"There, everything is understood," said Blizzard; "we are agreed upon
the 15th of next January. And you can bring enough men on from the West
to do the work?"
O'Hagan, thick-set, black, bristling, nodded across the table. "You have
guaranteed the money and the hats," he said; "I will guarantee the men.
What's behind that door?"
"Nothing but a junk-closet," said Blizzard. "Drink something."
O'Hagan poured three fingers of dark whiskey into a short glass and
drank it at one gulp. "After that one," he said, "the wagon until
the 15th."
"Yes," said Blizzard with some grimness. "There must be no frolicking.
And mind this, Jimmie: the more good American citizens who don't speak
English that you can corral the better. We don't want intelligence. We
want blind obedience with a hope of gain. And they mustn't know what
they are to do till it's time to do it. They should begin to come into
the city by the middle of December, a few at a time. Let 'em come to me
half a dozen at once for money, weapons, and orders."
Again O'Hagan nodded. This time he rose, and the two shook hands across
the table. O'Hagan seemed to labor under a certain emotion; but
Blizzard was calm,
"Keep me posted," he said, "and for God's sake, Jimmie, cut out the
little things. You're in big now. Forget your troubles and your wrongs.
Leave liquor alone and dynamite. Remember that on the 15th of next
January you and I'll be square at last with law and order and
oppression. Good luck to you!"
When O'Hagan had gone Blizzard moved his chair so that it faced the door
of the junk-closet. And he smiled occasionally as if he were one of an
audience at some diverting play. From time to time he took a drink of
whiskey and licked his lips. An hour passed, two hours, and always the
legless man kept his agate eyes upon the closet door.
When two hours and fifteen minutes had gone, he drew an automatic pistol
from his pocket, and held it ready for instant use. A few minutes later,
finding his original plan of humor a little tedious in the working out,
he spoke in a clear, incisive voice:
"Better come out of that now or I shall begin to shoot."
The door opened, and Rose staggered into the room. After a short pause,
during which she swayed and gasped for breath, an automatic pistol fell
with a clatter from her nerveless fingers. She sank to the floor all in
a heap and began to cry hysterically.
[Illustration: The door opened, and Rose staggered into the room]
Blizzard slid from his chair and secured her pistol. His face wore an
expression of amused tolerance. "Tell me all about it," he said. "Crying
_can't_ do any good, and talking may. You hid in the closet to
listen. It's not the first time. I found one of your combs, and saw
where you'd brushed away the dirt so's not to spoil your dress. Now I'd
like to know how much you know, and whom you've told it to?"
"What's the use?" said Rose with sudden desperation. "You've got
me--nobody'll ever know from me what I've heard to-night. You're going
to kill me."
"I doubt it," said Blizzard. "Now look up and tell me all about
everything."
"Well," she said, "I've been spying on you."
"I know that. I knew that the day you came. When you said you loved me I
knew you were lying."
"At first," she said, "I passed over everything I could find out about
you. It wasn't much."
"I took care of that."
"Then I made up things--just to keep the others from knowing I wasn't
playing fair. I wanted to put that off as long as I could. Anything I
really found out--like your first talk with O'Hagan--I just kept to
myself. I know I lied to you the first day. But I'm not lying now."
The legless man smiled tolerantly. "Why did you keep on trying to find
out things--if you didn't mean to use them?"
"Because I wanted to know all about you, what you were doing, what your
interests were. I thought I could be more useful to you that way."
"It's a good thing for you, Rose," said Blizzard, "that I guessed all
this. If I hadn't you wouldn't be alive now. And so, now that you've
gotten to know me pretty well, there's something about me, is there,
that's knocked your ambitions galley-west?"
"I had friends that trusted me," she said, "and I've played double with
them. And now I've got only you."
"Tell me one thing," and Blizzard asked the question with some
eagerness, "what particular quality of mine got you to feeling this way
about me?"
"I guess it's every quality now," said Rose, "but it started with me the
first time I heard you play, and knew that, whatever you'd been and
done, and were planning to do, you had a soul above it all. And I knew
that if your soul had ever had a fair chance you'd have been more like a
god than a man."
"Well, well," said Blizzard after a long silence, "perhaps. Who knows!
And so it was the music that changed your heart? Well, why not? Nobody
makes better music--unless it's Hofman."
The idea of appealing to the heart of quite another girl through his
music filled the legless man with a wild hoping. Why not? If he could
play himself clean out of hell whenever he pleased, why not another? He
would not tell her the possibilities of nobility that yet remained in
him. He would play them to her.
"Rose," he said, "you're the best pedaller I ever had. You've got music
in you. We'll practise up and give a concert. I'll ask some nobs in.
We'll turn the piano so that seeing how the pedalling is done won't
distract their attention from the music. But they won't hear our music,
Rose. It will be better than that. They shall roll in it, bathe in it,
see heaven!"
"That's what I saw."
Blizzard's agate eyes glinted with a strange light. It was as if the
beast in him was fighting with the God. But gradually all mercifulness,
all-pity, went out, and the fires which remained were not good to see.
He kissed her and she kissed him back.