"Yes?" he responded with a curling lip, cold eyes to hers.
"I demand--"
"No you don't!" he cut her short with a snarl. "You're not in a
position to demand anything. Maybe it would be as well for you to
remember who you're dealing with."
"And----?"--heart sinking again.
"And I've been made a fool of just as long as I can stand for it. I'm a
crook--like yourself, my lady, but with more backbone and some pride in
being at the head of my profession. I'm wanted in a dozen places; I'll
spend the rest of my days in the pen, if they ever get me. Twice today
I've been within an ace of being nabbed--kindness of you and your
Maitland. Now--I'm desperate and determined. Do you connect?"
"What--?" she asked breathlessly.
"I can make you understand, I fancy. Tonight, instead of dropping to
the back yard and shinning over the fences to safety, I took the fire
escape up to the top flat--something a copper would never think of--and
went through to the hall. Why? Why, to interrupt the tender tête-à-tête
Maitland had planned. Why again? Because, for one thing, I've never yet
been beaten at my own game; and I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks.
Moreover, no man yet has ever laid hands on me in anger and not
regretted it." The criminal's voice fell a note or two, shaking with
somber passion. "I'll have that pup's hide yet!" he swore.
The girl tried to nerve herself. "It--it doesn't seem to strike you,"
she argued, controlling her hysteria by sheer strength of purpose,
"that I have only to raise my voice to bring all Broadway to my rescue."
For by now the cab had sheered off into that thoroughfare, and was
rocking rapidly south, between glittering walls of light. A surface car
swooped down upon them, and past, making night hideous with gong and
drumming trucks, and drowning Anisty's response. For which reason he
chose to repeat it, with added emphasis.
"You try it on, my lady, and see what happens."
She had no answer ready, and he proceeded, after waiting a moment: "But
you're not going to be such a fool. You have no pleasure in the
prospect of seeing the inside of the Tombs, yourself; and, besides, you
ought to know me well enough to know...."
"What?" she breathed, in spite of herself.
Anisty folded his arms, thrusting the right hand beneath his coat.
"Maitland got only one of my guns," he announced ironically. "He'd've
got the contents of the other, only he chose to play the fool and into
my hands. Now I guess you understand,"--and turning his head he fixed
her with an inflexible glare, chill and heartless as steel,--"that one
squeal out of you will be the last. Oh, I've got no scruples; arrest to
me means a living death. I'll take a shorter course, by preference,
and--I'll take you with me for company."
"You--you mean you would shoot me?" she whispered, incredulous.
"Like a dog," he returned with unction.
"You, a man, would--would shoot a woman?"
"You're not a woman, my lady: you're a crook. Just as I'm not a man:
_I'm_ a crook. We're equals, sexless, soulless. You seem to have
overlooked that. Amateurs often do.... To-night I made you a fair
proposition, to play square with me and profit. You chose to be
haughty. Now you see the other side of the picture."
Bravado? Or deadly purpose? How could she tell? Her heart misgave her;
she crushed herself away from him as from some abnormally vicious,
loathly reptile.
He understood this; and regarded her with a confident leer, inscrutably
strong and malevolent.
"And there is one other reason why you will think twice before making a
row," he clinched his case. "If you did that, and I weakly permitted
the police to nab and walk us off, the business would get in the
papers--your name and all; and--what'd Maitland think of you then, my
lady? What'd he think when he read that Dan Anisty had been pinched on
Broadway in company with the little woman he'd been making eyes
at--whom he was going, in his fine manlike way, to reach down a hand to
and yank up out of the gutter and redeem and--and all that slush? Eh?"
And again his low evil laugh made her shudder. "Now, you won't risk
that. You'll come with me and behave, I guess, all right."
She was dumb, stupefied with misery.
He turned upon her sharply.
"Well?"
Her lips moved in soundless assent,--lips as pallid and bloodless as
the wan young face beneath the small inconspicuous hat.
The man grunted impatiently; yet was satisfied, knowing that he had her
now completely under control: a condition not hard to bring about in a
woman who, like this, was worn out with physical fatigue and
overwrought with nervous strain. The conditions had been favorable, the
result was preeminently comfortable. She would give him no more trouble.
The hansom swerved suddenly across the car-tracks and pulled up at the
curb. Anisty rose with an exclamation of relief and climbed down to the
sidewalk, turning and extending a hand to assist the girl.
