"She paid the price?" he asked harshly. "How, Caroline?"
"She promised to marry him, Ronicky."
The bitter truth was coming now, and she cringed as she spoke it. The
tall body of Ronicky Doone was trembling with excitement.
"She made that promise so that you could go free, Caroline?"
"No, no!" exclaimed Bill Gregg.
"It's true," said the girl. "We were about to leave together when John
Mark stopped us."
"Ruth was coming with you?" asked Ronicky.
"Yes."
"And when Mark stopped you she offered herself in exchange for your
freedom?"
"Y-yes!"
Both she and Bill Gregg looked apprehensively at the dark face of
Ronicky Doone, where a storm was gathering.
But he restrained his anger with a mighty effort. "She was going to cut
away from that life and start over--is that straight, Caroline?"
"Yes."
"Get the police, Ronicky," said Bill Gregg. "They sure can't hold no
woman agin' her will in this country."
"Don't you see that it is her will?" asked Ronicky Doone darkly. "Ain't
she made a bargain? Don't you think she's ready and willing to live up
to it? She sure is, son, and she'll go the limit to do what she's said
she'll do. You stay here--I'll go out and tackle the job."
"Then I go, too," said Bill Gregg stoutly. "You been through enough for
me. Here's where I go as far as you go. I'm ready when you're ready,
Ronicky."
It was so just an offer that even Caroline dared not cry out against it,
but she sat with her hands clasped close together, her eyes begging
Ronicky to let the offer go. Ronicky Doone nodded slowly.
"I hoped you'd say that, Bill," he said. "But I'll tell you what: you
stay here for a while, and I'll trot down and take a look around and try
to figure out what's to be done. Can't just walk up and rap at the front
door of the house, you know. And I can't go in the way I went before. No
doubt about that. I got to step light. So let me go out and look around,
will you, Bill? Then I'll come back and tell you what I've decided."
Once in the street Ronicky looked dubiously across at the opposite
house. He realized that more than an hour had passed since Caroline had
left John Mark's house. What had happened to Ruth in that hour? The
front of the house was lighted in two or three windows, but those lights
could tell him nothing. From the inside of the house he could locate
Ruth's room again, but from the outside it was impossible for him to do
it.
The whole house, of course, was thoroughly guarded against his attack,
for attack they knew he would. The only question was from what angle he
would deliver his assault. In that case, of course, the correct thing
was to find the unexpected means. But how could he outguess a band of
trained criminals? They would have foreseen far greater subtleties than
any he could attempt. They would be so keen that the best way to take
them by surprise might be simply to step up to the house, ring the door
bell and enter, if the door were opened.
The idea intrigued him at once. They might be, and no doubt were,
guarding every obscure cellar window, every skylight. To trick them was
impossible, but it was always possible to bluff any man--even John Mark
and his followers.
Straight across the street marched Ronicky Doone and up the steps of the
opposite house and rang the bell--not a timid ring, but two sharp
pressures, such as would announce a man in a hurry, a brisk man who did
not wish to be delayed.
He took only one precaution, pulling his hat down so that the black
shadow of the brim would fall like a robber's mask across the upper part
of his face. Then he waited, as a man both hurried and certain, turning
a little away from the door, at an angle which still more effectually
concealed him, while he tapped impatiently with one foot.
Presently the door opened, after he made certain that someone had looked
out at him from the side window. How much had they seen? How much had
they guessed as to the identity of this night visitor? The softness of
the opening of the door and the whisper of the wind, as it rushed into
the hall beyond, were like a hiss of threatening secrecy. And then, from
the shadow of that meager opening a voice was saying: "Who's there?"
The very caution, however, reassured Ronicky Doone. Had they suspected
that it was he they would either have kept the door definitely closed,
or else they would have flung it open and boldly invited him in.
"I want to see Harry Morgan--quick!" he said and stepped close to the
door.
At his bold approach the door was closed like the winking of an eye,
until it was barely an inch ajar.
"Keep back!" came the warning through this small opening. "Keep clear,
bo!"
"Damnation!" exclaimed Ronicky. "What's the idea? I want Harry, I tell
you."
"Harry ain't here."
"Just hand me that piece of paper over there, and I'll write out the
message," said Ronicky, pointing to the little table just beyond the
doorman. The latter turned with a growl, and the moment he was halfway
around Ronicky Doone sprang in. His right arm fastened around the head
of the unlucky warder and, passing down to his throat, crushed it in a
strangle hold. His other hand, darting out in strong precision, caught
the right arm of the warder at the wrist and jerked it back between his
shoulders. In an instant he was effectively gagged and bound by those
two movements, and Ronicky Doone, pausing for an instant to make sure of
himself, heard footsteps in the hall above.
It was too late to do what he had hoped, yet he must take his prize out
of the way. For that purpose he half carried, half dragged his victim
through the doorway and into the adjoining room. There he deposited him
on the floor, as near death as life. Relaxing his hold on the man's
throat, he whipped out his Colt and tucked the cold muzzle under the
chin of the other.
"Now don't stir," he said; "don't whisper, don't move a muscle. Partner,
I'm Ronicky Doone. Now talk quick. Where's Ruth Tolliver?"
"Upstairs."
"In her room?"
"Yes."
Ronicky started to rise, then, for there had been a slight fraction of a
second's pause before the victim answered, he changed his mind. "I ought
to smash your head open for that lie," he said at a random guess. "Tell
me straight, now, where's Ruth Tolliver?"
"How can I tell, if she ain't in her room?"
"Look," said Ronicky Doone, "if anyone comes into the hall before you've
told me where the girl is, you're dead, partner. That's straight, now
talk."
"She's with Mark."
"And where's he?"
"He'd kill me if I tell."
"Not if I find him before he finds you. His killing days are ended!
Where's Mark and the girl? Has he run off with her?"
"Yes."
"They're married?" asked Ronicky, feeling that it might be a wild-goose
chase after all.
"I dunno."
"But where are they?"
"Heaven help me, then! Ill tell you."
He began to whisper swiftly, incoherently, his voice shaking almost to
silence, as he reached the heart of his narrative.