THE VALUE OF A CLOTHES-LINE.
When Julius found himself alone and understood that his companions had
actually started on their illegal expedition, he felt that there was
pressing need of action. He must escape by some means. While the
prospect was that they would be captured, and so prevented from
returning, on the other hand, one or both might escape, and in that
case he knew enough of their savage and brutal character to realize
that he would be in the greatest danger. He rose from his bed, and
began to devise ways and means of escape.
The first and most obvious outlet, of course, was the door. But this
was locked, and the key was in Marlowe's possession. Then there was
the solitary window. It was on the third floor, and looked out into a
court. It was too high to jump from, and the only other way was by a
rope, but there was no rope in the room. Had there been a bedstead of
the right kind, the bedcord would have served his purpose, but there
was no bedstead at all. With a democratic contempt for such a luxury,
all three slept on the floor. The prospect was not encouraging.
"I wonder if I could hang out of the window?" thought Julius.
He looked out, and decided that he would run the risk of breaking a
limb if he attempted it. So that plan had to be given up.
Julius sat down and reflected. It occurred to him that perhaps Mrs.
O'Connor's key (she roomed just beneath) would open the door. At any
rate it was worth trying.
He stamped on the floor with such force that, as he expected, it
attracted the attention of those beneath. Listening intently, he heard
the woman ascending the staircase. He began to jump up and down with
renewed vigor.
"What's the matter wid ye?" called Mrs. O'Connor through the keyhole.
"Are you drunk?"
"I'm sick," returned Julius.
"Is it the jumpin' toothache ye have?" asked the Irish woman.
"I'm awful sick. I don't know what it is."
"Open the door, and I'll come in."
"I can't. The door's locked, and Jack has gone away."
Here Julius began to groan again.
"Poor bye!" said the compassionate woman. "What will I do for ye?"
"Try the door with your key. Perhaps it will open it."
"I'll do that same."
She drew out a key, and tried to put it in the lock, but to no
purpose. It would not fit.
"I can't open it," she said.
This was a severe disappointment to Julius, who saw his chances of
success fade away one by one.
"Have you got a clothes-line, Mrs. O'Connor?" he asked, suddenly.
"Yes," said the good woman, rather astonished, with a vague idea that
Julius expected to cure himself by means of it. "And what for do you
want it?"
"If you will go down to the court and throw it up to me, I'll get out
of the window."
"And what good will that do you?"
"I will go for the doctor."
"I'll go meself, and save you the trouble."
"But he can't get through the keyhole."
"Thrue for you. Wait a bit, and I'll do it."
Mrs. O'Connor descended, and, obtaining from her room a well-worn
clothes-line, went below, and, after two or three futile attempts,
succeeded in throwing it up so that Julius could seize it.
"Thank you, Mrs. O'Connor," said the boy in exultation. "I'll come
down directly."
He soon had it secured, and then boldly got out of the window and
swung off. In a minute he was by the side of his friend.
"How do ye feel now?" asked the good woman, in a tone of sympathy.
"Better," said Julius.
"What made them lock ye up?"
"They didn't think I'd want to go out till mornin'. Good-bye, Mrs.
O'Connor; I'm goin' for the doctor. You can get your line in the
mornin'."
He left the house with a quick, alert step, showing no further
evidence of pain. Mrs. O'Connor noticed it, and wondered that he
should have got over his sickness so soon. Julius had been tempted to
take her into his confidence and explain the real state of the case,
but in the uncertain issue of the burglary he decided that it would
not be best.
"Good-bye, old house!" he said, looking back to it in the indistinct
light; "I shall never come back and live here again. I'll go down to
the wharves and find a place to sleep the rest of the night."
He turned his steps in the direction of the East River. He found an
out-of-the-way corner on one of the piers, where he disposed himself
for sleep. It was nothing new to him. Scores of times he had spent the
night in similar places, and never found fault with the
accommodations. They might be poor, but the best of it was there was
nothing to pay, and he must be indeed unreasonable who could complain
under such circumstances. He fell asleep, but the shadow of recent
events was upon him. He dreamed that Marlowe had him by the throat,
and woke up in terror to find a dock-hand shaking him by the shoulder.
"Avast there!" said the man, who had caught some phrases from the
sailors; "wake up and pay for your lodgin's."
"All my money's in the bank," said Julius. "I can't get at it till the
bank opens."
