XVII. THE SILVER SPHINX
A Bedlam of noise smote Rhoda Gray's ears as she entered the SilverSphinx. A jazz band was in full swing; on the polished section of thefloor in the center, a packed mass of humanity swirled and gyratedand wriggled in the contortions of the "latest" dance, and laughedand howled immoderately; and around the sides of the room, the waitersrushed this way and that amongst the crowded tables, mopping at theirfaces with their aprons. It seemed as though confusion itself held sway!
Rhoda Gray scanned the occupants of the tables. The Silver Sphinx wasparticularly riotous to-night, wasn't it? Yes, she understood! A greatmany of the men were wearing little badges. Some society or other wascelebrating--and was doing it with abandon. Most of the men were halfdrunk. It was certainly a free-and-easy night! Everything went!
Danglar! Yes, 'there he was--quite close to her, only a few tablesaway--and beside him sat a heavy built, clean-shaven man of middle age.That would be Cloran, of course--the man who was to have been luredto his death. And Danglar was nervous and uneasy, she could see. Hisfingers were drumming a tattoo on the table; his eyes were rovingfurtively about the room; and he did not seem to be paying any but themost distrait attention to his companion, who was talking to him.
Rhoda Gray sank quickly into a vacant chair. Three men, linked arm inarm, and decidedly more than a little drunk, were approaching her. Sheturned her head away to avoid attracting their attention. It was toofree and easy here to-night, and she began to regret her temerity athaving ventured inside; she would better, perhaps, have waited untilDanglar came out--only there were two exits, and she might have missedhim--and...
A cold fear upon her, she shrank back in her chair. The three men hadhalted at the table, and were clustered around her. They began a jocularquarrel amongst themselves as to who should dance with her. Her heartwas pounding. She stood up, and pushed them away.
"Oh, no, you don't!" hiccoughed one of the three. "Gotta seeyour--hic!--pretty face, anyhow!"
She put up her hands frantically and clutched at her veil--but just aninstant too late to save it from being wrenched aside. Wildly her eyesflew to Danglar. His attention had been attracted by the scene. She sawhim rise from his seat; she saw his eyes widen--and then, stumbling overhis chair in his haste, he made toward her. Danglar had recognized theWhite Moll!
She turned and ran. Fear, horror, desperation, lent her strength. It wasnot like this that she had counted on her reckoning with Danglar! Shebrushed the roisterers aside, and darted for the door. Over her shouldershe glimpsed Danglar following her. She reached the door, burst througha knot of people there, and, her torn veil clutched in her hand, dasheddown the steps. She could only run--run, and pray that in some way shemight escape.
And then a mad exultation came upon her. She saw the man in thechauffeur's seat of the first car in the line lean out and swing thedoor open. And in a flash she grasped the situation. The man was waitingfor just this--for a woman to come running for her life down the stepsof the Silver Sphinx. She put her hand up to her face, hiding it withthe torn veil, raced for the car, and flung herself into the tonneau.
The door slammed. The car leaped from the curb. Danglar was coming downthe steps. She heard him shout. The chauffeur, in a startled way, leanedout, as he evidently recognized Danglar's voice--but Rhoda Gray wasmistress of herself now. The tonneau of the car was not separated fromthe driver's seat, and bending forward, she wrenched her revolver fromher pocket, and pressed the muzzle of her weapon to the back of theman's neck.
"Don't stop!" she gasped, struggling for her breath. "Go on! Quick!"
The man, with a frightened oath, obeyed. The car gained speed. A glancethrough the window behind showed Danglar climbing into the other car.
And then for a moment Rhoda Gray sat there fighting for herself-control, with the certain knowledge in her soul that upon herwits, and her wits alone, her life depended now. She studied the car'smechanism over the chauffeur's shoulder, even as she continued to holdher revolver pressed steadily against the back of the man's neck.She could drive a car--she could drive this one. The presence of thischauffeur, one of the gang, was an added menace; there were too manytricks he might play before she could forestall them, any one of whichwould deliver her into the hands of Danglar behind there--an apparentlyinadvertent stoppage due to traffic, for instance, that would bringthe pursuing car alongside--that, or a dozen other things which wouldachieve the same end.
