Disaster!
I stood motionless, my hands above my head, staring at Moore and
taking in the situation. Then I became aware that Vining was speaking
again.
“Wait a minute,” he was saying. “You, Felix, whistle for the car from
the window there, while I keep this fool covered.” Then he went on to
me: “You thought you’d mix yourself up with something that didn’t
concern you, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to get your fill of that
before we’re through with you. I had already made arrangements to
dispose of you, my dear Clayton, but when we took your friend Moore
into custody, I happened to find his note to you, and I added a word
or two myself, as I thought it as well to dispose of you both at the
same time. Your efforts to interest yourself in us were amusing for a
while. But they have gone far enough.”
I paid no particular attention to this tirade. One of the other men
had been struggling with the rusty fastenings of the window, and now
he got it up and stuck his head out and whistled. I glanced toward
Moore. He had twisted his head so that he could see me, and as I
caught his eye he contrived to signal with his head for me to get out.
His generosity was the last straw. On a sudden my rage boiled over and
I went completely berserk. Vining’s second companion, a thin,
dark-visaged fellow, stood almost beside me, and I dropped my hands,
swung round to him and let him have it on the point of the jaw. He
went down full length, with a crash that shook the house.
Vining gave a shout and started for me, reversing and clubbing his
revolver as he came, while the other fellow, who had just drawn his
head in the window, ran forward, crouched and flung himself at my
legs.
Vining caught the look in my eye and swerved aside just before he
reached me, so that I had time to bark my knuckles on the bullet head
of the third man. It spoiled his tackle, but his shoulder struck my
legs and we went down together. I saw Vining coming for me again, and
as I went over backwards, I contrived to catch his accomplice by the
shoulders and hoist him over my head. Vining’s blow with the butt of
the revolver must have fallen on the man’s back, for I felt the thud
of it and the fellow gave a yell of pain. In an instant I had wriggled
free and struggled to my feet. Vining had jumped back and was waiting
for me, his gun pointed again and murder in his eye. Nevertheless,
madness still held me, I ducked my head a little and went for him.
Then the revolver went off almost in my face. My last conscious
recollection was the heat of it on the top of my head.
When I regained consciousness I was in total darkness. I sat up,
hanging on to a splitting head with both hands and trying to recall
what had happened to me. A moment later I discovered that the back of
my head was wet and sticky. From somewhere in the house there was an
uproar of voices and trampling feet. I got up, felt about me, and
finally located first the door and then the wall switch. The lights
flared on and showed me an empty room. My assailants were gone and
they had taken Moore with them.
For a moment or two I confess that I felt overwhelmed with a sense of
sheer disaster. Moore was gone to goodness knew what fate—and I had
done nothing to help him. And Natalie——
Then came the reflection that at least they had not taken me with them
too. I was still free and still able to act on Moore’s behalf. And by
this time Natalie might have reached her aunt’s house safe and sound.
A little reflection convinced me that they had left me behind because
Vining’s shot had been heard. Probably the driver of their car had
joined them, and the three men had carried out Moore and the
dark-visaged victim of my first blow between them, unless the latter
had regained consciousness. They might have even had to fight their
way out through a crowd. That also probably explained the present
commotion in the house, which was steadily drawing nearer. Then my
heart leaped with hope. Perhaps Vining had been captured and Moore
freed!
The door into the hall was closed but not locked. As I opened it a
roar of voices swept up to meet me from the hall below.
I walked to the stairs and then staggered slowly down them, my hands
to my head. The lower hall was full of people, including two
policemen. They were all talking excitedly. But there was no sign of
either Moore or Vining. I must have been a pretty object, having
smeared blood from my head over most of my face, for when they caught
sight of me, there was a shout of surprise and then an open-mouthed
silence. I staggered on down to them unassisted.
“Officer,” I called weakly, “I have been robbed and nearly murdered. I
live just around the corner. Take me home, will you? Then I’ll tell
you all about it. I need a doctor.”
