IN WHICH CECIL BANBOROUGH DRIVES A BLACK MARIA.
Cecil Banborough's feelings can be better imagined than described at the
announcement of the calamity which had befallen Miss Arminster. The
winsome ways of the charming Violet had impressed the young man more
deeply than he knew until he was brought face to face with a realisation
of the miseries to which his own folly had exposed her.
"Where have they taken her?" he demanded of Smith as soon as his
consternation could find expression.
"She's at the police station round the corner from here."
"Where did this occur?" asked Banborough.
"On Fourteenth Street," replied Smith, "Spotts and I met Miss
Arminster, and she called out as she passed me, 'Don't forget "The
Purple Kangaroo!"' A minute later the police arrested her, and when the
crowd heard that she was a Spanish spy, I swear I think they'd have torn
her in pieces if the officers hadn't put her in a prison van and got her
away."
The tragedian paused, shivering from his recent agitation, and Cecil,
seeing his condition, rang for some brandy.
"But what does it all mean?" asked the actor, tossing off his drink.
"I know what it means," cried Banborough, "but there's no time to talk
now. We've not a moment to lose!" and he rushed downstairs.
Spotts met them at the doorway, and, as they walked rapidly along, the
young Englishman poured into his companions' ears an account of what he
had learned from Marchmont of the Spanish plot and the unforeseen use
which had been made of the title of his book, while the tragedian
rehearsed again the story of Miss Arminster's arrest, of his own
hair-breadth escape from the clutches of the law, of his prodigies of
valour in connection with Spotts, whom he had met in his headlong
flight, and who, it seemed, had prevailed on his more timid companion to
follow the prisoner in a hansom.
"It's a bad business," admitted Cecil; "but what's to be done?"
"Done!" exclaimed Smith in tragic tones. "Why, rescue the lady instantly
and leave the city without delay. In the present excited state of the
public no amount of explanation will avail. We may all be arrested as
confederates. We must act!"
"You're talking sense for once," said Spotts. "Heroic measures are the
only ones worth considering, and if you"--turning to Banborough--"will
stand by us, we may come out on top after all."
"You can depend on me to any extent," declared the young author. "I've
got you into this scrape, and I'll do my best to get you out of it."
"That's just what I expected of you, Bishop!" exclaimed Spotts, grasping
his hand. "We can't waste time in talking. You must go and find the
other members of the company, Tyb, and warn them of their danger. Now
where can we rendezvous outside the city? Speak quickly, some one!"
"The leading hotel in Yonkers," said Smith.
"Right you are," replied Spotts. "Get there as soon as possible and wait
for us to turn up. How about funds?"
"I've plenty of ready money with me," volunteered Cecil, "and very
fortunately a draft to my credit arrived to-day, which I've not yet
cashed."
"Good!" said Spotts. "We're in luck. Give Tyb fifty."
Banborough whipped out a roll of bills and handed the desired amount to
the tragedian without demur.
"Now, off you go," cried his brother actor, "and keep your wits about
you."
Smith nodded and hailed a passing cab.
"Come," said Spotts to the author, "we've no time to lose."
"What's your plan?" asked Cecil as they swung round the corner and
sighted the police station.
"Haven't got any as yet. We'll see how the land lies first. The Black
Maria's still before the door. That's lucky!"
Sure enough, there it was, looking gloomily like an undertaker's wagon,
minus the plate glass.
"Must be hot inside," commented the actor, directing a glance at the two
little grated slits high up in the folding doors at the back, which
apparently formed the only means of ventilation.
Cecil shuddered as he thought of the discomforts which the girl must be
enduring, and longed to throw himself upon the vehicle and batter it to
pieces. But calmer judgment prevailed, and controlling himself he
approached the police station, saying:
"Let me go first. You might be recognised. I'll try and find out where
she's to be taken."
He accordingly went up to the driver of the Black Maria, who, cap in
hand, was wiping his perspiring forehead.
"A fine pair of horses that," he said, indicating the mettlesome bays
attached to the vehicle, which, in spite of their brisk run, were
tossing their heads and fretting to be off.
"Oh, they're good enough," was the curt reply. "A trifle fresh, but we
need that in our business."
"Something interesting on to-day?" queried Cecil.
"Who the devil are you, anyway?" asked the driver abruptly. And the
Englishman, lying boldly, replied:
"I'm the new reporter on the _Daily Leader_. I was here last week with
Mr. Marchmont on a burglary case."
"Oh, the New Rochelle robbery," suggested the driver.
Cecil acquiesced, drawing a quiet sigh of relief that his random shot
had hit the mark.