"Come!" he said imperatively. "We've no time to waste."
For an instant only she harbored a fugitive thought of resistance; then
his eyes met hers and held them, and her mind seemed to go blank under
his steadfast and domineering regard. "Come!" he repeated sharply.
Trembling, she placed a hand in his and somehow found herself by his
side. Regardless of appearances the man retained her hand, merely
shifting it beneath his arm, where a firm pressure of the elbow held it
as in a vise.
"You needn't wait," he said curtly to the cabby; and swung about, the
girl by his side.
"No nonsense now," he warned her tensely, again thrusting a hand in his
breast pocket significantly.
"I understand," she breathed faintly, between closed teeth.
She had barely time to remark the towering white façade of upper
Broadway's tallest sky-scraper ere she was half led, half dragged into
the entrance of the building.
The marble slabs of the vestibule echoed strangely to their
footsteps--those slabs that shake from dawn to dark with the tread of
countless feet. They moved rapidly toward the elevator-shaft, passing
on their way deserted cigar- and news-stands shrouded in dirty brown
clothes. By the dark and silent well, where the six elevators (of which
one only was a-light and ready for use) stood motionless as if
slumbering in utter weariness after the gigantic exertions of the day,
they came to a halt; and a chair was scraped noisily on the floor as a
night-watchman rose, rubbing his eyes and yawning, to face them.
Anisty opened the interview brusquely. "Is Mr. Bannerman in now?" he
demanded.
The watchman opened his eyes wider, losing some of his sleepy
expression; and observed the speaker and his companion--the small,
shrinking, frightened-looking little woman who bore so heavily on her
escort's arm, as if ready to drop with exhaustion. It appeared that he
knew Maitland by sight, or else thought that he did.
"Oh, ye're Mister Maitland, ain't yous?" he said. "Nope; if Misther
Bannerman's in his offis, I dunno nothin' about it."
"He was to meet me here at two," Anisty affirmed. "It's a very
important case. I'm sure he must be along, immediately, if he's not
up-stairs. You're sure--?"
"Nah, I ain't sure. He may've been there all night, f'r all I know. But
I'll take yous up 'f you want," with a doubtful glance at the girl.
"This lady is one of Mr. Bannerman's clients, and in great trouble."
The self-styled Maitland laid his hand in a protecting gesture over the
fingers on his arm; and pressed them cruelly. "I think we will go up,
thank you. If Bannerman's not in, I can 'phone him. I've a pass-key."
The watchman appeared satisfied: Maitland's social standing was
guaranty enough.
"All right, sir. Step in."
The girl made one final effort to hang back. Anisty's brows blackened.
"By God!" he told her in a whisper. "If you dare...!"
And somehow she found herself at his side in the steel cage, the gate's
clang ringing loud in her ears. The motion of the car, shooting upwards
with rapidly increasing speed, made her slightly giddy. Despite
Anisty's supporting arm she reeled back against the wall of the cage,
closing her eyes. The man observed this with covert satisfaction.
As the speed decreased she began to feel slightly stronger; and again
opened her eyes. The floor numbers, black upon a white ground, were
steadily slipping down; the first she recognized being 19. The pace was
sensibly decreased. Then with a slight jar the elevator stopped at 22.
"Yous know the way?"
"Perfectly," replied Anisty. "Two flights up--in the tower."
"Right. When yous wants me, ring."
The car dropped like a plummet, leaving them in darkness--or rather in
a thick gloom but slightly moderated by the moonlight streaming in at
windows at either end of the corridor. Anisty gripped the girl more
roughly.
"Now, my lady! No shennanigan!"
A futile, superfluous reminder. Temporarily at least she was become as
wax in his hands. So complex had been the day's emotions, so severe her
nervous tension, so heavy the tax upon her stamina, that she had lapsed
into a state of subjective consciousness, in which she responded
without purpose, almost dreamily, to the suggestions of the stronger
will.
Wearily she stumbled up the two brief flights of stairs leading to the
tower-like cupola of the sky-scraper: two floors superimposed upon the
roof with scant excuse save that of giving the building the distinction
of being the loftiest in that section of the city--certainly not to
lend any finishing touch of architectural beauty to the edifice.
