit was HER voice. "It's you--YOU!" he said hoarsely.
"Oh, Jimmie--you at last!"--it came in a little gasping cry of relief."The letter--"
"Yes, I've got it--it's all right--it's all right"--the words wouldnot seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste. "But it's you now.Listen! Listen!" he pleaded. "Tell me who you are! My God! how I'vetried to find you, and--"
That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his eagerear, with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it.
"Some day, Jimmie. That letter now. It--"
Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly--Jason's steps, running, soundedoutside the room along the corridor--there was not an instant to lose.
"Hang up! Good-bye! Danger! Don't ring again!" he whispered hurriedly,and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on thehook, he jumped for the curtain.
He reached it none too soon. The door opened, an electric-light switchclicked, and the room was flooded with light. Jason, still running,headed for the desk.
"It'll be her again!" Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from theedge of the portiere he watched the other's actions.
Jason picked up the telephone.
"Hello! Hello!" he called--then began to click impatiently with thereceiver hook. "Hello! . . . Who? . . . Central? . . . I don't wantany number--somebody was calling here. . . . What? . . . Nobody on thewire!"
He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.
"That's queer!" he exclaimed. "I could have sworn I heard it ring twice,and--" He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk, hung there,wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face."The letter!" he mumbled wildly. "The letter--Master Jim's letter--theletter--it's GONE!"
Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down onhis knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic withevery instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated,aimless fashion.
Jason's distress was very real--he was almost beside himself now withfear and anxiety. A whimsical, affectionate smile played over JimmieDale's lips at the old man's antics--and changed suddenly into one ofconsternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behindwhich he stood! Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and--Jason's handreached out and grasped the portiere.
"Jason!" said Jimmie Dale sharply.
The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak,choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.
"Is--is that you, sir--Master Jim--behind the curtain there?" he finallyblurted out. "I--sir--you gave me a start--and the letter, Master Jim--"
"Don't lose your head, Jason," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "I've got theletter. Now do as I bid you."
"Yes--Master Jim," faltered the old man.
"Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together," directedJimmie Dale.
Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.
"Now the lights, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale. "Turn them off, and goand sit down in that chair at the desk."
Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from theelectric-light switch at the farther end of the room. He sat down in thechair.
Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain. "I came for thatletter, Jason," he explained quietly. "I am going out again now. I maybe back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing,not a word, of my having been here to-night. Do you understand, Jason?"
"Yes, sir," said Jason; then hesitantly: "Would you mind saying, sir,when you came in?"
"It's of no consequence, Jason--is it?"
"No, sir," said Jason.
Jimmie Dale smiled in the darkness.
"Jason!"
"Yes, sir."
"I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for thenext ten minutes." He moved across the room to the door. "Good-night,Jason," he said.
"Good-night, Master Jim--good-night, sir--oh, Lord!"
Jimmie Dale did not require that ten minutes; it was a very wide marginof safety to obviate the possibility of Jason, from a window, detectingthe exit of a disreputable character from the house--in three minuteshe was turning the corner of the first cross street and walking rapidlyaway from Riverside Drive.
In the subway station Jimmie Dale read the letter--read it twice over,as he always read those strange epistles of hers that opened the door tonew peril, new danger to the Gray Seal, but too, that seemed somehow todraw tighter, in a glad, big way, the unseen bond between them; read it,as he always read those letters, almost subconsciously committing thevery words to memory with that keen faculty of brain of his. But nowas he began to tear the sheet and envelope into minute particles, astrained, hard look was on his face and in his eyes, and his lips, halfparted, moved a little.
"It's a death warrant," muttered Jimmie Dale. "I--I guess to-night willsee the end of the Gray Seal. She says I needn't do it, but I guess it'sworth the risk--a human life!"
A downtown express roared into the station.
"What time is it?" Jimmie Dale asked the guard, as he stepped aboard.
"'Bout midnight," the man answered tersely.
The forward car was almost empty, and Jimmie Dale chose a seat byhimself. How did she know? How did she know not only this, but thehundred other affairs that she had outlined in those letters of hers? Bywhat means, superhuman, indeed, it seemed, did she--Jimmie Dale jerkedhimself erect suddenly. What good did it do to speculate on that now,when every minute was priceless? What was HE to do, how was he to act,what plan could he formulate and carry out, and WIN against odds that,at the outset, were desperate enough even to forecast almost certainfailure--and death!
