Our Second Burglary
Larry and I went in one entrance to the Times Building and out the
other. I led him across the street and into Seventh Avenue, turning
south. Already I was beginning to have the feeling of a hunted
criminal and to fear the bright lights.
“Now then, Larry,” I explained, “they’ve seen us like this. And I
think we’d better buy some different clothes. What do you think?”
“That’s right, sor. It’s old clothes for us and maybe a couple o’
days’ beard—and lose these bags somewhere as soon as may be.”
We walked along Seventh for a block or so until we came to a
second-hand store with a fat little Jew sitting, like the proverbial
spider, in the doorway. The moment he saw us coming he jumped to his
feet and walked us into his parlor, oozing what was meant for bluff
good-fellowship at every pore.
I told him that we had decided to take a job together with a
construction gang, and we wanted clothes that would wear better than
those we had on. I offered to swap him the clothes we had for the kind
we wanted. And there I made a mistake.
“Vant ta change close?” he cried. “Get into the back room there,
quick. I’ll take care of ye fine.”
We moved back to the rear of the shop and the Jew hustled us into a
filthy little room in which he evidently both slept and ate his meals.
A moment later he joined us with several old suits of rough-looking
workmen’s clothes and some worn, heavy boots—also a couple of rough
army shirts. “There you are, my friendths. Change quickly. You’re in
safe hands.”
Larry and I picked out a couple of suits and changed into them and the
army shirts very rapidly, paying very little attention to our Jewish
friend. The boots were harder, but we presently found a couple of
pairs that fitted us fairly well. Then we shifted our few personal
belongings and our money to our new clothes and tossed the old ones we
had taken off to the Jew. “There you are, Isaac,” said Larry. “There’s
the best two suits you ever had in your shop and you’re getting ’em
for nothing.”
The Jew rubbed his hands together. “Oh, no, my friends, you make a
joke,” said he. “Those good suits are twenty-fife tollars apiece, if
you leave the old clothes you take off. Oddervise they are thirty-five
tollars each.” He paused, smiling. “The boots and shirts I gif you for
only tventy tollars!”
We turned and stared at him. Instantly he began to retreat toward the
door, still smiling uncertainly. “You pay me or I call the bolice!” he
cried. “I don’t sell no disguises fer nodding.”
That little Jew never knew what struck him. Larry leaped in the air
and pounced on him as a cat pounces on a mouse. The little man had
time for only a frightened gasp before he was pinned to the floor, his
eyes starting from his head as Larry throttled him.
“Ye wud, wud ye, ye little Judas,” Larry cried, shaking him. “I’ve a
mind to kill ye this minute and set fire to your damned shack. Shall I
kill him, sor?” he asked, twisting his head to wink at me.
I hesitated. “Perhaps you’d better,” I said. “No, wait a minute. Maybe
he’ll be useful to us. We can come back and kill him later. Let him
up, but hold on to him.”
Larry lifted the little man to his feet and he instantly fell on his
knees again. “I vas only choking, sir. The clothes are for noddings.
Only let me go, and go away. I’ll say nodding to no one that you came
here.”
“All right,” I answered. “Let him go, Larry. But remember,” I added,
“that if you ever breathe a word to any one of our having been here,
one or both of us will come back here and kill you sure. We’ve
murdered nine men already this year, and you’re not a man anyway.”
Then we went out. The Jew’s face as we left was the touch of comedy we
both needed.
We walked on down Seventh Avenue, planning the future as we went. I
decided that it would be better for us to take separate rooms in
separate boarding houses, somewhere down around 10th or 11th Streets,
west of Sixth Avenue. It is, or was at that time, a forsaken backwater
of a district, whither the flotsam and jetsam of spent lives seemed to
drift, and where one seemed in New York but no longer of it. Thither
drifted old maids, widows in straitened circumstances, drunkards
slowly dying, remittance men of kindred vices, and the poorer element
of Americans new to the city—often fresh from the farm or the small
western town.
And late as it was, we had no difficulty in finding rooms. Larry hired
himself a little hole on the ground floor on 11th Street, with a tiny
window, no wider than his head, opening into an air-shaft. I found a
place in 13th Street a couple of flights up and a little larger than
his, but unostentatious enough. However, they were both fairly clean
rooms, and both houses had telephones. We insisted upon that. Of
course we had to pay in advance.
Larry gave his name as Tom O’Dowd and I gave mine as Michael Swift.