Instantly the official spirit asserted itself. “Clear out of here, all
of you!” shouted one of the policemen to the indignant crowd. The
other came up a step or two and took my arm. “Easy now, sir, and
what’s your address, did you say?”
I told him my address very quietly, and we passed on and out of the
house, through a crowd that looked to me as big as Times Square on
election night. At the corner the crowd was still following us, in
spite of the efforts of the other policeman to disperse it. But the
car I had hired was still waiting. I signaled to the driver and he
opened the door for us. “Drive us round a bit,” I told him, “and then
take me home. I want to lose this crowd.” Then I and the two stalwart
but puzzled cops entered the car and drove off amid a small cheer. I
never have understood why a man who is fool enough to get himself hurt
deserves a cheer in the minds of the casual crowd.
I had a relapse as soon as we got into the car, and by the time we
drew up at my apartment and they had practically carried me in, I had
about convinced them that I was too sick to be questioned for the
present.
Larry met us at the door in answer to my ring. He gave a shout of rage
at the sight of my face. But he picked me up, the whole six-foot odd
of me, and carried me into my room as gently as a mother carries a
child. Poor Larry, I hated to fool him like that, but the cops had to
be fooled too.
I lay back on the bed and spoke in a feeble voice. “Larry, fetch a
doctor, will you? Or wait, you’d better tie this up yourself.” Then I
turned to one of the policemen. “Officer, I’m afraid I can’t tell you
much. Three men I have never seen before signaled to me as I was
passing in my car and asked me to help them. They had a car pulled up
in front of that house and were standing beside it. They told me that
two people had been overcome with gas and they needed help to carry
them out. I never thought that it might be a trap. Then when I got
upstairs they tried to rob me, and when I resisted, one of them shot
me. That’s all I know. I—I——” and as a conclusion to my speech, I fell
back in as good an imitation of a faint as I could contrive.
Larry leaned over me at once, and as he did so I whispered, “Get rid
of them.”
Then he straightened up again. “By God, they’ve pretty nigh done for
him, the blackguyards!” he cried. “’Tis a docther he needs, and he’ll
talk no more to-night, gentlemen. It might kill him.”
From under lowered lids I could see the two cops glance at each other.
I stirred a little. “Larry,” I called faintly, “thank the officers in
a fitting manner for bringing me home and—and—beg them to come back in
the morning. I’ll tell them—the details—then.” I closed my eyes again.
Larry turned on the two cops. “Why ain’t ye catchin’ the fellas that
done this thing?” he demanded. “He’s told ye all he knows an’ he’s a
dyin’ man this minut. I’ve to dress his head before he dies on me
hands.” Then he reached into his pocket, brought out some bills, from
which he selected two and presented one to each of the cops. “There
now, come back in an hour if ye like. Maybe he can talk then,” and
Larry darted out of the room.
The two stood irresolute for a moment. One of them took out a notebook
and wrote in it. And after a glance at each other they went out. I
heard one of them talking to Larry for a moment and then the outside
door closed on them. A moment later Larry came back with a basin of
hot water and some cloths.
While he was bandaging my head, I told him what had happened. The
bullet had creased me—that is, it had grazed my skull under the skin
for an inch or so and come out again. The wound was nothing that would
not heal up in a day or two. But my news was very serious indeed, and
Larry, who had taken a great liking to Moore, was full of indignation
and threats of vengeance.
However, we had little time allowed us for making plans for the
future.
I had just finished telling Larry of my fears concerning Miss Van
Cleef as he pressed down the last bit of adhesive plaster on the back
of my head. I sent him to call up her aunt’s house and find out
whether the girl had returned or not. But before he reached it, the
telephone bell rang. Larry answered, and after a word or two that I
could not catch, came running in to me, his face long with
apprehension.
“Sure, sor, ’tis thot Captain Peters on the wire. He wants to speak to
ye and says there’s not a minut to spare.”
