XIV. THE LAME MAN
Another night--another day! And the night again had been without rest,lest Danglar's dreaded footstep come upon her unawares; and the dayagain had been one of restless, abortive activity, now prowling thestreets as Gypsy Nan, now returning to the garret to fling herself uponthe cot in the hope that in daylight, when she might risk it, sleepwould come, but it had been without avail, for, in spite of physicalweariness, it seemed to Rhoda Gray as though her tortured mind wouldnever let her sleep again. Danglar's wife! That was the horror that wasin her brain, yes, and in her soul, and that would not leave her.
And now night was coming upon her once more. It had even begun to growdark here on the lower stairway that led up to that wretched, hauntedgarret above where in the shadows stark terror lurked. Strange! Moststrange! She feared the night--and yet she welcomed it. In a littlewhile, when it grew a little darker, she would steal out again and takeup her work once more. It was only during the night, under the veil ofdarkness, that she could hope to make any progress in reaching to theheart and core of this criminal clique which surrounded her, whosemembers accepted her as Gypsy Nan, and, therefore, as one of themselves,and who would accord to her, if they but even suspected her to be theWhite Mall, less mercy than would be shown to a mad dog.
She climbed the stairs. Fear was upon her now, because fear wasalways there, and with it was abhorrence and loathing at the frightfulexistence fate had thrust upon her; but, somehow, to-night she was notso depressed, not so hopeless, as she had been the night before. Therehad been a little success; she had come a little farther along the way;she knew a little more than she had known before of the inner workingsof the gang who were at the bottom of the crime of which she herselfwas accused. She knew now the Adventurer's secret, that the Pug and theAdventurer were one; and she knew where the Adventurer lived, now inone character, now in the other, in those two rooms almost opposite eachother across that tenement hall.
And so it seemed that she had the right to hope, even though there werestill so many things she did not know, that if she allowed her mind todwell upon that phase of it, it staggered her--where those code messagescame from, and how; why Rough Rorke of headquarters had never made asign since that first night; why the original Gypsy Nan, who was deadnow, had been forced into hiding with the death penalty of thelaw hanging over her; why Danglar, though Gypsy Nan's husband, wascomparatively free. These, and a myriad other things! But she countednow upon her knowledge of the Adventurer's secret to force from himeverything he knew; and, with that to work on, a confession from some ofthe gang in corroboration that would prove the authorship of the crimeof which she had seemingly been caught in the act of committing.
Yes, she was beginning to see the way at last--through the Adventurer.It seemed a sure and certain way. If she presented herself before him asGypsy Nan, whom he believed to be not only one of the gang, but actuallyDanglar's wife, and let him know that she was aware of the dual rolehe was playing, and that the information he thus acquired as the Pughe turned to his own account and to the undoing of the gang, he must ofnecessity be at her mercy. Her mercy! What exquisite irony! Her mercy!The man her heart loved; the thief her common sense abhorred! Whatirony! When she, too, played a double role; when in their othercharacters, that of the Adventurer and the White Moll, he and she werelinked together by the gang as confederates, whereas, in truth, theywere wider apart than the poles of the earth!
Her mercy! How merciful would she be--to the thief she loved? He knew,he must know, all the inner secrets of the gang. She smiled wanly nowas she reached the landing. Would he know that in the last analysis herthreat would be only an idle one; that, though her future, her safety,her life depended on obtaining the evidence she felt he could supply,her threat would be empty, and that she was powerless--because she lovedhim. But he did not know she loved him--she was Gypsy Nan. If she kepther secret, if he did not penetrate her disguise as she had penetratedhis, if she were Gypsy Nan and Danglar's wife to him, her threat wouldbe valid enough, and--and he would be at her mercy!
A flush, half shamed, half angry, dyed the grime that was part of GypsyNan's disguise upon her face. What was she saying to herself? What wasshe thinking? That he did not know she loved him! How would he? Howcould he? Had a word, an act, a single look of hers ever given him ahint that, when she had been with him as the White Moll, she cared!It was unjust, unfair, to fling such a taunt at herself. It seemed asthough she had lost nearly everything in life, but she had not yet losther womanliness and her pride.
She had certainly lost her senses, though! Even if that word, that look,that act had passed between them, between the Adventurer and the WhiteMoll, he still did not know that Gypsy Nan was the White Moll--and thatwas the one thing now that he must not know, and...
Rhoda Gray halted suddenly, and stared along the hallway ahead of her,and up the short, ladder-like steps that led to the garret. Her ears--orwas it fancy?--had caught what sounded like a low knocking up there uponher door. Yes, it came again now distinctly. It was dusk outside; inhere, in the hall, it was almost dark. Her eyes strained through themurk. She was not mistaken. Something darker than the surroundingdarkness, a form, moved up there.