Then, when we had stowed our bags away, we went out and walked a
little, exchanged telephone numbers, and I arranged with Larry that he
should make it a point to stay in the house from ten to twelve every
morning and from six to midnight every night. The rest of the time he
could do as he pleased, taking care to keep out of sight of possible
police search. For I warned him that, in view of the high influences
evidently back of the attempt to arrest us, they would not give up the
search for us in a hurry.
We parted and went to bed without further incident that night. And
that was a good thing, for if two men ever needed a rest we did. I was
weak from loss of blood anyway, and I had had enough excitement that
day to satisfy any one.
But the moment my head touched the pillow I began worrying about first
Natalie and then Moore and it was long before I got to sleep. All that
I had accomplished so far, it seemed, was to bring peril to two more
people, instead of finding Margaret. But I was in a pretty low frame
of mind that night.
The next morning, however, things looked very different. The breakfast
they brought up to my rooms—for I explained that I had been knocked
down in the street, through my newness to traffic—was better than I
expected. And I was enjoying it thoroughly—until I opened the paper.
Then the breakfast was forgotten. For the front page had a full
account of the strange disappearance of Miss Van Cleef and the hue and
cry that had been raised on account of it.
The police were at fault as usual, and the paper I had, which happened
to be anti-Tammany, waxed almost hysterical over the great number of
recent disappearances and the helplessness of the police. The greater
part of the article was confined to this sort of thing.
About the only piece of news of value to me was the fact that Natalie
had been last seen when she left the house to start for Mrs.
Fawcette’s luncheon. She had, it seemed, arrived at the house, but a
little later had complained of a severe headache and had had a taxi
called and started for home in it. Nothing had been seen of her since.
Mrs. Fawcette was prostrated at the news and had canceled all her
social engagements. She was quoted as feeling almost responsible in a
way for the girl’s disappearance.
This was a daringly artistic touch in which I thought I recognized
Mrs. Fawcette’s peculiar brand of humor. For nearly an hour I prowled
around my room, shaking with rage and anxiety. It is anything but
pleasant to know that some one you love is in danger—terrible danger
perhaps—and be utterly helpless. I knew that Mrs. Fawcette was at the
bottom of Natalie’s disappearance. But I had not the faintest shadow
of a proof. Nor had I any idea as to where the girl might be.
But after a while I came to a decision. I was morally certain that
Mrs. Fawcette knew about the girl’s disappearance. Therefore I must
try somehow to get some information through Mrs. Fawcette. I could not
get this directly, for I was wanted by the police, and Mrs. Fawcette
had stolen the card-case that involved me in the burglarious entry
into Vining’s rooms. But it was possible that I might be able to find
out something in her house or through her servants. And suddenly my
heart gave a leap. Perhaps Natalie was still there, imprisoned in the
woman’s house. Mrs. Fawcette had canceled all her social engagements!
I could do nothing until midnight, however. That was certain. But
then, knowing the interior of the house, downstairs at least, as I
did, it would be very bad luck indeed if Larry and I, or I alone,
could not get into the house and out again without being caught. I had
no scruples in taking Larry, if he wanted to come, because I knew that
if we got into trouble with the police, I could clear him finally
through the Chief.
Before everything else, however, it was necessary to make sure that
the Chief in Washington knew the details of all that had happened up
to date. My experiences the night before had given me such an uneasy
sense of the omniscience of our opponents that I had asked Captain
Peters to communicate with the Chief himself, to make doubly sure that
the message was not intercepted, but I had my own report to make in
any case.
I had memorized the letters on the Underwood in the order in which
they were arranged, and after a laborious hour I turned a pretty full
account of Natalie’s disappearance, Moore’s capture and my own
adventures and suspicions into code, including my new address. Then I
picked up my cap, which concealed my bandaged head, and sallied forth
to send it off as a special delivery letter.
Fortunately nothing happened. I felt a good deal like a criminal, and
crossed corners to avoid passing in front of policemen. One or two of
them seemed to look at me closely, which may have been my imagination
or may have been due to my workman’s clothes. But none of them stopped
me.
It was a curious sensation, however. I had a feeling of insecurity
that sent cold chills up my back once or twice and I was exceedingly
glad to get back to the house. Being wanted by the police seems
exciting and warming in the story-books; but I would never recommend
anybody to try it on that account. I did not like it at all! Then,
too, if I had been arrested, with Moore gone, the fat _would_ have
been in the fire.
I mailed my letter and got safely back to the house. Then I called up
Tom O’Dowd, _alias_ Larry Malloy.
“Is that yersilf, sor? Sure it’s me that has been on the anxious seat
the morning through.”
“It is, Tom. And forget that ‘sir,’ will you? It’s a fine thing to
have one workman calling another workman sir, isn’t it!”