I hurried into my study and sitting down at my desk, took up the
receiver. “Hello, Captain Peters. This is Clayton speaking.”
“Hello, Clayton,” came the police officer’s gruff voice over the wire.
“I’ve just heard that there was a row up at our friend’s place this
afternoon and you got hurt. What happened?”
“They got him,” I answered. “Got clear away with him as far as I know,
and nearly got me. They know all about us.”
“That’s bad—bad,” answered the captain. “But there’s worse to follow.
You’ve got to get out of there at once, sir. At once. I just learned
that there’s a charge against ye and they’re coming after ye to-night.
Some matter of a burglary. Your card-case was found in the burgled
house of a man named Vining. If they ever get ye in jail they’ll keep
ye there, or maybe they’ll do ye in on the way. Better get out and lay
low right away.”
“But, great Scott, Captain, can’t you——”
“I cannot, sir. I haven’t the power in any case, and they’re big,
powerful men ye’re up against. Even the Chief could not save you from
arrest once the warrant is issued. Better get out, sir.”
“Well, then, can you get in touch with our Chief—Moore’s Chief—and
tell him the news, Captain?”
“I can that, sir, and I will!”
“One thing more, Captain. Are they going to arrest Larry?”
“Your man, sir. No, I don’t think so. The warrant is only for ye
yerself. But they may take him in as an accessory after the fact, if
they don’t find ye—or even if they do get ye.”
“But can’t you prevent that, Captain? I’ve got to have a base
somewhere. I think they got Miss Van Cleef to-day, too. If Larry stays
here, and I can reach him by ’phone, it will help some.”
“Better not risk it then, sir. Take him with ye. And the two of ye go
into hiding. I’m risking a lot to tell ye this, but get out quick.
They’re likely on the way for ye now.”
“All right, Captain,” I answered. “Tell the Chief immediately
everything about Miss Van Cleef, too, will you?”
“I will that, sir. Good-by!” and the captain rang off.
Events were moving too fast for me, and I sat at the desk for a
moment, my aching head reeling with the thousand and one details of it
all and the thousand and one dangers that faced me. But there was no
time to lose.
I shouted to Larry to pack a bag for himself and one for me. “We’re
getting out of here at once,” I told him. “The police are after us
both. That is, we are getting out if you want to come. There’s no
warrant for your arrest, but there is for mine.”
“By gad, sor, thot’s bad,” Larry shouted back from the other room.
Then I heard him chuckle, “Shall I take me little kit o’ tools?”
“Of course take it. Do you want them to find it?”
A moment later we were both packing like mad. We threw a few things
into a couple of bags, and then with a last look around we closed the
door of my apartment behind us for an indefinite period, and turned
our faces toward the cold world, or, at least, toward the elevator
which was to take us into the cold world. I always kept a considerable
amount of cash available, so that at least we had money.
Events that day had gone as badly as they possibly could go. I was
desperately worried about Moore and about Natalie also, although she
might simply have been delayed in getting home. But somehow Larry’s
chuckle had changed the trend of my thoughts, and I faced the prospect
of venturing forth into hiding with a good deal of elation. I was free
and comparatively undamaged. And if Moore could not be rescued by a
man with the whole weight of the Secret Service behind him, then
something was wrong. Anyway, when there was work to be done, even
bombing reluctant Germans, I had always appreciated the opportunity of
something stirring and immediately forgotten to worry about the event.
But our first glimpse of the outside world was a good deal warmer than
either of us cared about.
We were just approaching the front door when a police patrol wagon
drew up in front of it outside. Of course it was quite dark by this
time, but the arc light on the corner showed me the patrol wagon and
several policemen besides the driver. I hesitated an instant, but two
policemen jumped down at once and approached the entrance and there
was nothing to do but put a bold face on it and walk out.
“Come on, Larry,” I muttered. “If they stop us we’ll bolt in opposite
directions and meet at ten o’clock in the Times Square drug store.”
And so we sallied forth.