The knocking ceased, and now the form seemed to bend down and gropealong the floor; and then, an instant later, it began to descend theladder-like steps--and abruptly Rhoda Gray, too, moved forward. Itwasn't Danglar. That was what had instantly taken hold of her mind, andshe knew a sudden relief now. The man on the stairs--she could see thatit was a man now--though he moved silently, swayed in a grotesquelyjerky way as though he were lame. It wasn't Danglar! She would go toany length to track Danglar to his lair; but not here--here in thedarkness--here in the garret. Here she was afraid of him with a deadlyfear; here alone with him there would be a thousand chances of exposureincident to the slightest intimacy he might show the woman whom hebelieved to be his wife--a thousand chances here against hardly one inany other environment or situation. But the man on the stairs wasn'tDanglar.
She halted now and uttered a sharp exclamation, as though she had caughtsight of the man for the first time.
The other, too, had halted--at the foot of the stairs. A plaintive drawlreached her:
"Don't screech, Bertha! It's only your devoted brother-in-law. Curseyour infernal ladder, and my twisted back!"
Danglar's brother! Bertha! She snatched instantly at the cue with aninward gasp of thankfulness. She would not make the mistake of using thevernacular behind which Gypsy Nan sheltered herself. Here was some onewho knew that Gypsy Nan was but a role. But she had to remember that hervoice was slightly hoarse; that her voice, at least, could not sacrificeits disguise to any one. Danglar had been a little suspicious of ituntil she had explained that she was suffering from a cold.
"Oh!" she said calmly. "It's you, is it? And what brought you here?"
"What do you suppose?" he complained irritably. "The same old thing, allI'm good for--to write out code messages and deliver them like an errandboy! It's a sweet job, isn't it? How'd you like to be a deformed littlecripple?"
She did not answer at once. The night seemed suddenly to be openingsome strange, even premonitory, vista. The code messages! Their mode ofdelivery! Here was the answer!
"Maybe I'd like it better than being Gypsy Nan!" she flung backsignificantly.
He laughed out sharply.
"I'd like to trade with you," he said, a quick note of genuine envyin his voice. "You can pitch away your clothes; I can't pitch awaya crooked spine. And, anyway, after to-night, you'll be living swellagain."
She leaned toward him, staring at him in the semi-darkness. Thatpremonitory vista was widening; his words seemed suddenly to set herbrain in tumult. After to-night! She was to resume, after to-night, thecharacter that was supposed to lay behind the disguise of Gypsy Nan! Shewas to resume her supposedly true character--that of Pierre Danglar'swife!
"What do you mean?" she demanded tensely.
"Aw, come on!" he said abruptly. "This isn't the
place to talk. Pierrewants you at once. That's what the message was for. I thought you wereout, and I left it in the usual place so you'd get it the minute you gotback and come along over. So, come on now with me."
He was moving down the hallway, blotching like some misshapen toad inthe shadowy light, lurching in his walk, that was, nevertheless, almostuncannily noiseless. Mechanically she followed him. She was trying tothink; striving frantically to bring her wits to play on this sudden andunexpected denouement. It was obvious that he was taking her to Danglar.She had striven desperately last night to run Danglar to earth inhis lair. And here was a self-appointed guide! And yet her emotionsconflicted and her brain was confused. It was what she wanted, whatthrough bitter travail of mind she had decided must be her course; butshe found herself shrinking from it with dread and fear now that itpromised to become a reality. It was not like last night when of her owninitiative she had sought to track Danglar, for then she had startedout with a certain freedom of action that held in reserve a freedomto retreat if it became necessary. To-night it was as though she weredeprived of that freedom, and being led into what only too easily mightdevelop into a trap from which she could not retreat or escape.
Suppose she refused to go?
They had reached the street now, and now she obtained a better view ofthe misshapen thing that lurched jerkily along beside her. The man wasdeformed, miserably deformed. He walked most curiously, half bent over;and one arm, the left, seemed to swing helplessly, and the left hand waslike a withered thing. Her eyes sought the other's face. It was an oldface, much older than Danglar's, and it was white and pinched and drawn;and in the dark eyes, as they suddenly darted a glance at her, she reada sullen, bitter brooding and discontent. She turned her head away. Itwas not a pleasant face; it struck her as being both morbid and cruel toa degree.
Suppose she refused to go?
"What did you mean by 'after to-night'?" she asked again.
"You'll see," he answered. "Pierre'll tell you. You're in luck, that'sall. The whole thing that has kept you under cover has bust wide openyour way, and you win. And Pierre's going through for a clean-up.To-morrow you can swell around in a limousine again. And maybe you'llcome around and take me for a drive, if I dress up, and promise to hidein a corner of the back seat so's they won't see your handsome friend!"
The creature flung a bitter smile at her, and lurched on.
He had told her what she wanted to know--more than she had hoped for.The mystery that surrounded the character of Gypsy Nan, the evidence ofthe crime at which the woman who had originated that role had hintedon the night she died, and which must necessarily involve Danglar, washers, Rhoda Gray's, now for the taking. As well go and give herself upto the police as the White Moll and have done with it all, as to refuseto seize the opportunity which fate, evidently in a kindlier mood towardher now, was offering her at this instant. It promised her the hold uponDanglar that she needed to force an avowal of her own innocence, thevery hold that she had but a few minutes before been hoping she couldobtain through the Adventurer.