Who would ever have suspected old Tom Ludgate, known for yearsthroughout the squalour of the East Side as old Luddy, the pushcart man,of having a bag of unset diamonds under his pillow--or under the sack,rather, that he probably used for a pillow! What a queer thing to do!But then, old Luddy was a character--apparently always in the mostpoverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than keeping bodyand soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the dread that bydepositing in a bank some one would discover that he had money, andattempt to force it from him, he had put his savings, year afteryear, for twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into unsetstone--diamonds. How had she found that out?
Jimmie Dale sank into a deeper reverie. He could steal them all right,and they would be well worth the stealing--old Luddy had done well, andlived and existed on next to nothing--the stones, she said, were worthabout fifteen thousand dollars. Not so bad, even for twenty-five yearsof vegetable selling from a pushcart! He could steal them all right; itwould tax the Gray Seal's ingenuity little to do so simple a thing asthat, but that was not all, nor, indeed, hardly a factor in it--it wasvital that if he were to succeed at all he must steal them PUBLICLY, asit were.
And after that--WHAT? His own chances were pretty slim at best. JimmieDale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the window,shook his head slowly--then, with a queer little philosophical shrug ofhis shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously. It was all a part of thegame, all a part of the life--of the Gray Seal!
It was half-past twelve, or a little later, as nearly as he could judge,for Larry the Bat carried no such ornate thing in evidence as a watch,as he halted at the corner of a dark, squalid street in the lowerEast Side. It was a miserable locality--in daylight humming with acosmopolitan hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they couldan intolerable existence, a locality peopled with every nationality onearth, their community of interest the struggle to maintain life at thelowest possible expenditure, where necessity even was pared andshaved down to a minimum; but now, at night time, or rather in theearly-morning hours, t
he darkness, in very mercy, it seemed, covered itwith a veil, as it were, and in the quiet that hung over it now hid thebald, the hideous, aye, and the piteous, too, from view.
It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each housealmost identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on eitherside, seemed, from where Jimmie Dale stood looking down its length, fromthe corner, to converge together at a point a little way beyond,giving it an unreal, ominous, cavernlike effect. And, too, there seemedsomething ominous even in its quiet. It was as though one sensed acutelythe crouching of some Thing in its lair--waiting silently, viciously,with sullen patience.
A footstep sounded--another. Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around thecorner into an areaway. Two men passed--in helmets--swinging theirnightsticks--that beat was always policed in pairs!
They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross streetthat Jimmie Dale had just been inspecting. He started to follow--anddrew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road anddisappeared in the darkness in the officers' wake--ten yards behindthe first another followed--at the same interval of distance stillanother--and yet still one more--four in all.
The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behindthem--the only sounds were the OFFICERS' footsteps dying away in thedistance.
Jimmie Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of theautomatic in his pocket.
"The Skeeter's gang!" he muttered to himself. "Red Mose, the Midget,Harve Thoms--and the Skeeter! The Worst apaches in the city of New York;death contractors--the lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and aman's life any time for twenty-five dollars! I wonder--I've neverdone it yet--but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if oneshot--to KILL!"
Jimmie Dale was at the corner again--again the street before him wasblack, deserted, empty. He chose the right hand side, and, well in theshadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently. Hestopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung a little sign.Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes close to the sign couldjust make out the larger words in the big printed type:
ROOM TO RENT
TOP FLOOR
Jimmie Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the right-handside, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said. His fingers weretesting the doorknob. The door was not locked.
"Naturally, it wouldn't be locked," Jimmie Dale told himself grimly--andstepped inside.
He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the alert.Far up above him a step, guarded though his trained ear made it outto be, creaked faintly upon the stairs--there was no other sound. Thecreaking, almost inaudible at its loudest, receded farther up--andsilence fell.
In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway, foundit, and began to ascend. The minutes passed--it seemed a minute evenfrom step to step, and there were three flights to the top! There mustbe no creaking this time--the slightest sound, he knew well enough,would be not only fatal to the work he had to do, but probably fatal tohimself as well. He had been near death many times--the consciousnessthat he was nearer to it now, possibly, than he had ever been before,seemed to stimulate his senses into acute and abnormal energy. And, too,the physical effort, as, step by step, the flexed muscles relaxing soslowly, little by little, gradually, each time as he found footholdon the step higher up, was a terrific strain. At the top his face wasbathed in perspiration, and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve.
It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grownaccustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of thewalls. But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and minutedetail, he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings. The head of thestairs gave on the middle of the hallway--the hallway ran to his rightand left. To his right, on the opposite side of the hall, was the doorof old Luddy's squalid two-room apartment.