On the top landing a door confronted them, its glass panel shining
dimly in the darkness. Anisty paused, unceremoniously thrusting the
girl to one side and away from the head of the staircase; and fumbled
in a pocket, presently producing a jingling bunch of keys. For a moment
or two she heard him working at the lock and muttering in an
undertone,--probably swearing,--and then, with a click, the door swung
open.
The man thrust a hand inside, touched an electric switch, flooding the
room with light, and motioned the girl to enter. She obeyed passively,
thoroughly subjugated: and found herself in a large and well-furnished
office, apparently the outer of two rooms. The glare of electric light
at first partly blinded her; and she halted instinctively a few steps
from the door, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the change.
Behind her the door was closed softly; and there followed a thud as a
bolt was shot. An instant later Anisty caught her by the arm and,
roughly now and without wasting speech, hurried her into the next room.
Then, releasing her, he turned up the lights and, passing to the
windows, threw two or three of them wide; for the air in the room was
stale and lifeless.
"And now," said the criminal in a tone of satisfaction, "now we can
talk business, my dear."
He removed his overcoat and hat, throwing them over the back of a
convenient chair, drew his fingers thoughtfully across his chin, and,
standing at a little distance, regarded the girl with a shadow of a
saturnine smile softening the hard line of his lips.
She stood where he had left her, as if volition was no longer hers. Her
arms hung slack at her sides and she was swaying a trifle, her face
vacant, eyes blank: very near the breaking-down point.
The man was not without perception; and recognized her state--one in
which, he felt assured, he could get very little out of her. She must
be strengthened and revived before she would or could respond to the
direct catechism he had in store for her. In his own interest,
therefore, more than through any yielding to motives of pity and
compassion, he piloted her to a chair by a window and brought her a
glass of clear cold water from the filter in the adjoining room.
The cold, fresh breeze blowing in her face proved wonderfully
invigorating. She let her head sink back upon the cushions of the easy,
comfortable leather chair and drank in the clean air in great deep
draughts, with a sense of renewing vigor, both bodily and spiritual.
The water helped, too: she dabbled the tip of a ridiculously small
handkerchief in it and bathed her throbbing temples. The while, Anisty
stood over her, waiting with discrimination if with scant patience.
What was to come she neither knew nor greatly cared; but, with an
instinctive desire to postpone the inevitable moment of trial, she
simulated deadly languor for some moments after becoming conscious of
her position: and lay passive, long lashes all but touching her
cheeks,--in which now a faint color was growing,--gaze wandering at
random out over a dreary wilderness of flat rectangular roofs, livid in
the moonlight, broken by long, straight clefts of darkness in whose
depths lights gleamed faintly. Far in the south the sky came down
purple and black to the horizon, where a silver spark glittered like a
low-swung star: the torch of Liberty.
"I think," Anisty's clear-cut tones, incisive as a razor edge, crossed
the listless trend of her thoughts: "I think we will now get down to
business, my lady!"
She lifted her lashes, meeting his masterful stare with a look of calm
inquiry. "Well?"
"So you're better now? Possibly it was a mistake to give you that rest,
my lady. Still, when one's a gentleman-cracksman----!" He chuckled
unpleasantly, not troubling to finish his sentence.
"Well?" he mocked, seating himself easily upon an adjacent table.
"We're here at last, where we'll suffer no interruptions to our little
council of war. Beyond the watchman, there's probably not another soul
in the building; and from that window there it is a straight drop of
twenty-four stories to Broadway, while I'm between you and the door. So
you may be resigned to stay here until I get ready to let you go. If
you scream for help, no one will hear you."
"Very well," she assented mechanically, turning her head away with a
shiver of disgust. "What is it you want?"
"The jewels," he said bluntly. "You might have guessed that."
"I did...."
"And have saved yourself and me considerable trouble by speaking ten
minutes ago."
"Yes," she agreed abstractedly.
"Now," he continued with a hint of anger in his voice, "you are going
to tell."
She shook her head slightly.
"Oh, but you are, my lady." And his tone rasped, quickened with the
latent brutality of the natural criminal. "And I know that you'll not
force me to extreme measures. It wouldn't be pleasant for you, you
know; and I promise you I shall stop at nothing whatever to make you
speak."