There was no longer any question as to whether she would go or not.
Her hand groped down under the shabby black shawl into the wide,voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt. Yes, her revolver was there. Sheknew it was there, but the touch of her fingers upon it seemed to bringa sense of reassurance. She was perhaps staking her all in accompanyingthis cripple here to-night--she did not need to be told that--but therewas a way of escape at the last if she were cornered and caught. Herfingers played with the weapon. If the worst came to the worst she wouldnever be at Danglar's mercy while she possessed that revolver and, ifthe need came, turned it upon herself.
They walked on rapidly; the lurching figure beside her covering theground at an astounding rate of speed. The man made no effort to talk.She was glad of it. She need not be so anxiously on her guard as wouldbe the case if a conversation were carried on, and she, who knew so muchand yet so pitifully little, must weigh her every word, and feel her waywith every sentence. And besides, too, it gave her time to think. Wherewere they going? What sort of a place was it, this headquarters of thegang? For it must be the headquarters, since it was from there the codemessages would naturally emanate, and this deformed creature, from whathe had said, was the "secretary" of the nefarious clique that was ruledby his brother. And was luck really with her at last? Suppose she hadbeen but a few minutes later in reaching Gypsy Nan's house, and hadfound, instead of this man here, only the note instructing her to go andmeet Danglar! What would she have done? What explanation could she havemade for her nonappearance? Her hands would have been tied. She wouldhave been helpless. She could not have answered the summons, for shecould have had no idea where this gang-lair was; and the note certainlywould not contain such details as street and number, which she wasobviously supposed to know. She smiled a little grimly to herself.Yes, it seemed as though fortune were beginning to smile upon heragain--fortune, at least, had supplied her with a guide.
The twisted figure walked on the inside of the sidewalk, and curiouslyseemed to seek as much as possible the protecting shadows of thebuildings, and invariably shrank back out of the way of the passers-bythey met. She watched him narrowly as they went along. What washe afraid of? Recognition? It puzzled her for a time, and thenshe understood: It was not fear of recognition; the sullen, almostbelligerent stare with which he met the eyes of those with whom hecame into close contact belied that. The man was morbidly, abnormallysensitive of his deformity.
They turned at last into one of the East Side cross streets, and herguide halted finally on a corner in front of a little shop that wasclosed and dark. She stared curiously as the man unlocked the door.Perhaps, after all, she had been woefully mistaken. It did not look atall the kind of place where crimes that ran the gamut of the decaloguewere hatched, at all the sort of place that was the council chamberof perhaps the most cunning, certainly the most cold-blooded andunscrupulous, band of crooks that New York had ever harbored. Andyet--why not? Wasn't there the essence of cunning in that very fact? Whowould suspect anything of the sort from a ramshackle, two-story littlehouse like this, whose front was a woe-begone little store, the proceedsof which might just barely keep the body and soul of its proprietortogether?
The man fumbled with the lock. There was not a single light showing fromthe place, but in the dwindling rays of a distant street lamp she couldsee the meager window display through the filthy, unwashed panes. It wasevidently a cheap and tawdry notion store, well suited to its locality.There were toys of the cheapest variety, stationery of the same grade,cheap pipes, cigarettes, tobacco, candy--a package of needles.
"Go on in!" grunted the man, as he pushed the door--which seemed toshriek out unduly on its hinges--wide open. "If anybody sees the dooropen, they'll be around wanting to buy a paper of pins--curse 'em!--andI ain't open to-night." He snarled as he shut and locked the door."Pierre says you're grouching about your garret. How about me, and thisjob? You get out of yours to-night for keeps. What about me? I can't doanything but act as a damned blind for the rest of you with this foolstore, just because I was born a freak that every gutter-snipe on thestreet yells at!"
Rhoda Gray did not answer.
"Well, go on!" snapped the man. "What are you standing there for? Onewould think you'd never been here before!"
Go on! Where? She had not the faintest idea. It was quite dark insidehere in the shop. She could barely make out the outline of the other'sfigure.
"You're in a sweet temper to-night, aren't you?" she said tartly. "Goon, yourself! I'm waiting for you to get through your speech."
He moved brusquely past her, with an angry grunt. Rhoda Gray followedhim. They passed along a short, narrow space, evidently between alow counter and a shelved wall, and then the man opened a door, and,shutting it again behind them, moved forward once more. She couldscarcely see him at all now; it was more the sound of his footstepsthan anything else that guided her. And then suddenly another door wasopened, and a soft, yellow ligh
t streamed out through the doorway, andshe found that she was standing in an intervening room between the shopand the room ahead of her. She felt her pulse quicken, and it seemed asthough her heart began to thump almost audibly. Danglar! She could seeDanglar seated at a table in there. She clenched her hands under hershawl. She would need all her wits now. She prayed that there was nottoo much light in that room yonder.