For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant--a sudden perplexity and anxietygrowing upon him. It was strange! What did it mean? He had nervedhimself to a quick, desperate attempt, trusting to surprise and his ownwit and agility for victory--there had seemed no other way than that,since he had seen those four men at the corner--since they were AHEADof him. True, they were not much ahead of him, not enough to haveaccomplished their purpose--and, furthermore, they were not in thatroom. He knew that absolutely, beyond question of doubt. He had listenedfor just that all the nerve-racking way up the stairs. But wherewere they? There was no sound--not a sound--just blackness, dark,impenetrable, utter, that began to palpitate now.
It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant--from his left. A sort ofrelief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory inthe possibilities that it held, swept Jimmie Dale. He crept along thehall. The whisper had come from that room, presumably empty--that wasfor rent!
By the door he crouched--his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale sooften--feeling over jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless touch.The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the knoband lock--there was no key within.
The whispering still went on--but it seemed like a screaming of vulturesnow in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.
"Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip! Me fer goin' indere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills. Who's to know?Say, just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it wid de sparklers."
An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowlyturning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on thethreshold.
"Close yer trap, Mose!" came a fierce response. "We ain't fixed thelay all day for nothin'. There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got anysparklers, 'cept us. If there was, it would be different--then they'dknow that was what whoever did it was after, see?"
The door was closed--the knob slowly, very, very slowly being releasedagain. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's vest came atiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.
The same voice spoke on:
"That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about themdiamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any werepinched. An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired ofliving and did it himself. I guess that'll hold the police when theyfind the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of cordaround his neck, and a chair kicked out from under his feet on thefloor. Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that?"
"Sure"--the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through thepanels--the door was locked. "Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round waitin'to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'--"
Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor.A merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed totingle and quiver with it--the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it allseemed to choke and suffocate him.
"Luck!" muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. "Oh, theblessed luck to get that door locked! I've got time now to set the stagefor my own get-away before the showdown!"
He stole on along the corridor. Excerpts from her letter were runningthrough his brain: "It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie--the Skeeterand his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones. . . .It would do no good for you to steal them first, for they would onlytake that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder the man first and huntafterward. . . . In some way you must let the Skeeter SEE you stealthem, make them think, make them certain that it is a bona-fide theft,so that they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do oldLuddy harm. . . . And for it to appear real to them, it must appear realto old Luddy himself--do not take any chances there."
Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with thatpack of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door, forced togive him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It wassimple enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal the stones at therevolver point, then make enough disturbance--when he was ready--to setthe gang in motion, and, as the
y rushed in open him, to make his escapewith the stones to the roof through Luddy's room. That was simpleenough--there was an opening to the roof in Luddy's room, she had said,and there was a ladder kept there in place. On hot nights, it seemed,the old man used to go up there and sleep on the roof--not now, ofcourse. It was too late in the year for that--but the opening in theroof was there, and the ladder remained there, too.
Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers wouldrave with execrations against the Gray Seal--for the robbery of thelife savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing as vile andpitiful a crime as had ever stirred New York! Even Carruthers, ofthe MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter attack. Good oldCarruthers--who little thought that the Gray Seal was his old collegepal, his present most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterward--afterthe next morning? Well, that, at least, had never been in doubt. OldLuddy could be made to leave New York, and, once away, with the Skeeterand his gang robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him,the stones could be secretly returned to the old man. And it wouldto the public, to the police, be just another of the Gray Seal'scrimes--that was all!
Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, theywould know it was the Gray Seal--the insignia was familiar enough;familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in awe; familiarto the police, to whom it was an added barb of ridicule. He was placingit now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal, on the panelof the door; and now, a black silk mask adjusted over his face, JimmieDale bent to insert the little steel instrument in the lock--a pitiful,paltry thing, a cheap lock, to fingers that could play so intimatelywith twirling knobs and dials, masters of the intricate mechanism ofvaults and safes!
And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him.He had not thought of that--somehow, it had not occurred to him! WHATWAS IT THEY WERE WAITING FOR? Why had they not struck at once, as, whenhe had first entered the house, he had supposed they would do? What wasit? Why was it? Was old Luddy out? Were they waiting for his return--orwhat?
The door, without sound, moved gradually under his hand. A faint odorassailed his nostrils! It was dark, very dark. Across the room, in adirect line, was the doorway of the inner room--she had explained thatin her letter. It was slow progress to cross that room without sound,in silence--it was a snail's movement--for fear that even a muscle mightcrack.
