GREG'S SECOND FARE
He made the rest of the run to the Hotel Tours in a high state of
anticipation. That charming vivid face traveled between him and the
asphalt on which his chauffeur's gaze was fixed. His delight in the
prospect of the coming meeting was not unmixed with dread--for her. He
shuddered to think of the risks she ran wandering about town alone in
the small hours of night. Surely any one could see through her
disguise at a second glance. Her character was written in her
eyes--ignorant, innocent and daring. Clearly she had little idea of
the dangers she was braving.
His fare paid him liberally without demur and disappeared within the
hotel without giving Greg a second glance. Greg went on for half a
block and drew up beside the curb. Presently another cab came to a
stop behind him, and the seeming youth got out and paid the driver. He
(she) made a feint of entering the nearest doorway, and when the second
cab had gone on, returned, and slid into the seat beside Greg as a
matter of course. She had much the air of a confident child who
expects to find the whole world friendly.
"We'd better go back where we can watch that hotel," she said. "I
don't think he intends to remain there long."
Greg was utterly charmed by that "we." She took it for granted that he
was willing to help her. Well, she should not be disappointed. Little
did he care what it was all about; he was on her side anyhow. He
burned to assure her of this, but prudence suggested it might be better
to let things be taken for granted. He was glad it was to him she had
applied; he trembled to think of how she might have been deceived in
another taxi-driver. It did not occur to him that she might, like
children generally (she was scarcely more than a child) have an
intuitive perception of character.
He turned his cab around and they watched the entrance to the Tours
from across the street.
She plunged into the middle of her business without any preamble. "You
crossed on the Twenty-third Street ferry. I couldn't find a cab just
at that moment, so I had to follow on foot. So I lost you when you
drove away on the other side. Where did you take him over there?"
"Nowhere," said Greg. "It appeared he was just looking for a drink and
when we couldn't find a place we came back to New York."
"Is that all?" she said, disappointed and puzzled. "What reason did he
give for getting out of the cab on the way over?"
"No reason. He seemed to be a little drunk."
"Drunk? I can't understand it. He's not a drinking man."
"Who is he?" asked Greg with natural curiosity.
She gave him a look of appeal. "Don't ask me. I can't tell you the
truth."
Her speech had an alluring quality of strangeness. It was not that she
spoke with an accent exactly; it was more like the speech of an
American who might have lived long among foreigners. Greg could not
read her race from her features; she had great brown eyes with a fleck
of red in them when they caught the light; her skin was creamy. He
could not tell the color of her hair because of the cap that she had
pulled completely over her head in the style that youths affect, but he
guessed it was dark red to match her eyebrows. She had a soft and
babyish mouth that did not seem to go with the fiery eyes. Greg
guessed that the eyes expressed her character, while the mouth had just
been thrown in to make her adorable. Her voice was too deep for her
size, but that was no doubt assumed. Sometimes when she forgot it
scaled up. She was displaying a boyish nonchalance that was altogether
delightful and funny. To tease her Greg offered her a cigarette. She
declined it.
"I smoke a pipe," was her astonishing reason.
She did not, however, offer to produce it.
As she had forecast, the tall foreigner did indeed presently issue from
the Tours, and hailed one of the cabs waiting below the entrance. Greg
cranked his engine. The other cab turned around at the corner and
passed down beside them. Greg took care to be hidden behind his cab as
the other passed. Climbing in he followed it as a matter of course.
"What time do you suppose it is?" asked his companion.
"About three."
"What a night!" she murmured.
"You're dead right!" said Greg grimly. He remembered what he carried
behind and shivered.
They sped down town over the smooth pavement of Broadway. That
erstwhile busy street was deserted now except for an occasional motor
car like themselves roaring up or down with wide open throttle and
except for the ubiquitous cats prowling diagonally across from curb to
curb on errands known to themselves. The street lamps shone down like
moons as indifferently upon solitude as upon crowds; all the shop
fronts were dark.
Greg, it need hardly be said, was fairly eaten up with curiosity
concerning his passenger, yet he could not question her. Her air of
friendliness and confidence disarmed him. Questions implied a doubt.
She volunteered no information about herself, but seemed to feel the
necessity of saying something.
"Perhaps I ought to be riding in behind."
"Oh, no!" said Greg very quickly.
"Well, I thought it might look odd, my sitting here in front."
"Why shouldn't a taxi-driver be giving a friend a lift, especially at
this time of night?"