There was a pause. “’Twouldn’t do at all, sor,” said Larry.
I laughed. “There you go again. Now listen, Tom. Business is good, for
I’ve found a little job of work for the two of us to-night. It’s at a
lady’s house in the Seventies. ’Tis the house of the lady you saw
yesterday at noon. I want you to meet me to-night at the corner of
14th Street and Seventh Avenue, in the little saloon there, and bring
your tools with you. Do you understand?”
There was a silence.
“Hello, Tom?”
“Yis, sor —I mean, Mike. What sort of a job would it be this time?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“What’s the address, Mike?”
I told him, laughing.
“And what toime should I meet you?”
“Make it ten o’clock sharp, Tom.”
“All right. I’ll be there. Good-by,” and he rang off.
I ordered lunch in my room, and after the landlady had explained with
some heat that there would be an extra charge for having it served
that way, I got it. When luncheon was over I settled down and tried to
read a magazine. But it was hopeless. My thoughts would not keep
themselves on the story but kept chasing each other round and round,
until I gave it up as a bad job. Finally, I decided that a good rest
would be in order, in view of the possibility that I would be up most
of the night, and the certainty that I would need my wits about me. So
I lay down, and after half an hour or so fell asleep.
It was well after eight o’clock when I woke up, ravenously hungry. I
had a latch-key, so I left the house quietly without seeing any one. I
slouched into a little quick-lunch restaurant on Sixth Avenue and,
sitting with my cap on, put away a large-sized meal. I borrowed a
paper from the waiter and sat reading it and smoking, with my back to
the street, until about ten minutes to ten. Then I set out to meet
Larry. My head was still rather painful, but the autumn air was fresh
and invigorating, and the thought of action was an unfailing stimulus.
In any kind of affair that requires patient watching I am a hopeless
failure. For the thought of Natalie’s fate drove me nearly wild to do
something, although my plan promised a slim enough chance of learning
any news of her.
Larry was sitting in the little back parlor of the saloon, immersed in
a much-thumbed copy of the _Police Gazette_. I slouched up to his
table and sat down, banging on the top of it for the waiter. I had a
two-days’ beard by now and my hands were as dirty as they could get in
the time allowed them. So I had little fear of being picked up and
arrested for the burglary.
“Lo, Mike,” said Larry, looking up. “Phwat’s new wid ye?”
“Hell—nothin’!” I answered, and then to the waiter: “Gimme a beer.”
The waiter looked me over curiously until I caught his eye. Then he
shuffled hastily away. Larry leaned over the table. “Drink yer beer
and let’s git out av ut, sor, I don’t like the waiter. He moight be a
stool-pidgeon.” He winked. “This is a bit of a hang-out fer the
gangsters around here, d’ye disremember, sor?”
Larry and I had witnessed a bloodthirsty and noisy gun fight there
some weeks before, but I had forgotten the details, except that the
aim had been poor and the battle comparatively bloodless.
However, we drank our beer and then strolled out, turning north along
Seventh Avenue. Presently we boarded a Seventh Avenue car, and stood
out on the front platform until we got off at 55th Street.
We turned east on 55th, and Larry led me into a doorway and up a
flight of stairs into a little pool room with only a couple of pool
tables in it.
“This place is all right,” he whispered. “’Tis an old joint of mine.
Now we can sit down and palaver fer a bit. ’Tis too early to start
anything yet.”
We found two chairs and sat watching the game. “Don’t you think we
ought to look the place over from the outside first?” I asked him.
Larry grinned. “Sure, what wud Oi be doin’ the whole blessed
afternoon?” he demanded.
I stared at him. “Do you mean to say——”
“Asy now, sor,” he grinned. “Sure, ’twas no risk at all, at all, to be
slouchin’ by the house a few toimes. An’ I had a bit av luck, sor. A
woman druv up in a taxi wid a big trunk. I helped the taxi driver up
the stairs with ut, and then had a good look out the back windows
while the woman was payin’ him off. ’Twas but two doors away from the
house we’re afther, an’ I got the lay av the land. You lave the
gittin’ in to me, sor. ’Twill be as asy as kiss yer hand.”
“Maybe, Larry,” I whispered. “But we want some idea of who’s in the
place, too. I think we’d better get as close as we can and keep an eye
on the house for an hour or so. We don’t want to run into the whole
pack of them. And maybe we can get an idea of what they’re up to
also.”
“’Tis a good notion, sor. Let’s go.” And we tramped out again.
Mrs. Fawcette’s house was in the middle of the block between Fifth and
Sixth Avenues. It was a brown-stone house with two sets of double
doors up a flight of stone steps and a heavy iron grille leading into
the basement. To me it looked absolute madness to attempt to break in.