"Not then, either," said the dock-hand, good-humoredly. "Well, I'll
let you off this time. Your wife's expectin' you home."
"Are you sure of that?" said Julius. "I told her I was goin' to a
party, and she needn't expect me home till mornin'."
"Well, the party's broke up, and you'd better be going," returned the
other, good-naturedly.
Meanwhile let us go back to Marlowe, whom we left hurrying home a
little past midnight, intent upon wreaking his vengeance on Julius for
his treachery. Had he found the boy it would have gone hard with him.
The ruffianly instinct of the burglar was predominant, and he might
have killed him in the intensity of his blind rage. But the foresight
and prudent caution of Julius defeated his wrathful purpose, and when
he reached the shabby room which he called home his intended victim
had escaped.
Marlowe did not at once discover the boy's flight. He unlocked the
door, but it was dark within, for the window looked out upon an
inclosed court, and permitted only a scanty light to enter. Before
striking a light he locked the door again and put the key in his
pocket. This was to prevent the boy's escape on the one hand, and any
outside interference on the other. Then he drew a match from his
pocket and lighted a fragment of candle upon the table. This done he
turned his eyes toward the bed with stern exultation. But this was
quickly turned into angry surprise.
"The boy's gone!" he exclaimed, with an oath. "How could he have got
out, with the door locked?"
The open window and the rope hanging from it revealed the method of
escape.
Marlowe strode to the window with a feeling of keen disappointment.
Was he to be robbed of his revenge, after all? He had depended upon
this with certainty, and meant to have it, though he should be
arrested the next minute, and he knew that, though he had escaped from
the house of his meditated crime, he was still in great peril.
Doubtless Julius had given full information to the police of his name
and residence, and even now they might be in pursuit of him. He ground
his teeth when he thought of this, and clinched his fist in the
impotent desire for vengeance.
"If I had him here," he muttered, "I'd crush him as I would a spider,"
and he stamped angrily upon the floor.
But where could he have got the rope? that was the next question. He
knew that there was none in the room, and how one could have been
smuggled in with the door locked was something that puzzled him.
Julius himself could not very well have brought one in, as on account
of its bulk it would have attracted the attention either of Jack
Morgan or himself. Perhaps the woman downstairs might know something
about it, he reflected, and this led him to go down and knock at Mrs.
O'Connor's door.
After a little pause Mrs. O'Connor came to the door and opened it.
"What's wanted?" she asked. Then, recognizing her visitor as one of
the lodgers in the room above, she added, "Is it the boy?"
"Yes; where is he?" demanded Marlowe, abruptly.
"It's gone to the doctor he is."
"Gone to the doctor!" repeated Marlowe, mystified. "What do you mean?"
"He was taken sick jist after you wint away, and as he couldn't open
the door which was locked, he pounded on the floor. My key wouldn't
fit, so he asked me to throw up a clothes-line, which I did, and the
poor crayther got out of the winder, and wint for the doctor. He'll be
back soon, I'm thinkin'."
"No, he won't," growled Marlowe. "He's a thief and a villain, and he's
run away."
"Did I iver hear the likes?" exclaimed Mrs. O'Connor. "Who'd have
thought it, shure?"
"I've a good mind to wring your neck, for helping him off," said
Marlowe, forgetting in his anger the politeness due to the fair sex.
"Would you, thin?" exclaimed Mrs. O'Connor, incensed. "Then my husband
would do the same to you, you brute! I am glad the boy's gone, so I
am, and I hope he'll never get into your clutches again, you monster!
Tim, wake up there, and defind yer wife from the thafe that's insulted
her!"
Before Tim O'Connor aroused from his sleep at his wife's call,
Marlowe, with a smothered execration, retreated to his own room, and
began to consider his position. He must fly. There was no doubt of
that. Remaining in his old haunts, he would, unquestionably, fall into
the hands of the police, now probably on his track. He must get away,
and that very night. Any delay would be dangerous. He must leave the
city and remain in hiding for the present.
While he was making hurried preparations steps were heard on the
stairs, and there was a loud knocking on the door.
"Who's there?" demanded Marlowe.
"Open, in the name of the law!" was the reply of the officers, who had
tracked him to his lair.
"Wait a minute," said Marlowe.
He rushed to the window and descended swiftly by the same rope which
had given Julius deliverance (it had escaped the attention of the
officers, on account of the darkness), and while the officers were
waiting for the door to be opened he eluded their vigilance and made
his escape.