This seemed to make her uneasy. She said: "All right; but you know I'm
hiring you really, just like anybody."
Greg felt a most unreasonable hurt. "I didn't ask for any pay," he
said gruffly.
She was distressed. "Oh, you mustn't let your feelings be hurt! I've
got to pay you, you know. You don't know anything about me."
Greg answered with a look that meant: "I'd like to!" But she did not
take the hint. Aloud he said: "I won't take anything."
She let the matter drop.
The cab they were following drew up at the great Hotel Meriden at
Eightieth Street.
"I thought so," murmured the girl. "He is stopping here. The chase is
over for to-night. Drive on for a block or two, then come back. It
will give him a chance to get to his room."
Greg obeyed. As they returned and circled in front of the hotel she
said:
"Don't stop at the entrance. Go on to the end of the building and wait
there."
They came to a stop opposite the last of the great windows that lighted
the lobby and the lounge of the Meriden. Greg wondered, if the chase
were over, what they were to wait for. The answer came directly,
conveying an important bit of information obliquely.
She said, pointing to two lighted windows on the third floor of the
hotel: "I daren't go in until he goes to bed. Do you mind if I wait
here with you?"
"Do I mind--!" said Greg.
His tone was perhaps a little too warm. She glanced at him
suspiciously. Greg tried to look unconscious. Meanwhile he was
revolving the significance of what she had just said. So she lived
here too, and was, she implied, a member of the tall foreigner's
household. It occurred to Greg that her speech resembled the man's:
they used the same phrases as people do who live together. Certainly
in no other respect was there any likeness. Greg frowned. He resented
the thought that man and girl might be related.
She broke in on his thoughts by saying in her abrupt, boyish way: "You
don't seem like a common taxi-driver."
"Well, I haven't been one long," said Greg smiling.
He reflected that the surest way to win a person's confidence is to
offer one's own, and he proceeded to tell her the story of his meeting
with Hickey Meech, and how they had changed places, stopping short,
however, of the grim dénouement.
The girl was charmed. "Oh, I like that!" she cried bright-eyed. "I'm
glad you didn't want to leave America! I love America. I'm an
American."
He wondered a little what impelled her to state this fact so defiantly,
as if it had been called in question. It cheered him though, for
certainly the man they had been following was not an American. So they
could not be close relatives.
"I'm so glad it was you!" she went on.
"So am I!" he said smiling.
"A person like you can understand."
"But I understand nothing."
"Ah, don't ask me!" she said with a painful air. "I can't explain.
It's a family affair!"
That put Greg back where he had started from. He was silenced but not
satisfied.
"Suppose I need you again?" she asked. "Would you be willing----?"
"Try me!"
"How can I get you?"
"Well, I haven't any address yet. The man I bought the cab from told
me where he kept it, and I suppose I'll hang out there. Have you
anything to write it down with?"
She nodded, and produced a tiny note-book and pencil.
"Elmer Fishback," he began.
She wrote it down, smiling to herself at the comical sound of the
syllables.
"My right name is Gregory Parr," he hastily added.
"That's better," she said.
He continued: "Care of Bessie Bickle--he didn't say whether she was
Miss or Mrs."
"I'll just put B. Bickle."
"Gibbon Street south of Houston."
She wrote it all down.
All this while Greg was wondering how she expected to get across the
lighted lobby and by the hotel desk without discovery. The question
tormented him. Finally he could contain it no longer.
"You can't go in--like that," he blurted out.
She instantly mounted on her high horse. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you know--anybody could see----" he stammered, "anybody could
see that you were--well, that you were not a boy."
She sharply averted her head from him. He saw the crimson tide creep
up from her neck.
"I don't see what reason you have for saying that," she murmured.
He strove stumblingly to put her at her ease. "Oh, it isn't your
clothes. They're all right. You look out o' sight! But--but--well, a
girl is different. It's not altogether a matter of looks. I mean the
charm of a girl sticks out all over you."
She ignored this. "I'm not going through the lobby," she said
abruptly, "but through the service entrance. I bribed the watchman on
the way out, and he will let me in again."
Greg breathed more freely. A constrained silence fell between them.
"I'm not altogether a fool!" she presently burst out sorely. "I didn't
venture out until long after dark. And I kept away from all
brilliantly lighted places. Nobody found me out but you."
"That's all right," said Greg. "But suppose--well, suppose I hadn't
been, well--decent."
"I would have known exactly what to do!" she said with an intimidating
air that made him smile broadly. "But I knew you were the instant I
looked at you," she added.