We walked out calmly enough, looking the two policemen casually in the
eye, and they stepped back to let us pass. But when we reached the
sidewalk I looked back, like a fool, and one of them had his eye on
us. The other was talking to the elevator attendant and I suddenly
realized that he was probably being told that I had just passed him.
I glanced away at once, and my eye suddenly fell on the car that Larry
had hired that afternoon, still standing where I had left it. I found
out afterwards that Larry had hired it for the entire evening, and the
driver figured that if he stuck around he could claim pay for that
time, as I had not dismissed him. It was questionable ethics, as he
must have believed me to be nearly killed and very unlikely to want
him again, but I blessed him for it.
“There’s the car, Larry. Jump in!” I told him quickly. As we
approached it, there was a shout from behind us in the doorway.
“To the Grand Central!” I shouted to the driver, “and go like the
devil.”
We tumbled into the car as the driver stepped on his starter.
Fortunately the engine started at once, and he slipped in his first
gear and the clutch almost immediately, so that we were already moving
when the first cop reached the car. “Here,” he yelled. “Stop, you! I
want to talk to you!” And he jumped on to the running board.
I leaned toward him. “Sorry. No time. Got to catch a train. Jump down
before you get hurt!”
We were out from the curb now and picking up speed. But the cop had
plenty of pluck. Instead of answering he fumbled for his whistle and
put it to his lips. At the same moment my fist shot past his arm to
the side of his jaw, and he released his hold and fell backward,
rolling over and over in the street. I hated to do it, but we had no
time for argument.
There came another shout from behind, together with a startled
exclamation from our own driver, who had turned and seen the blow. He
threw out his clutch and put on his brake as police whistles began to
ring out behind us, together with the clatter of competent policemen’s
brogues.
Larry leaned forward, and the driver started and gave a gasp as he
felt a cold muzzle nuzzling into the tenderest part of his neck. “Put
in that clutch and step on her,” urged Larry, “or I’ll blow hell out
of you and drive her myself.”
Unlike the cop, the driver did not stop to argue. He threw in his
clutch and stepped on the accelerator at once, and we whisked round a
corner with a patrol wagon manned by excited cops and shrilling
whistles so close behind that they could have reached out and touched
us. Once in the straight we drew away from them fast, however. A
moment later we turned into Broadway going south.
“Go on,” urged Larry, “step on her, you —— ——”
The patrol wagon turned into Broadway a full block behind us,
shrilling and clanging madly. Fortunately we had joined and then
passed some other cars, and the two traffic cops we passed had no idea
which car to stop. The first one tried to stop us all, but our driver,
with the fear of death on him, whisked round and past him. Of course
the other cars stopped, blocking the road and effectually preventing
the patrol wagon from passing either. The second cop merely stared.
“Up a side street, quick!” I yelled to our driver. And as we turned
out of Broadway I looked back to see the vibrating patrol wagon still
trying to get past the jam.
“Go over to Eighth,” I told the driver, “and then downtown to Broadway
and on down to Times Square. Make it snappy. Here’s fifty dollars for
yourself alone for this night’s work, and if they ever catch you, tell
them that we are a desperate gang of thugs and threatened your life.”
And I fell to laughing, and leaning over, stuffed the bills into his
pocket.
“But—but what’s it all about, sir?” asked the driver tremulously, over
his shoulder.
“It’s a mistake, lad, that’s all. But I can’t stop to straighten it
out now, see? However, I don’t think any harm will come to you about
it, even if they did get your number.”
“But this afternoon——”
“That was more of it,” I told him. “But I can’t explain it now. Drop
us at Times Square and get back to the garage, and if you really want
to help us out a little, tell the police, if they catch you, that you
dropped us at the Grand Central.”
The driver was silent at that, and nothing more was said until he
slowed up alongside of the Times Building. Then he turned and leaned
toward me. “Grand Central it is, sir,” he said. “I guess I know a
gentleman when I see one.”
But I wonder how much the fifty dollars had to do with his flattering
opinion.