There was but one man to whom Bob dared appeal in this unhappy
situation, and that man was John Merkle. The banker listened gravely to
Bob's recital, then inquired with apparent irrelevance:
"You are mighty fond of Lorelei, aren't you?"
"Why, of course."
Merkle nodded reflectively. "I was mistaken in you," he admitted. "I
didn't think the marriage would last. I suppose you are immensely
pleased with yourself--reformed character, aren't you?" His face
expressed a cynical inquiry.
"Pleased with myself? Not much! Lorelei reformed me. I didn't have
anything to do with it."
"Good! I wondered if you took all the credit to yourself. Lorelei did
do it, and I don't intend to let you forget the fact. Now, about this
Lynn woman--you have been stung, Bob."
"You think so? I wonder--"
"Don't be a fool!"
"You think it is a frame-up?"
"What else could it be? Think!"
Bob exploded in desperation: "I can't think, with my wife in this
condition. However, if you're right I'm going to see Max Melcher and
tell him about Lorelei. Then I'm going to make him wait."
"Make him? MAKE HIM?"
"Yes, I'm going to MAKE him wait." Bob's lips were white; he raised his
eyes slowly, and Merkle saw that they were heavy with resentment.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the latter. "Where is your common sense? Never
use violence; it is antiquated and expensive. Suppose you let me handle
this thing in my own way."
"Have you any plan?"
"I'm never without one. They're not all good plans, understand; some
are very bad, in fact. But, you see, I have been expecting something
like this for a long time. I saw blackmail in your brother-in-law's
face the night Jarvis Hammon was killed. I don't sleep much, so I have
time to think, and, being dyspeptic, I'm always suspicious. Dyspepsia
has spared me many disappointments; people are never any worse than I
believe them to be."
"You don't believe Jim is in this, too? Why, he is Lorelei's brother!"
"What possible difference can that make to a man of his stamp?" the
banker demanded, querulously. "Don't you know your own brother-in-law?
To a conscienceless rogue it's no more unnatural to conspire against
one's relatives than against total strangers. It is the logical thing
to do. It is nature's method of protecting the stranger, and it's one
of the penalties for having relatives. You are young and sentimental,
so I sha'n't tell you what my plan is. Meanwhile, though, you may tell
Lilas that you have acquainted me with the situation and that I am
willing to spend a lot of money to avoid publicity."
"Do you mean you are willing to pay her?"
Merkle smiled sourly. "Let her put her own construction on the
statement."
Beyond this Merkle would give Bob little satisfaction, but later in the
day, after a short telephone conversation, he called at one of the
up-town political clubs and inquired for Senator Sabin. The Senator was
expecting him, and Merkle lost no time in explaining his trouble.
Nature had endowed Sabin with the faculty of hearing more than people
said and saying less than people heard. He sat now with a graven smile
upon his fat, good-humored face, but with eyes that were serious and
watchful. Only once did he interrupt his caller's recital, and then at
the mention of Inspector Snell.
"Snell!" he exclaimed, sharply. "Are you sure?"
"So the woman says."
Sabin nodded; he carefully matched his fingers, tip to tip, and then
relapsed into silence. Merkle went on with his story, feeling the while
as if he were addressing an audience of two men, one a sympathetic,
convivial soul, the other a baffling, sinister person behind a mask.
But when Sabin finally spoke it was as neither; his voice was friendly
and matter-of-fact.
"This is a bad business, John."
The banker broke out, irritably: "Now don't begin that! I have a pastor
who keeps me in spiritual uncertainty, and a doctor who torments me
physically, and a business that's hell in both directions. I didn't
come here to swap tears; I want help."
"It may cost--"
"Of course it may. I don't expect you to square it with a bunch of
double English violets, but it can be squared, and it MUST be, if only
for the sake of Hammon's women folks. It won't serve any good purpose
to air that old scandal."
The Senator nodded. "First we will have to eliminate the gang--clean
them out." He made an expansive, eloquent gesture. "You don't object?"
"Kill 'em, if necessary," Merkle growled, vindictively.
"Very well; I'll do my best."
"Then it's done."
Merkle rose with relief, shook the Senator's limp and pudgy hand, then
departed, knowing that the secret of Jarvis Hammon's death was quite as
safe in Sabin's keeping as in his own. That plump, imperturbable
politician had long been one of the triumvirate that ruled the city,
and Merkle knew him to be the tomb of confessions far more startling
than this; he knew also that although Sabin took toll of the public in
the way of all powerful political rulers he put no price on his favors.
That evening Inspector Snell occupied the same chair in which Merkle
had sat, and found himself the target of Sabin's veiled stare. Snell
was a bulky, forceful, unimaginative man. He was vastly impressive in
his uniform, but the Senator's questions appeared to bewilder him.
"What do you mean--Melcher?" the Inspector finally inquired.
"He claims you give him protection."