But I had a good deal of faith in Larry by this time. So I was
principally intent on watching the house and getting an idea as to how
many of Mrs. Fawcette’s friends we would find there.
However, although we stationed ourselves near by in an area, keeping a
sharp lookout for passing policemen, and watched for more than an
hour, no one either went in or came out. And Larry was getting as
impatient as I was.
Presently he touched me on the shoulder. “Oi have a plan, sor,” he
whispered. “Do but folley me close and mebbe we can tell more about
what is goin’ on in there. Wait a minute, sor. I bought this fer you
to-day. Do but take it now, and if ye need it, use it. ’Tis better to
kill than be killed. And they’ll stop at nothin’, what Oi’ve seen av
thim.” He slipped a revolver into my hand. “’Tis loaded and ready,
sor,” he finished.
Larry came out of the area, glanced sharply up and down the street and
then walked calmly away from Mrs. Fawcette’s house. There was a big
apartment house about five doors down and on the same side of the
street, with a tradesmen’s entrance running back along the side of it.
Larry made a bee line for this entrance, with me at his heels, and
turned into it. Fortunately there was no one in sight at the time and
we made our way quietly to the rear of the place.
It was pitch dark back there and I brought up against Larry with a
sudden bump. “Quiet now, sor,” he whispered. “Here’s the wall and
here’s a barrel to stand on, for ’tis a high one. Up you go.” He
grabbed my arm. “Wait! Throw me coat over ut first.”
I’ve climbed some walls in my day, but that one was the worst. It was
at least ten feet high and covered with glass at the top. The barrel
we had to stand on was a tin ash-can that rattled if you looked at it.
And we both had to jump from it to reach the top of the wall. It
separated the apartment yard from the one next door.
However, I threw Larry’s coat over the top to protect my hands from
the glass, and we scrambled over somehow, dropping on to a border of
soft earth on the other side. Larry managed to bring his coat down
with him.
Then, in single file, and moving as quietly as we could, we crossed
yard after yard, scaling the fences as we came to them. Fortunately
they were a good deal easier than the first one.
For twenty minutes or so we kept up this scrambling and dropping,
sneaking past lighted windows with our hearts in our mouths, and
expecting every minute to have some one throw up one of the blank
windows above us and yell for the police. Finally, when we were both
puffing and blowing, and I, at least, was hopelessly lost, Larry
caught my sleeve.
“’Tis the house, sor,” he whispered. “And here is where we’re going
in.”
I stared up at the house. Every window was dark and I could hear no
sound from inside. “But, great Scott, Larry,” I whispered, “where are
all the servants?” For I knew that Mrs. Fawcette had three at least.
“Gone, sor. Dismissed this morning. The lot av thim. I asked a
housemaid who knew some av thim. Asked her who lived there, and what
wid passin’ the toime av day, she told me that, too.”
“Well, there’s somebody there at all events, for one of the front
windows upstairs is lighted.”
Then Larry gave me a fright. He chuckled and then whistled very
gently. And before I could even tell him to shut up, there was a soft
footfall behind us and some one blundered into us in the darkness. I
grabbed the newcomer at once and felt for his throat, but Larry pulled
my hands away. “Tis all right, sor. ’Tis a friend of mine,” he
chuckled. “Well, Tim, phwat’s the news?”
“Call off your friend first,” came a hoarse whisper. “Sure, ’tis a
grip like a bear he has. But there’s no news at all, lad. Not a soul
has gone in or come out since ye left this afternoon. I was watching
out front till eleven. Then the block watchman came prowling around
and I come on back here. While I wuz waitin’ I took the liberty av
just liftin’ out thim bars fer ye, just to kape me hand in, like.”
Larry chuckled again. “Tis a good friend ye are, Tim. But now do ye be
gettin’ away out av ut an’ lave it to us. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” came the hoarse whisper, and the stranger departed as
noiselessly as he had come.
“Come on, sor,” whispered Larry. He took my hand and led me up to the
house until I could reach out and touch the wall. He seemed to be
quite able to see in the dark, for I heard him fumbling with something
for only a moment and then his hand caught mine again. “Sure, ’tis all
done for us, sor. The windy’s open now. Step over the sill and feel
for the floor with yer fut. And make no sound now for the love av
Mike.”
So I stepped into the house, closely followed by Larry. Once in, he
turned and closed the window behind us. “And now, sor,” he whispered,
“we’ll just be going through the place from cellar to garret. Do but
watch yer feet!” And suddenly a little beam of light flashed, dancing
about me. The search was on.