"Yes," he said, "that's it. I was introduced round, but I don't remember
meeting you."
"Might have been the other driver, Jim?"
"Now I come to think of it, it was Jim."
"Jus' so. Well, there's copy for you in this case."
"So I imagined. It's your first political arrest, isn't it?"
"That's where the hitch comes in," said the man. "I don't know where to
deliver the prisoner. When the court's made up its mind they'll let me
know, and I'll drive on. Now in the Civil War we sent them politicals to
Fort Wadsworth."
"So you have to wait till they decide?"
"You bet I have. And there ain't no superfluity of shade on the sunny
side of this street neither," replied the driver, as he slipped off his
coat and hung it with his cap on a peg beside the box seat of the Black
Maria.
"Suppose you were to run into the court and see how they're getting on,"
suggested Banborough, slipping a coin into his hand. "I want a word with
the police when they've finished. Mention the _Daily Leader_. I'll
watch your horses."
"Oh, they'll stand quiet enough," said the man. Then, suspiciously,
jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards Spotts, he asked: "Who's yer
pal?"
"Just a green hand whom I'm initiating into the business."
"You're pretty green yourself or you wouldn't have set me up," said the
driver. "But if you'll mind them horses I'll just run across to
McCafferty's saloon and have a schooner of beer, and then drop into
court for you."
"All right," responded Cecil. "Only don't be all day; I've got another
detail."
"Say," rejoined the man, "I can put beer down quicker than you can
wink." And he ran across the street.
"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Banborough, as the man left them.
"That's easily answered," replied Spotts. "When he's in court we'll jump
on the box, drive for all we're worth till we've eluded pursuit, then
rescue Miss Arminster and be off to Yonkers."
"But that's laying ourselves open to arrest," expostulated the
Englishman.
"We've done that already," said his friend.
"But they'll know we're not officials: we've no uniform."
"What, not when the driver has obligingly left his hat and coat?" said
Spotts. "Slip them on. You've dark trousers, and no one will suspect."
"But driving fast--?" protested the author.
"Well, we're going to a 'hurry call,' of course. You've no invention,
man! And besides, I can't drive."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Banborough. "I understand all about
horses."
"So I supposed, as you're an Englishman."
"I don't care much for this business, you know," remonstrated the
unfortunate author.
"Neither do I," replied the actor. "But we might as well be killed for a
sheep as a lamb, and we've a good chance of winning. Here comes the
driver; give him a bluff."
"I ain't lost much time," panted that individual as he passed them,
wiping the foam from his moustache with the back of his hand, and
adding: "I'll run right into court and be out again in a jiffy!"
"Stay long enough to see how things are going," called Cecil.
"All right! Guess the horses'll stand," he replied, and disappeared
within the building.
"Now, Bishop!" cried Spotts. And before the Englishman could think, his
coat and hat had been whipped off and thrown on the box seat along with
a small handbag which the actor carried, and he was being helped into
the very hot and unsavoury clothes of the driver.
"Lucky they fit you," said his friend. "Lead the horses carefully to the
corner, and see they don't make more noise than necessary. If the driver
should come out, you let 'em go; otherwise wait for me. Know where to
drive?"
"Along the park?"
"No," said Spotts. "Double several times, then try one of the avenues to
the Harlem River. There are plenty of bridges. Now, careful!" And as
Cecil moved slowly off, leading the horses towards the upper corner, the
actor lounged up to the entrance of the court, blocking the doorway with
his athletic figure.
After what seemed an eternity, Banborough achieved the corner of the
block, and, mounting the box, turned the horses' heads down the side
street, keeping an eagle eye upon the entrance of the court-room, within
which his companion had now disappeared. Perhaps three minutes had
elapsed when the actor came out, running quietly towards him so as not
to attract attention. The street was well-nigh deserted, and no one
seemed to have noticed the movements of the Black Maria.
"Walk slowly till we're round the corner, and then drive for all you're
worth!" gasped Spotts, springing on to the seat beside him.
Cecil followed his directions implicitly, and a moment later they went
tearing down the side street, and swung round the corner into an avenue,
nearly colliding with a cable-car in the process, and causing a wild
scatteration of passengers and pedestrians.
"Here, that won't do!" cried the actor above the rattle occasioned by
their rapid progress over the cobblestones. "Ring the bell, or we'll be
arrested!"
"Where?" called Banborough.
"That knob under your feet. Press it!"
The Englishman did as directed, and instantly the most hideous clamour
arose beneath the carriage. The horses, which had been flying before,
excited by the noise, put down their heads and tore blindly forward. The
vehicle rocked and swayed, and the avenue and its occupants swept by in
an indistinguishable blur.
