HOW WE ESCAPED FROM WHAT WE FOUND THERE
We stood looking down upon her without speech. She was a tall, rather
thin woman of about fifty; Irish by the look of her, and still with some
share of earlier good looks. The hair that fell away loosely from her
broad forehead was black and straight, showing only here and there a
thread of silver. The large hands lay limply open, and the face was
deathly white. She had fallen away from the door with her knees pressed
closely against it, as though she had been trying to open it when the
blow came.
"Do you think she is dead?" Lady breathed at last.
"Of course not," I answered, but I was very much afraid. I knelt down
beside her and listened to her heart. I was not sure, but it seemed to
me that it beat faintly; so faintly that it might have been only the
drumming of my own pulses in my ears.
"Can you find a mirror?" I asked from the floor.
Lady glanced vaguely about the room, then came back to me with
uncomprehending eyes. "No, I can't see any. What for?" she said dully.
I sprang quickly to my feet. A chair lay overturned on the bare white
boards of the floor, and I picked it up, setting it near the window.
"Sit there," I said, "while I rummage," and I drew her to it, half
forcing her down into it. She sat very still, mechanically obedient,
while I looked around me.
It was a strange little room to find in this decaying tenement. On the
sill of the single window that gave upon the street blossomed an uneven
row of geraniums. One pot had fallen to the floor and lay shattered, the
fresh green of its broken plant piteous in a sprawl of scattered earth.
The whole place bore evidence of an insistent struggle for the
cheerfulness of a home. White, starchy curtains were at the windows; the
walls were fairly covered with pictures, colored prints for the most
part, and supplements of Sunday papers. A bird-cage had hung in one
corner, and now lay, cage and bottom fallen apart, upon a muddle of seed
and water; and a frightened canary perched upon the leg of a fallen
table, blinking in the unsteady flare of the gas. The floor was
spotlessly clean, its worn boards white with scrubbing, save where the
flower-pot and bird-cage had been overturned, and the dark stain spread
from beneath the woman's hair. The whole scene was unnaturally and
strangely vivid, all its little details leaping to the eye with the
stark brilliance of a flashlight.
To the right of the door by which the woman lay was another door, and I
crossed over to it. It opened with a squeak, and for a moment I stood
looking in. This was evidently the sleeping-room. It held only a
washstand, a chest and an iron bedstead; and here, too, an
unextinguished gas-jet flared. I stepped in and closed the door behind
me, for upon the bed lay another huddled figure. It was a man lying face
downward, breathing heavily and evidently very drunk; for the whole
place reeked sourly of alcohol. I pulled at his shoulder, turning him
half over. For half a minute I held him so, then let him fall back as I
had found him. I glanced behind me to be sure that the door was shut.
The man on the bed muttered thickly, shifting his position; and
something thudded upon the floor, and rolled to my feet. It was a short
bit of iron, rather more thick at one end than at the other; and as I
turned it over in my hands, it left a stain. Somewhere I had seen such
an instrument before, but I could not at the moment recall where; and I
dropped the thing into my pocket not without some feeling of disgust. A
small mirror hung over the washstand. This I hurriedly took down, and as
hurriedly left the room, closing the door behind me. Lady was still
sitting where I had left her, but as I came across the room she got up.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "I'm sure I can help in some way.
You were gone a long time, but I waited."
"I'll show you in a moment," I said. We talked in whispers as if in the
presence of death; and yet I was almost sure that the woman was alive.
Nevertheless, it was with a great deal of relief that I saw the mirror
softly cloud before her lips.
"It's all right," I cried. "She's alive."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Oh, thank God!" Lady breathed
"Amen," said I. "What are we to do now?"
"What do you think we had better do? Is there any water in there?"
"There's nothing in there that's of any use," I said quickly. "I should
say the first thing would be to send for an ambulance, and the next for
the police."
"No, no!" Lady cried. "Whatever is to be done we must do ourselves. I
came here to take her away. Can't we take her as she is?"
"She could be carried down-stairs easily enough," said I, surprised,
"but somebody ought to be arrested for this thing. Have you any notion
who did it?"
"Her husband, I suppose," answered Lady bitterly. "He is like that when
he has been drinking. Sheila was afraid something would happen when he
came back."
"Sheila?"
Lady glanced at the figure before us. "That is Sheila," she said. "She
used to be my nurse."
I picked the woman up in my arms. She was heavier than I had thought;
not beyond my strength, but more than I could walk with safely down
those crazy stairs.
"I'll call the chauffeur," I said. "He can help carry her down."
"Yes; but I'd rather he didn't see this."
"He'd see her anyhow, when we brought her down; and we can't do
anything for her here. Where shall I put her?"
"Wasn't there a bed in that room?" she asked.
"Slip off your coat; she will be all right on the floor for a minute."
Lady took off the long coat and spread it upon the boards, taking
Sheila's hand in her lap as I laid her down upon it. I raised the little
window, and looked down into the street. The car stood there, its lights
glaring monstrously down the empty street.
"Hi!" I called. "You chauffeur! Leave the car and come up here."
Below, a figure detached itself from the shadow of the car. "What, sir?"
he shouted up.
"Come up here; we want you."
The man did not answer, and turned back to his car. I watched him
angrily, but after a moment he crossed the sidewalk and disappeared in
the hall doorway.
"I wouldn't blame her husband too surely," I said, as I turned from the
window. "I think the man who struck her was an Italian."