"Open the door on your side!" she commanded abruptly. "And getout--without slowing the car! Do you understand?"
He turned his head for a half incredulous, half frightened look at her.She met his eyes steadily--the torn veil, quite discarded now, was inher pocket. She did not know the man; but it was quite evident from thealmost ludicrous dismay which spread over his face that he knew her.
"The--the White Moll!" he stammered. "It's the White Moll!"
"Jump!" she ordered imperatively--and her revolver pressed still moresignificantly against the man's flesh.
He seemed in even frantic haste to obey her. He whipped the door open,and, before she could reach to the wheel, he had leaped to the street.The car swerved sharply. She flung herself over into the vacated seat,and snatched at the wheel barely in time to prevent the machine frommounting the curb.
She looked around again through the window of the hood. The man hadswung aboard Danglar's car, which was only a few yards behind.
Rhoda Gray drove steadily. Here in the city streets her one aim must benever to let the other car come abreast of her; but she could preventthat easily enough by watching Danglar's movements, and cutting acrossin front of him if he attempted anything of the sort. But ultimatelywhat was she to do? How was she to escape? Her hands gripped andclenched in a sudden, almost panic-like desperation at the wheel. Turnsuddenly around a corner, and jump from the car herself? It was uselessto attempt it; they would keep too close behind to give her a chanceto get out of sight. Well, then, suppose she jumped from the car, andtrusted herself to the protection of the people on the street. She shookher head grimly. Danglar, she knew only too well, would risk anything,go to any length, to put an end to the White Moll. He would not hesitatean instant to shoot her down as she jumped and he would be fairly safehimself in doing it. A few revolver shots from a car that speeded awayin the darkness offered an even chance of escape. And yet, unless sheforced an issue such as that, she knew that Danglar would not resort tofiring at her here in the city. He would want to be sure that was theonly chance he had of getting her, before he accepted the risk that hewould run of being caught for it by the police.
She found herself becoming strangely, almost unnaturally, cool andcollected now. The one danger, greater than all others, that menaced herwas a traffic block that would cause her to stop, and allow those in theother car behind to rush in upon her as she sat here at the wheel. Andsooner or later, if she stayed in the city, a block such as that wasinevitable. She must get out of the city, then. It was only to inviteanother risk, the risk that Danglar was in the faster car of the two butthere was no other way.
She drove more quickly, made her way to the Bridge, and crossed it. Thecar behind followed with immutable persistence. It made no effort toclose the short gap between them; but, neither, on the other hand, didit permit that gap to widen.
They passed through Brooklyn; and then, reaching the outskirts, RhodaGray, with headlights streaming into the black, with an open Long Islandroad before her, flung her throttle wide, and the car leaped like athing of life into the night. It was a sudden start, it gained her ahundred yards but that was all.
The wind tore at her and whipped her face; the car rocked and reeled asin some mad frenzy. There was not much traffic, but such as there wasit cleared away from before her as if by magic, as, seeking shelter fromthe wild meteoric thing running amuck, the few vehicles, motor or horse,that she encountered hugged; the edge of the road, and the wind whiskedto her ears fragments of shouts and execrations. Again and again shelooked back two fiery balls of light
blazed behind her always those sametwo fiery balls.
She neither gained nor lost. Rigid, like steel, her little figure wascrouched over the wheel. She did not know the road. She knew nothingsave that she was racing for her life. She did not know the end; shecould not see the end. Perhaps there would be some merciful piece ofluck for her that would win her through a break-down to that roaringthing, with its eyes that were balls of fire, behind.
She passed through a town with lighted streets and lighted windows orwas it only imagination? It was gone again, anyhow, and there was justblack road ahead. Over the roar of the car and the sweep of the wind,then, she caught, or fancied she caught, a series of faint reports. Shelooked behind her. Yes, they were firing now. Little flashes leaped outabove and at the sides of those blazing headlights.
How long was it since she had left the Silver Sphinx? Minutes or hourswould not measure it, would they? But it could not last much longer!She was growing very tired; the strain upon her arms, yes, and upon hereyes, was becoming unbearable. She swayed a little in her seat, and thecar swerved, and she jerked it back again into the straight. She beganto laugh a little hysterically and then, suddenly, she straightened up,tense and alert once more.