"Thanks," said Greg.
She was still sore. "I don't see how you could have guessed!" she went
on. "At home when we have theatricals everybody says I make a
perfectly dandy boy!"
"That's different," said Greg smiling.
"What must you think of me!" she murmured in an humbler tone.
"Nothing but what is good," he said quickly. "I would be a fool if I
thought otherwise. I was only anxious for you because I supposed you
did not know the risks you ran."
"I knew," she said. "I armed myself."
Greg was both amused and thrilled at the diminutive size of her and her
unquestioned courage.
"It seemed necessary for me to do it," she explained further, "though
after all I have accomplished nothing. I did it for some one--some one
I cared for very much."
A sharp little pang of jealousy shot through Greg's breast.
Another cab drew up at the entrance to the Meriden in their rear.
Greg's companion stuck her head out to see who it was. She quickly
drew it in again.
"Two of the gang!" she said excitedly.
"What gang?" asked Greg involuntarily.
"His gang, the politicians. They've come after him, I suppose. We'll
know in a minute."
Leaning forward in front of his companion Greg saw two men entering the
Meriden, one of whom carried a heavy suit-case. They were
inconspicuous-looking men, soberly dressed, both under the average
height, one stocky, one thin. They had a foreign look like the man
they came to see. As they passed back into the hotel they came within
range of the big window beside Greg's cab, and the two could sit back
and watch them at their leisure. They proceeded to the desk and made
an inquiry. The clerk took down his telephone receiver. After a brief
colloquy over the 'phone, he nodded to the two men, who thereupon
seated themselves near by.
"He's coming down-stairs to them," murmured the girl.
Sure enough, Greg's former fare, the tall foreigner, presently stepped
out of the elevator. He had his hat and overcoat on and carried a
valise.
"Going out again!" said the girl excitedly. "Going away, it seems!"
When the men met no greetings were exchanged; it was as if they had but
lately parted. The three moved away from the vicinity of the hotel
desk engaged in low-voiced conversation. They came to a stand not far
from the window through which Greg and the girl were watching them.
Here they stood talking with guarded expressions, never thinking of
looking out into the dark street.
He who carried the suit-case exhibited it to the tall man, who
thereupon called the single sleepy boy on duty at this hour and gave
instructions. The boy took the suit-case and the tall man's own valise
and, proceeding to the entrance, summoned a cab; the bags were put
inside. Meanwhile the three lingered a moment to finish their talk.
The heavier of the two newcomers took from his breast pocket a rather
bulky little black book and handed it over to the tall man. The
latter's eyes visibly gleamed with satisfaction as he hastily ran over
the contents. He pocketed the book.
At sight of the book a startled exclamation escaped from the girl
beside Greg. "Why--why, that's my uncle's book! How did they get it?"
Greg marked well the look of the book. It seemed to be a "loose-leaf"
note-book with a number of miscellaneous papers of different sizes and
colors, caught in on a patent fastener. It was somewhat long and
narrow, of a size that would just fit a man's breast pocket, and it was
bound in black seal leather.
After the transfer of the book the three men started to move towards
the hotel entrance.
"Shall we follow?" asked Greg.
"Of course!" she said.
Slipping out of his seat, he cranked his engine in order to be ready
for them. The three men got in the waiting taxi, and it came on past
them bound downtown. Greg fell in behind them, but not close enough to
excite suspicion. Down that broad empty street one could see for half
a mile.
The girl did not speak again during this part of the journey. She was
staring ahead of her under knitted brows; the softness was all ironed
out of the babyish mouth and her little hands were clenched. Greg
wondered mightily what grim thoughts could be filling a creature so
sweet and delicate. He felt that he could aid her twice as efficiently
if he knew what it was all about but he would not risk a rebuff by
asking again.
At Seventy-second Street the cab in front stopped beside the subway
station, and Greg slowed down while they watched to see what the men
would do. The two short men alighted and disappeared down the stairs.
The cab went on.
"We follow the tall man?" asked Greg.
"Certainly. The others don't matter."
Straight down the long empty course of Broadway they were led at top
speed; through the mile of automobile warerooms, now dark, and the half
mile of theaters and restaurants where a few lights still maintained a
dingy semblance of festivity, including the strange blue glare of the
little photograph stores, which for some mysterious reason keep open
all night. In this quarter a few revelers were still to be seen, bound
more or less homeward, their loud and repetitious assurances of regard
only broken by violent quarrels; while owl taxis like Greg's own
surreptitiously followed them on the chance of picking up business.