No answer; in absolute indifference, she felt, lay her strongest
weapon. She must keep calm and self-possessed, refusing to be terrified
into a quick and thoughtless answer. "This afternoon," he said harshly,
"you stole from me the Maitland jewels. Where are they?"
"I shall not tell."
He bent swiftly forward and took one of her hands in his. Instinctively
she clenched it; and he wrapped his strong hard fingers around the
small white fist, then deliberately inserted a hard finger joint
between her second and third knuckles, slowly increasing the pressure.
And watched with absolute indifference the lines of agony grave
themselves upon her smooth unwrinkled forehead, and the color leave her
cheeks, as the pain grew too exquisite. Then, suddenly discontinuing
the pressure, but retaining her hand, he laughed shortly.
"Will you speak, my lady, or will you have more?"
"Don't," she gasped, "please...!"
"Where are the jewels? Will you?"
"No."
"Have you given them to Maitland?"
"No."
"Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"Stop that nonsense unless.... Where did you leave them?"
"I won't tell--I won't.... Ah, please, _please!_"
"Tell me!"
"Never.... Ah-h!..."
An abrupt and resounding hammering at the outer door forced him to
leave off. He dropped her hand with an oath and springing to his feet
drew his revolver; then, with a glance at the girl, who was silently
weeping, tears of pain rolling down her cheeks, mouth set in a thin
pale line of determination, strode out and shut the door after him.
As it closed the girl leaped to her feet, maddened with torture, wild
eyes casting about the room for a weapon of some sort, of offense or
defense; for she could not have endured the torture an instant longer.
If forced to it, to fight, fight she would. If only she had something,
a stick of wood, to defend herself with.... But there was nothing,
nothing at all.
The room was a typical office, well but severely furnished. The rug
that covered the tile floor was of rich quality and rare design. The
neutral-tinted walls were bare, but for a couple of steel engravings in
heavy wooden frames. There were three heavily upholstered leather
arm-chairs and one revolving desk-chair; a roll-top desk, against the
partition wall, a waste-paper basket, and a flat-topped desk, or table.
And that was all.
Or not quite all, else the office equipment had not been complete.
There was the telephone!
But he would hear! Or was the partition sound-proof?
As if in contradiction of the suggestion, there came to her ears very
clearly the sound of the hall door creaking on its hinges, and then a
man's voice, shrill with anger and anxiety.
"You fool! Do you want to ruin us both? What do you mean----"
The door crashed to, interrupting the protest and drowning Anisty's
reply.
"I was passing," the new voice took up its plaintive remonstrance, "and
the watchman called me in and said that you were telephoning for me----"
"Damn the interfering fool!" interrupted Anisty.
"But what's this insanity, Anisty? What's this about a woman? What----"
The new-comer's tones ascended a high scale of fright and rage.
"Lower your voice, you ass!" the burglar responded sternly. "And----"
He took his own advice; and for a little time the conference was
conducted in guarded tones that did not penetrate the dividing wall
save as a deep rumbling alternating with an impassioned squeak.
But long ere this had come to pass the girl was risking all at the
telephone. Receiver to ear she was imploring Central to connect her
with Ninety-eighty-nine Madison. If only she might get Maitland, tell
him where the jewels were hidden, warn him to remove them--then she
could escape further suffering by open confession..
"What number?" came Central's languid query, after a space. "Did you
say Nine-ought-nine-eight?"
"No, no, Central. Nine-o-eight-nine Madison, please, and
hurry------hurry!"
"Ah, I'm ringin' 'em. They ain't answered yet. Gimme time.... There
they are. Go ahead."
"Hello, hello!"
"Pwhat is ut?"
Her heart sank: O'Hagan's voice meant that Maitland was out.
"O'Hagan--is that you?... Tell Mr. Maitland------"
"He's gawn out for the noight an'------"
"Tell him, please------"
"But he's out. Ring up in the marnin'."
"But can't you take this message for him? Please...."
The door was suddenly jerked open and Anisty leaped into the room, face
white with passion. Terrified, the girl sprang from the desk, carrying
the instrument with her, placing the revolving chair between her and
her enemy.
"The brass bowl, please,--tell him that," she cried clearly into the
receiver.
And Anisty was upon her, striking the telephone from her grasp with one
swift blow and seizing her savagely by the wrist. As the instrument
clattered and pounded on the floor she was sent reeling and staggering
half-way across the room.