That swerve was the germ of an inspiration! It took root swiftly now. Itwas desperate--but she was desperate. She could not drive much more, ormuch longer like this. Mind and body were almost undone. And, besides,she was not outdistancing that car behind there by a foot; and sooner orlater they would hit her with one of their shots, or, perhaps what theywere really trying to do, puncture one of her tires.
Again she glanced over her shoulder. Yes, Danglar was just far enoughbehind to make the plan possible. She began to allow the car to swervenoticeably at intervals, as though she were weakening and the car wasgetting beyond her control--which was, indeed, almost too literally thecase. And now it seemed to her that each time she swerved there came anexultant shout from the car behind. Well, she asked for nothing better;that was what she was trying to do, wasn't it?--inspire them with thebelief that she was breaking under the strain.
Her eyes searched anxiously down the luminous pathway made by herhigh-powered headlights. If only she could reach a piece of road thatcombined two things--an embankment of some sort, and a curve just sharpenough to throw those headlights behind off at a tangent for an instantas they rounded it, too, in following her.
A minute, two, another passed. And then Rhoda Gray, tight-lipped, herface drawn hard, as her own headlights suddenly edged away from the roadand opened what looked like a deep ravine on her left, while the roadcurved to the right, flung a frenzied glance back of her. It was herchance--her one chance. Danglar was perhaps a little more than a hundredyards in the rear. Yes--now! His headlights were streaming out on herleft as he, too, touched the curve. The right-hand side of her car, theright-hand side of the road were in blackness. She checked violently,almost to a stop, then instantly opened the throttle wide once more,wrenching the wheel over to head the machine for the ravine; and beforethe car picked up its momentum again, she dropped from the right-handside, darted to the far edge of the road, and flung herself flat downupon the ground.
The great, black body of her car seemed to sail out into nothingnesslike some weird aerial monster, the headlights streaming uncannilythrough space--then blackness--and a terrific crash.
And now the other car had come to a stop almost opposite where shelay. Danglar and the two chauffeurs, shouting at each other in wildexcitement, leaped out and rushed to the edge of the embankment. Andthen suddenly the sky grew red as a great tongue-flame shot up frombelow. It outlined the forms of the three men as they stood there,until, abruptly, as though with one accord, they rushed pell-mell downthe embankment toward the burning wreckage. And as they disappeared fromsight Rhoda Gray jumped to her feet, sprang for Danglar's car, flungherself into the driver's seat, and the car shot forward again along theroad.
A shout, a wild chorus of yells, the reports of a fusillade of shotsreached her; she caught a glimpse of forms running insanely after heralong the edge of the embankment--then silence save for the roar of thespeeding car.
She drove on and on. Somewhere, nearing a town, she saw a train in thedistance coming in her direction. She reached the station first, andleft the car standing there, and, with the torn veil over her faceagain, took the train.
She was weak, undone, exhausted. Even her mind refused its functionsfurther. It was only in a subconscious way she realized that, where shehad thought never to go to the garret again, the garret and the role ofGypsy Nan were, more than ever now, her sole refuge. The plot againstCloran had failed, but they could not blame that on "Bertha's"non-appearance; and since it had failed she would not now be expectedto assume the dead woman's personality. True, she had not, as had beenarranged, reached the Silver Sphinx at eleven, but there were a hundredexcuses she could give to account for her being late in keeping theappointment so that she had arrived just in time, say, to see Danglardash wildly in pursuit of a woman who had jumped into the car that shewas supposed to take!
The garret! The garret again--and Gypsy Nan! Her surroundings seemedto become a blank to her; her actions to be prompted by some purelymechanical sense. She was conscious only that finally, after aninterminable time, she was in New York again; and after that, long,long after that, dressed as Gypsy Nan, she was stumbling up the dark,ladder-like steps to the attic.
How her footsteps dragged! She opened the door, staggered inside, lockedthe door again, and staggered toward the cot, and dropped upon it; andthe gray dawn came in with niggardly light through the grimy littlewindow panes, as though timorously inquisitive of this shawled anddissolute figure prone and motionless, this figure who in other dawnshad found neither sleep nor rest--this figure who lay there now as onedead.