Lady started. "What makes you think so?" she asked in a whisper.
I shook my head, but did not answer.
"Never mind," said Lady, "but you are right. Her husband is an Italian."
It was my turn to start. "What?" I cried. "Was he by any chance also a
sailor?"
She nodded, frightened eyes upon me. And I wondered what it was all
about, for the man lying upon the bed in the inner room was the man whom
I had seen at the inn bar, the man who had threatened her father, the
man to whom her--her husband had given money.
I met the chauffeur in the hall, puffing and evidently disgusted.
"A very low quarter, sir. I was afraid for my life below; and this is a
dirty, bad-smelling 'ouse, sir."
"Well," I said, "there is a woman who is sick in here, and Miss Tabor
has come to take her away in the car. You are to help me to carry her
down."
He sniffed dolefully, and I opened the door, closing it quickly behind
him.
"Mrs. Carucci has been hurt," said Miss Tabor. "You are to help Mr.
Crosby carry her down to the car."
The man stared at the woman on the floor. "Hurt?" he cried. "Mr. Crosby
said she was ill." He glanced about the clean little room, disordered
by the violence that had passed, and shrank back against the wall,
white and staring.
"What's that?" He pointed to the dark stain near the door.
"That," I answered lightly, "is none of your business. Suppose you take
her feet."
The man turned a sick green. "It's blood," he whispered. "It's murder."
"Nonsense, man; the woman is alive. She fell and hurt her head, that's
all. At any rate, we are going to take her where she can be cared for.
Take her feet. We ought not to leave the car too long."
The fellow shook his head.
"She is dead," he repeated sullenly. "There has been murder done. I'll
have nothing to do with it."
Miss Tabor broke in: "Thomas, you heard what Mr. Crosby said. You are to
help him this instant."
"I am not," he said. "I have done more and seen more than a decent man
should, already. A fine district this is for this hour of the night,
with cut-throats asleep in the street and a dead woman lying above. I
give notice now, and I go now."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," I retorted. "Have you no loyalty?"
"I am as honest as the next," he answered, "too honest, or I should
have gone a month ago. 'Tis no place for a decent, quiet man, what with
a fly-by-night sawbones living in my garage, and all sorts of strange
folks going and coming at the house, and calls at all hours, and Lord
knows what going on. 'Tis no decent place. I'm through right now! For
the love of God, what's that?"
The sound had startled us all, and it was repeated--a sound betwixt a
groan and a growl. I glanced toward the door of the inner room.
"My God!" cried Thomas. "There's another of them!" He started across the
room, but I was before him. I turned the key in the door, and placed my
back against it. From within the growls came with greater frequency. The
chauffeur stood before me, shaking with the anger of terror.
"Very well," I said, "you go down to your car and start the engine. I
will carry the woman down without you."
The man hesitated.
"Go!" I cried, and took a step forward. He whimpered out an oath, and
turning, clattered down the stairs as if the devil were after him. I
turned to find Lady on her feet, staring at the closed door.
"Carucci?" she whispered.
I nodded, and went over to take up the woman.
"Wait a minute," cried Lady. "We can't leave the bird loose. She thinks
everything of him."
Somehow I did not laugh. "Very well," I said, "but be quick," and even
as I spoke there came a muttering of Italian; the bed creaked, the feet
came heavily to the floor. Lady stretched out her hand for the bird, but
it fluttered off frightened to the geranium plants. A thud came against
the locked door, and another drunken mutter of Italian. But now Lady had
the bird safe, and I latched the cage top to its flooring, and held open
the door for her capture.
"You carry it," I said. "I'll take the woman."
We were just in time; for Carucci began to realize that he was locked
in, and the door shook under his fury. It was a weak-looking door at
best, and as we left the room, a lower panel splintered. We fairly ran
down-stairs, fearful every moment that the door would not hold long
enough; for the whole building seemed to vibrate with the savage uproar
above. Here and there, as we turned down the dark hall, doors opened,
and frightened faces, dull with sleep, looked out.
Once in the street, I pushed hurriedly through the knot of roughs that
had gathered peering and jeering around the car, and tore open the door.
"Quick! Get in!" I cried. Lady slipped past me and up the step.
"Give her to me," she said.
I put the woman in gently upon the seat, where Lady held her close. Then
I turned to the chauffeur in a fury, for the engine was not running. He
was fumbling at the dash, while the onlookers jostled about him. I shook
him angrily.
"Start it, you fool!" I growled.
He shrank away from me. "I'm through, I told you. I'll have nothing to
do with mur--" I slapped the word short with a swing of my open hand
across his mouth. Without a word he turned and elbowed his way through
the press behind us. I caught him by the arm.
"Give me that plug," I said, twisting it from his hand. And as I jammed
it into its socket, I heard Lady's voice at my shoulder. She was
standing on the curb, one hand upon the open door of the car.
"Can't you make it go?"
"It's all right," I shouted, reaching for the spark, "get inside!" and
the engine started with a snort and a howl. The crowd had begun to
mutter threateningly, and as I sprang for the other side of the car
they jostled me back.
"Murder!" some one shouted hoarsely. "Police! police! police!"
From far down the block came the regular thud of running feet, and the
shrill blast of a whistle; and along with it, a stumbling clatter from
the tenement hallway, and Carucci, a great smear of blood across his
convulsed and swollen face, lurched drunkenly to the sidewalk.