Still they kept on down Broadway through the nondescript stretch
between Herald and Madison Squares, the Tenderloin of a bygone day.
"He must be bound for Brooklyn," said Greg.
But at Twentieth Street the car in front turned to the east. Greg
followed at a discreet distance. In that dark and silent quarter
greater care was necessary if they wished to keep the man in front from
guessing that he was followed. At Gramercy Park his car turned south
again into Irving Place, and they lost it for a moment.
When they cautiously turned the Irving Place corner they saw that the
other cab had come to a stop half-way down that short street. Even as
they looked the tall man's bags were carried into a building on that
side. His cab went on.
They drove slowly past the place where he had disappeared. It was a
modest little hotel with a Spanish name: Hotel dos Estados Unidos.
Through the windows of the lobby they saw the tall man standing by the
desk, apparently being assigned to a room.
"What does he come here for?" murmured the girl more and more perplexed.
Greg went on for a block, and turning, came slowly back on the other
side. The hotel lobby was now empty, except for the dozing clerk
behind the desk. Greg brought the cab to a stop just beyond the hotel
where they could still command an oblique view of the lobby.
"What now?" he said.
"I don't know what to say," she murmured. "I can't imagine why he
should come here to sleep. I can't believe that he does mean to sleep
here. I believe he'll be out again. Let's wait and see."
They continued to discuss the situation, a discussion with little
profit as far as Greg was concerned, for he lacked a clue. The burden
of her cry was:
"If only I knew what he was up to!"
By and by another cab drew up to the little hotel and a man and woman
got out; innocent belated travelers these, who have nothing to do with
the story; but the sight of them gave Greg an idea.
"I might slip into the lobby while this man's registering," he said,
"and glance over his shoulder. I could find out then what name the
other registered under. I could make out to be after a drink of water
or something. That is, if you wish me to."
"Yes, do so!" she said eagerly. "It might give us a clue."
Returning to her two minutes later Greg said: "He wrote himself down as
Antonio Bareda of Santiago de Managuay."
The effect on the girl was startling. She fell back in her seat.
"What! My uncle's name! Has he stolen that too? Oh, something
terrible is going on!"
Greg stood with a foot on the running-board at a loss what to say. He
finally murmured diffidently: "If you could tell me what you
suspect----"
"I can't! I can't!" she cried. "I don't understand it myself. It is
too horrible!"
Presently more composed, she said: "One thing is sure, I daren't leave
here now. I must find out what he's up to if I have to wait till
morning. But you must be tired out. Why don't you get in the back of
the cab and sleep until daylight, then I'll call you, and you can
relieve me. If necessary I can run the car. We have one at home to
save the big car."
Greg reminded afresh of his original grisly passenger felt a cold chill
down his spine. That problem remained to be solved. He hung
irresolute.
"Go on, get in," she urged, putting her hand around like a chauffeur to
open the door.
Greg hastily gripped it. "Don't open it!" he cried.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"The fact is there's something I didn't tell you," he lamely explained.
"I've got a sou--I mean a drunken man in there."
"What! You mean we've been carrying him around all night!"
"I guess he didn't mind."
"Oh, bother!" she said. "We'll have to dump him out here. There's no
help for it. This is important. It may be a matter of life and death!"
In speaking, she instinctively turned her head and looked through the
glass behind her.
"Don't look!" cried Greg cold with horror.
But she only pressed her face closer to the glass. "There isn't
anybody there," she said.
Greg astonished threw open the door. It was true. The cab was empty.
He gasped; his jaw dropped; he stared at the empty place like an idiot.
"What's the matter with you?" said the girl laughing. "I suppose he
just woke up and walked off when you weren't looking."
"He was past walking," said Greg.
His grim air impressed her. "What do you mean?"
"He was dead."
"Dead!" she cried. "Are you mad?"
Greg shook his head. "Dead as mutton!"
Her lip trembled like a child's. "Good heavens, what a city this is!"
"So it seems!" said Greg grimly.
"What had happened to him?"
Greg told her what part of the story he had omitted before.
"Then that was why the man was so anxious to sell you the cab?"
"That was why."
"What has become of it?"
"God knows!"
They looked at each other in dumb amazement. Suddenly the girl's
expression changed.
"Did my--did that man who was riding with you know?" she asked sharply.
"No. I told him the same as I told you; that my other fare was drunk."