And now he stood in the inner doorway. It was dark here, to--and yet,how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of the roomitself! The odour was pungent now. There was a long-drawn sigh--then alow, indescribable sound of movement. SOMEBODY, APART FROM OLD LUDDY,WAS IN THE ROOM!
It swept, the full consciousness of it, upon Jimmie Dale in aninstantaneous flash. Chloroform; the open scuttle in the roof; thewaiting of those others--all fused into a compact logical whole. Theyhad loosened the scuttle during the day, probably when old Luddy wasaway--one of them had crept down there now to chloroform the old maninto insensibility--the others would complete the ghastly work presentlyby stringing their victim up to the ceiling--and it would be suicide,for, long before morning came, long before the old man would bediscovered, the fumes of the chloroform would be gone.
It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart. Was hetoo late, after all! Chloroform alone could--kill! To the right, just alittle to the right--he must make no mistake--his ear placed the sound!He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coat--the ray of hisflashlight cut across the room and fell upon an aged face upon a bed,upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the cloth pressed horribly againstthe nose and mouth of the upturned face--and then, roaring in thestillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled theflashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of his automatic.
There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and wentracketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward--over atable, sending it crashing to the floor. The man had reeled back againstthe wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the flashlight'seye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled pain and fear.
"Harve Thoms--you, eh?" gritted Jimmie Dale.
A cunning look swept the distorted face. Here, apparently, was only oneman--there were pals, three of them, only a few yards away.
"You ain't got nothing on me!" he snarled, sparring for time. "Youpolice are too damned fresh with your guns!"
"I'll take yours!" snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from theother's pocket. "This ain't any police job, my bucko, and you makea move and I'll drop you for keeps, if what you've got already ain'tenough to teach you to keep your hands off jobs that belong to yourbetters!"
He was working with mad haste as he spoke. One minute at the outsidewas, perhaps, all he could count upon. Already he had caught the rattleof the locked door down the hall. He lit a match and turned on the gasover the bed--it was the most dangerous thing he could do--he knew thatwell enough, none knew it better--it was offering himself as a fairmark when the others rushed in, as they would in a moment now--but theSkeeter and his gang and this man here must have no misconception of hispurpose, his reason for being there, the same as their own, the theft ofthe stones--and no misconception as to his SUCCESS.
"Y'ain't the police!"--it came in a choked gasp from the other, as heblinked in the sudden light "Say then--"
"Shut up!" ordered Jimmie Dale curtly. "And mind what I told you aboutmoving!" He leaned over the bed. Old Luddy, though under the influenceof the chloroform, was moving restlessly. Thoms had evidently only begunto apply the chloroform--old Luddy was safe! Jimmie Dale ran his handin under the pillow. "If you ain't swiped them already they ought to behere!" he growled; "and if you have I'll--ah!" A little chamois bag wasin his hand. He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, alloweda few stones to trickle into his hand--and then, without stopping toreplace them, dashed stones and bag into his pocket. The door along thecorridor crashed open.
"What's that?" he gasped out, in well-simulated fright--and sprang forthe ladder that led up to the roof.
It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted on--no more.Noises came from the floors below now, a confusion of them--the shot,the scream had been heard by others, save those who had been in thelocked room. And the latter were outside now in the corridor, running totheir accomplice's aid.
There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with theoath an exclamation:
"The Gray Seal!"
They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale, halfway upthe ladder, smiled grimly.
The door opened--there was a rush of feet. The man with the shatteredwrist yelled, cursing wildly:
"Here he is--on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!"
Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer room.He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of bulletschipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall. Heswung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick the ladderloose behind him. It was fastened!
The three gunmen jumped into the room--from the roof Jimmie Dale got aglimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening. Bulletswhistled through the aperture--a voice roared up as he gained his feet:
"Come on! After him! The whole place is alive, but this lets us out.We can frame up how we came to be here easy enough. Never mind the oldgeezer there any more! Get the Gray Seal--the reward that's out for himis worth twice the sparklers, and--"
Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle. He could have stood themoff from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but thealarm seemed general now--windows were opening, voices were calling toone another--from the windows across the street he must stand out insharp outline against the sky. Yes--he was seen now.
A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamedout, high-pitched in excitement:
"There he is! There he is! On the roof there!"
Jimmie
Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall towall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of him--untila lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were notquite all on the same level, though--the wall of the next house rosesuddenly breast high in front of him. He flung himself up, regained hisfeet--and ducked instantly behind a chimney.