The officer's face purpled. "Oh! he does, does he? Well, you'd know if
I did, wouldn't you? That's how them fellows get along, by selling
something they can't deliver."
"Ever take any of his money?"
"Not a cent."
"What do you know about the killing of Jarvis Hammon?"
"Hammon, the steel man? Why, he wasn't killed, was he?" Snell was
plainly puzzled. "Well, well!" he confessed, when the truth had been
gently eased into his mind. "That's news! I'm much obliged for the tip,
Senator."
"Wait a minute. That's not the idea at all," Sabin said, quickly. "The
woman acted in self-defense."
"Ha! They all do. I'm thinking about myself. These are big names--this
is a big case, and it will do me a lot of good to work it out."
"It will break you," the Senator murmured, quietly. "You are getting
ahead just as fast as it is possible, Snell. Cut out this grave-robbing
stuff and make some real friends. Understand? You need friends of the
right sort, and this is your chance."
For some time longer the two men talked guardedly. At last the
Inspector rose to leave, saying: "I think I have all the details now,
and I'll scatter the gang as quick as possible. I can hang something on
the woman easily enough, and the boys, too, but it's different with
Max. He has a drag."
"Leave Max to me. Do you need money?"
"Not from your friends, Senator," the officer disclaimed, hastily. "I'm
only too glad to help out in any way I can."
To Bob Wharton the suspense of the next few days was trying in the
extreme, particularly as Merkle kept declaring there was nothing to
report, while Jimmy Knight betrayed an apprehension so pitiable as
well-nigh to banish suspicion of his complicity in the plot. But before
long there came to pass in various quarters certain events which gave
Bob cause for thought. Strangely enough, these events, one and all, had
some effect, either direct or indirect, upon the habitues of Tony the
Barber's place. To begin with, Tony himself was summoned to
headquarters and forced to spend a distressing half-hour with a harsh,
ill-natured police official, as a result of which the pinochle-room at
the rear of the barber-shop was closed and the door nailed up. With an
unnatural show of indignation Tony warned its frequenters to stay away
from his shop. Naturally he had recourse to Melcher, who promised to
square the misunderstanding. But for once Melcher failed. When his
efforts proved fruitless he was puzzled. So was Tony. The man upon whom
Max relied for help was likewise at a loss, and finally hazarded the
opinion that Tony must have made an enemy of somebody "higher up."
This chilling phenomenon was still a subject of discussion when
Armistead was arrested for selling cocaine. Now Armistead's addiction
to the drug was well known--in fact, he readily confessed to it--but,
knowing only too well the risks involved in its sale, he had never even
contemplated such a thing. He was outraged and incredulous, but a
dope-shattered derelict swore out a complaint against him, and when
Armistead's room was searched, strange to relate, the police discovered
a considerable amount of cocaine concealed therein. Bail was fixed at
an unusually high figure even for a felony, and Max Melcher wondered
vaguely as he arranged to meet it.
Misfortunes multiplied rapidly. On the very next day Young Sullivan was
caught picking pockets in the Times Square Subway station and once more
Max was forced to journey jail-ward. Sullivan's story gave his chief
still more occasion for thought, for this arrest seemed plainly "a
frame," being absurd upon its face. The pugilist had huge, misshapen
paws that could scarcely explore his own, much less another's pockets,
and his stiffened fingers could not palm a coin in the dark, yet a
stranger had accused him of deftly lifting a watch. It seemed
significant that two plain-clothes men should have been at Sullivan's
elbow at the moment. The prize-fighter had acted according to his
nature, and a fine row had resulted, in the midst of which there had
dropped out of his clothes a gold watch which Sullivan violently
protested he had never seen before. His imperious demand upon Max for
help was resentfully couched, but Melcher dared not refuse to act as
his bondsman.
Max was worried when he left the jail, and his perturbation increased
when he discovered late that night that Armistead had disappeared, with
the evident intention of jumping his bond. Convinced now that something
must be badly out of joint, he lost no time in warning Lilas Lynn to go
slow with her blackmailing enterprise. Indeed, he ordered her to drop
it entirely until he had time to discover where the trouble lay.
Upon the girl this command had an unexpected effect; for not only did
it prove to her that Max had lost his pull at headquarters, but it also
strengthened her determination to betray him in accordance with Jimmy
Knight's suggestion. Why, indeed, should she share her gains with
anybody? If Max had no right to any part of the loot what possible
claim had Jim to share in it? Once Lilas's cupidity was aroused it
banished even that meager ghost of honor that is supposed to prevail
among thieves; and, disregarding Max's caution, she decided to take
things entirely into her own hands, riding this wave of success to the
finish. Accordingly she sent for Bob.
It did not take her long to see that Wharton had changed since their
last interview, and accordingly she did not put herself to the trouble
of acting--in fact, Bob allowed her no opportunity of doing so.
"Now don't give me that stall about Melcher," he said, in answer to her
first inquiries "I'm on."