As she brought up against the flat-topped desk, catching its edge and
saving herself a fall, the burglar caught up the telephone.
"Who is that?" he shouted imperatively into the transmitter.
Whatever the reply, it seemed to please him. His brows cleared, the
wrath that had made his face almost unrecognizable subsided; he even
smiled. And the girl trembled, knowing that he had solved her secret;
for she had hoped against hope that the only words he could have heard
her speak would have had too cryptic a significance for his
comprehension.
As, slowly and composedly, he replaced the receiver on its hook and
returned the instrument to the desk, a short and rotund figure of a
man, in rumpled evening dress and wearing a wilted collar, hopped
excitedly into the room, cast at the girl one terrified glance out of
eyes that glittered with excitement like black diamonds, set in a face
the hue of yeast, and clutched the burglar's arm.
"Oh, Anisty, Anisty!" he cried piteously. "What is it? What is it? Tell
me!"
"It's all right," returned the burglar. "Don't you worry, little man.
Pull yourself together." And laughed.
"But what--what----" stammered the other.
"Only that she's given herself away," chuckled Anisty: "beautifully and
completely. 'The brass bowl,' says she,--thinking I never saw one on
Maitland's desk!--and 'O'Hagan, and who the divvle are you?' says the
man on the other end of the wire, when I ask who he is."
"And? And?" pleaded the little man, dancing with worry.
"And it means that my lady here returned the jewels to Maitland by
hiding them under a brass ash-receiver on his desk--ass that I was not
to know!... You are 'cute, my lady!" with an ironic salute to the girl,
"but you've met your match in Anisty."
"And," demanded the other as the burglar snatched up his hat and coat,
"what will you do, Anisty?"
"Do?"--contemptuously. "Why, what is there to do but go and get them?
We've risked too much and made New York too hot for the two of us, my
dear sir, to get out of the game without the profits."
"But I beg of you----"
"You needn't,"--grimly. "It won't bring you in any money."
"But Maitland--"
"Is out. O'Hagan answered the 'phone. Don't you understand?"
"But he may return!"
"That's his lookout. I'm sorry for him if he does." Anisty produced the
revolver from his pocket, and twirled the cylinder significantly. "I
owe Mr. Maitland something," he said, nodding to the white-faced girl
by the table, "and I shouldn't be sorry to----"
"And what," broke in the new-comer, "what am I going to do meanwhile?"
"Devil the bit _I_ care! Stay here and keep this impetuous female from
calling up Police Headquarters, for a good guess.... Speaking of which,
I think we had best settle this telephone business once and for all."
The burglar turned again to the desk and began to work over the
instrument with a small screwdriver which he produced from his coat
pocket, talking the while.
"Our best plan, my dear Bannerman, is for you to come with me, at least
as far as the nearest corner. You can wait there, if you're too
cowardly to go the limit, like a man.... I'll get the loot and join
you, and we can make a swift hike for the first train that goes
farthest out of town.... A pity, for we've done pretty well, you and I,
old boy: you with your social entrée and bump of locality to locate the
spoils, me with my courage and skill to lift 'em, and an equitable
division.... Oh, don't worry about _her_, Bannerman! She's as deep in
it as either of us, only she happens to be sentimental, and an outsider
on this deal. She won't blab. Besides, you're ruined anyway, as far as
New York's concerned.... Come along. That's finished: she won't send
any important messages over that wire to-night, I guess."
"My dear young lady!" Rising and throwing the overcoat over his arm, he
waved his hat at her in sardonic courtesy. "I can't say it has been a
pleasure to know you but--you have made it interesting, I admit. And I
bid you a very good night. The charwoman will let you out when she
comes to clean up in the morning. Adieu, my dear!"
The little man bustled after him, bleating and fidgeting; and the lock
clicked.
She was alone ... utterly and forlornly alone ... and had lost ... lost
all, all that she had prized and hoped to win, even ... even him....
She raised fluttering, impotent white hands to her temples, trying to
collect herself. In the outer room a clock was ticking. Unconsciously
she moved to the doorway and stood looking for a time at the white,
expressionless dial. It was some time--a minute or two--before she
deciphered the hour.
Ten minutes past two!... Ah, the lifetime she had lived in the past
seventy minutes! And the futility of it all!