The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummedthrough the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now, dashingforward, firing as they ran. Two shots from Jimmie Dale's automatic, inquick succession cooled the ardour of their rush--and they broke, black,flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.
And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened. A dull-toned roar,as from some great gulf below, rolled up from the street, a medley ofslamming windows, the rush of feet as people poured from the houses,cries, shouts, and yells--and high over all the shrill call of thepolice-patrol whistle--and the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of the Skeeter'srevolver shots--the Skeeter and his hellhounds for once self-appointedallies of the law!
Twice again Jimmie Dale fired--then crouching, running low, he zigzaggedhis way across the next roof. The bullets followed him--once more hispursuers dashed forward. And again Jimmie Dale, his face set like stonenow, his breath coming in hard gasps, dodged behind a chimney, and withhis gun checked their rush for the third time.
He glanced about him--and with a growing sense of disaster saw that twohouses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end. There would bea lane or a street there! And in another minute or two, if it were notalready the case, others would be following the gunmen to the roof,and then he would be--he caught his breath suddenly in a queer littlestrangled cry of relief. Just back of him, a few yards away, his eyesmade out what, in the darkness, seemed to be a glass skylight.
A dark form sped like a deeper shadow across the black in front ofhim, making for a chimney nearer by, closing in the range. Jimmie Dalefired--wide. Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was themercy deserved at his hands, he could not, after all, bring himself toshoot--to kill.
A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously:
"Rush him all together--from different sides at once!"
A backward leap! Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame,stamping at it desperately, making a hole for his body through theskylight. A yell, a chorus of them, answered this--then the crunch ofracing feet on the gravel roof. He emptied his revolver, sweeping thedarkness with a semicircle of vicious flashes.
It seemed an hour--it was barely the fraction of a second, as he hungby his hands from the side of the skylight frame, his body swingingback and forth in the unknown blackness below. The skylight mightbe, probably was, directly over the stair well, and open clear to thebasement of the house--but it was his only chance. He swung his bodywell out, let go--and dropped. With the impetus he smashed against awall, was flung back from it in a sort of rebound, and his hands closed,gripping fiercely, on banisters. It had been the stair well beyond anyquestion of doubt, but his swing had sent him clear of it.
Above, they had not yet reached the skylight. Jimmie Dale snatched aprecious moment to listen, as he rose, and found himself, apart frombruises, perhaps unhurt. There was commotion, too, in this house below,the alarm had extended and spread along the block--but the commotion wasall in the FRONT of the house--the street was the lure.
Jimmie Dale started down the stairs, and in an instant he had gained thelanding. In another he had slipped to the rear of the hall--somewherethere, from the hall itself, from one of the rear rooms, there must bean exit to the fire escape. To attempt to leave by the front way wascertain capture.
They were yelling, shouting down now through the sky-light above, asJimmie Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall. Thefire escape was there. Shouts from along the corridor, from the tenementdwellers who had been crowding their neighbours' rooms, craning theirnecks probably from the front windows, answered the shouts now from theroof and the skylight; doors opened; forms rushed out--but it was darkin the corridor, only a murky yellow at the upper end from the openeddoors.
Jimmie Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape, and, workingcautiously, silently, but with the speed of a trained athlete, made hisway down. At the bottom he dropped from the iron platform into the backyard, ran for the fence and climbed over into a lane on the other side.
And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face andput it in his pocket. He was safe now. He swept the sweat drops from hisforehead with the back of his hand--noticing them for the first time.It had been close--almost as close for him as it had been for old Luddy.And to-morrow the papers would execrate the Gray Seal! He smiled alittle wanly. His breath was still coming hard. Presently they wouldscour the lane--when they found that their quarry was not in the house.What a racket they were making! The whole district seemed roused like aswarm of angry bees.
He kept on along the lane--and dodged suddenly into a cross street wherethe two intersected. The clang of a bell dinned discordantly inhis ears--a patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of thedisturbance--the riot call was out!
Again Jimmie Dale smiled wearily, passing his hand across his eyes.
"I guess," said Jimmie Dale, "I'm pretty near all in. And I guess it'stime that Larry the Bat went--home."
And a little later a figure turned from the Bowery and shambled downthe cross street, a disreputable figure, with hands plunged deep in hispockets--and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its positionas the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway and entered thetenement's side door.
And Larry the Bat smiled softly to himself--Kline's men were still onguard!