Miss Lynn's cheeks had lost the power of changing color, but her eyes
were as expressive as ever, and now as she stared at her victim they
showed a certain inflexibility of purpose.
"You must have been talking to Merkle," she said, slowly.
"Exactly. He's not such a fool as I am."
"Well?" There was an insolent rising inflection in Lilas's voice. "What
are you going to do about it?"
Bob had prepared himself for some denial, for some pretense of
ignorance, at least, and he was taken aback at this ready acceptance of
his challenge. Something malevolent in her air increased his
uneasiness. The girl was as hard as flint and seemed capable of any
desperate action.
"You say you love Lorelei; you pretend to be grateful to me--"
As if the mere heat of his accusation had ignited her fury Lilas
interrupted him angrily: "Oh, cut out that love-and-gratitude talk! I
want money, do you understand? MONEY! You think I won't dare go through
with this, and so does Merkle. You, neither of you, can understand why
I'll take a chance on 'the chair' just to make you pay. Well, that's
because you are men, and because you are healthy and happy and have
something to live for. But what have I got? I'm sick. I'm going to
pieces. I'll be gone in a few years if I don't get the coin. I've
always fought and I've usually been licked, but I won't be licked this
time. Men like you and John Merkle licked me--Why, I was licked before
I had learned to fight back, and you taught me to hate you before I had
put on long dresses."
"You know that's not true!" Bob cried, sharply. "You harmed men before
they ever harmed you. You hated Jarvis Hammon, and yet he did more for
you than any one in all your life; Merkle helped you, too, when you
needed help, and so did I. Lorelei was your friend--"
"Bah! I haven't any friends; I never had any, and I don't want any now.
Nobody ever did anything for me. You and John Merkle are going to pay
me for what other men have put me through. Oh, come, I'm not bluffing!
You're afraid to stand the gaff, but I'm not. I'm getting old. My looks
are gone. Who's going to pay me if you don't? Who--" Lilas's voice,
which has risen steadily, broke now, and she shook a clenched fist in
Wharton's face. He saw that she had worked herself up into one of her
abrupt, reasonless rages.
"I've got you!" she keened. "I can drag you and your sick wife, and
Merkle, and those Hammon women out into the light, and I'll do it, too.
I can make you all squirm, so let's get down to cases. There's millions
of dollars among you, millions that were squeezed out of my kind of
people; now I'm going to try my hand at squeezing. If I lose--very
well. But I'll holler, and you'll have to stop my mouth or the world
will hear. You don't dare holler."
"I'm glad you're in the open at last," Bob told her, roughly. "We'll
see if Melcher is as desperate as--"
"To hell with Melcher!" screamed the girl. "He's a fool. He's scared
already, but I'm not, and I'm the one to settle with, remember that."
She was a-quiver now; her nerves, tortured from overstimulation, were
jumping; but she felt a tremendous sense of power, together with a
contemptuous disregard of consequences. "Go to Max, if you want to.
Sound the alarm. Do anything you please," she mocked, "but get your
pennies together or I'll bawl you out from the housetops."
There was no arguing with her, as she was drunk with the sense of her
advantage, and Bob could only depart, his ears ringing unpleasantly
with her threats.
As to just what effect her unrestrained spleen would have, or in which
direction it might work the greatest damage, he was uncomfortably in
doubt. For himself, he had no particular fears, but he dreaded terribly
the effect upon his wife. It seemed to him, therefore, that the only
way of gaining time was to pay Lilas enough to satisfy her. The more he
thought of this the more imperative seemed the necessity, but when he
ventured to submit the proposition to Merkle the banker curtly refused
to entertain it.
Sick with anxiety, weak at thought of the peril to his wife's health,
Bob determined to call upon Max Melcher and demand immunity upon pain
of violence. Accordingly he turned his steps in the direction of the
Metropolitan Club. But as he neared his destination he found a crowd
gathered in front of the place; two patrol-wagons were backed up to the
curb opposite the gambling-house; a line of policemen streamed in and
out of the premises. Some of the officers were armed with axes and
sledges, others carried burdens that evoked jeers and taunts from the
bystanders.
Doubting the evidence of his own eyes, Bob elbowed his way closer. It
was true! The Metropolitan Club, the oldest, the safest, the
best-protected palace of chance in the city, was the object of a
daylight raid. Its sacred doors had been battered in, and the fragments
of furniture that came out gave evidence that the raiders had used
their destructive weapons with unusual violence. Racks of multi-colored
ivory chips, faro-layouts, splintered remains of expensive roulette,
crap, and poker tables of mahogany and rosewood were flung carelessly
into the waiting wagons and driven away. Bob Wharton's amazement was
shared by the onlookers, for nothing like this had even been known in
the Tenderloin.
Bob was not a dull young man. In time a light broke through his
troubled mind, and he returned to Broadway, lost in thought. Evidently
Merkle's plan was working.