"I wondered why he rode outside with you. It is not like him to do
such things. You are sure he had no hand in it?" she persisted.
This was a new thought to Greg. "Why, no," he said. "How could he?
He just happened to pick me up later. But I don't know. Why not?
There was something queer about all his actions."
"What was he like, the dead man?"
"A nice old gentleman; plump, smooth-shaven, kindly-looking; looked
like a Spanish-American. By Gad! they were all Spanish, weren't they?"
The girl's face gradually sharpened with anxiety now.
Greg went on: "There was a valise under the body; that's gone too."
"Like that you saw in the hotel up-town?" she asked breathlessly.
"The very same! I never thought of it!"
A low cry escaped the girl.
"He had an odd-looking ring on; octagonal red stone with characters cut
in it."
"My uncle!" she cried despairingly. "I suspected it! They have done
for him! I was too late!" She covered her face with her hands.
Greg gazed at her in silent sympathy.
The hands came down; the soft face hardened. "No time for mourning
now. Since I couldn't save him, I mean to avenge him!"
"If I could tell you how sorry I am!" murmured Greg.
"Don't sympathize with me," she said quickly. "It brings the tears
back. I must be hard. Help me to be hard."
"I am at your service in all ways," he said simply.
"You see what happened now?" she said.
"I am beginning to."
"I don't know yet how they killed him, but it's clear enough how they
disposed of the body. That man learned in some way that it was in your
cab. That is why he hired you to take him across the river. The other
two men were on board the ferry too. But I paid no attention to them
because I was watching him, the man in your cab. When you and he left
the cab I followed you up forward. Then the other two went to the cab,
of course; searched the body, and then cast it over the rail. You see
now why he made you drive on last."
"Of course!"
"Planned with devilish cleverness!" she cried. "That is like him! Why
weren't my eyes opened to his true character earlier! But I'll make
him pay! If the body is missing, will it be possible to bring the
crime home to the murderer?"
"Difficult," said Greg. "It may be found floating in the river."
"How could one find out if it was found?"
"It would be taken to the morgue."
"Watch for it for me, will you?" she cried eagerly. "I couldn't go to
such a place. You watch for it, and if it is brought there secure it
for me!"
Greg promised. "What do you suppose is his object now in masquerading
as the man he killed?" he asked.
"That I can't guess. I know what happened; I don't know what underlies
it all. We've got to find out."
Once more that "we" inspired Greg to high deeds.
In speaking of the man they had followed it was natural to turn to the
spot where they had last seen him. As he did so Greg saw his very
figure reappear once more in the lobby of the little hotel. He called
the girl's attention to it.
"Quick! Crank your engine!" she said excitedly. "I thought he would
be coming out again!"
The tall man spoke to the clerk, and the latter took down the telephone
receiver.
"Calling for a taxi," suggested Greg.
Meanwhile he got his engine started, and climbed into the seat beside
her.
"Better move down the street a little way," she suggested. "He might
catch sight of us here."
Greg obeyed. They waited in the next block. In due course a taxi-cab
drew up before the little hotel, and the tall man got in, without
baggage. The cab turned west in the side street. Greg followed at a
furlong's distance.
This time the chase was not very long. They were led around the lower
side of Union Square and down University Place. The first cab turned
west in Ninth Street, and crossing Fifth Avenue drew up before a
residence on the south side of the dignified, old-fashioned block
beyond. Greg kept on to Sixth Avenue.
"Did you get the number?" she asked.
"Five-thirty."
"I thought so. That's the headquarters of the politicians. I have
seen him address letters there."
Meanwhile the other cab having dropped its passenger had returned
eastward.
"Go back to that house!" ordered the girl. Her eyes were shining like
embers. A great excitement possessed her.
They drew up before the door of five-thirty.
"Are you a brave man?" she asked abruptly.
Greg, much taken aback, answered as stoutly as he could: "I hope so."
"Then take this, and bring me back the little black book." She pressed
a piece of cold metal into his hand.
For a brief second Greg hesitated. The strange command took his breath
away.
"I do not ask it for myself," she pleaded. "The happiness of a whole
people depends on it!"
Greg seriously doubted the wisdom of the proceeding, but being young he
could not take a dare from a girl. He slipped out of his seat.
"Keep the engine running," he said. "Whom shall I ask for at the door?"
"Señor Francisco de Socotra."
He crossed the pavement. That which she had thrust in his hand was a
small but business-like automatic revolver.