"They'll surely track us by the noise!" screamed Cecil, trying to make
himself heard above the horrible din.
"We're too far off by this time," returned Spotts. "Can you manage the
horses?"
"Oh, they're all right so long as we've a clear road!" yelled Banborough
in reply.
They were now well under way, the traffic ahead of them swerving wildly
to right and left at the insistent clamour of the bell. They rushed
forward by leaps and bounds, an occasional stretch of asphalt giving
them an instant's respite from the dreadful shaking of the cobblestones.
They spoke but little, excitement keeping them quiet, but the Englishman
suffered keenly in spirit at the thought of what the delicate girl, shut
up in that dark stifling prison behind them, must be undergoing.
Suddenly in front of them loomed up the helmeted figure of a policeman,
swinging his club and gesticulating wildly.
"Run him down!" howled Spotts; and Cecil, who had caught some of the
madness of their wild flight, lashed the horses afresh and hurled the
Black Maria straight at the officer of the law.
The constable, still gesticulating, made a hasty leap to one side, and
they swept by a huge express-wagon which was coming up the
cross-street, nearly grazing the noses of the rearing horses, and
catching a glimpse of the driver's startled face.
So they ran on and on, faster and faster as the traffic became less, and
the pair of bays settled down in earnest to the race. Suddenly the
street narrowed, and a confused mass of carts and horses seemed to block
up the farther end. Banborough put on the brake, and with considerable
difficulty succeeded in bringing his team to a standstill on the outer
edge of the throng.
"It's the Harlem River," cried Spotts, "and the drawbridge is up, curse
the luck!"
There was nothing for it but wait, and Cecil, jumping down, patted the
horses and examined the harness to make sure that everything was all
right.
"You seem in a rush," said a neighbouring driver.
"Hurry call to Harlem," replied Banborough brusquely.
"Whereabouts?"
"Oh, police station."
"What station?"
The Englishman grunted an inaudible reply as a forward movement of the
crowd betokened that the bridge was again in position. A moment later
they were trotting towards freedom and the open country, Cecil making
the horses go slower now, wishing to reserve their strength for any
unforeseen emergency.
As the buildings grew more scattered, and patches of woodland appeared
here and there, the actor began to discuss with his companion their plan
of campaign.
"The sooner we get Violet out of her prison," he said, "and leave this
confounded vehicle behind, the better."
"It's rather too well populated about here to suit me," replied
Banborough. "But the police haven't been idle since we started, and our
flight has probably been telegraphed all over the countryside. Perhaps
we'd better run the risk, for if we're caught red-handed with the Black
Maria we'll find some difficulty in proving our innocence."
"Besides which, I'm anxious to get Miss Arminster out of durance vile as
soon as possible, for I think the Leopard's been caged long enough,"
said Spotts, laughing.
"Why do you people insist on calling Miss Arminster the Leopard?" asked
Banborough.
"Oh," said his companion, "I think I'd better let you find that out for
yourself. It would hardly be fair to Violet, and besides--" Then,
breaking off suddenly as they entered a strip of woodland, he changed
the conversation abruptly, saying: "Here's as good a place as we're
likely to find--no houses in sight, and a clear view of the road in
either direction." And as Cecil drew up the horses he jumped off the
box.
"How are you going to open the confounded thing?" asked the author.
"Well," replied his companion, "I should think a key would be as good a
method as any other."
"The best, provided you've got the key."
"I imagine you'll find it in the right-hand outside pocket of the
driver's coat," said Spotts. "I thought I heard something jingle as I
was helping you on with it."
"Right you are," said the Englishman. "Here it is!" producing two
nickel-plated keys on a ring. "Now we'll have her out in no time." And
running round to the back of the vehicle, he unlocked the folding doors
and threw them wide open, crying:
"My dear Miss Arminster, accept your freedom and a thousand pardons for
such rough treatment. What the--!" And he stopped short, too surprised
to finish; for, instead of the petite form of the fascinating Violet,
there shambled out on to the road the slouching figure of a disreputable
tramp, clothed in nondescript garments of uncertain age and colour,
terminating in a pair of broken boots, out of which protruded sockless
feet. He had a rough shock of hair, surmounted by a soft hat full of
holes, and a fat German face, whose ugliness was further enhanced by the
red stubbly growth of a week's beard.
"I guess youse gents has rescued me unbeknownst, and I'm much obleeged,
though I don't know but what I'd rather break stones up to Sing Sing
than be chucked round the way I has been for the last hour."
"Who are you?" demanded Banborough.
"Me?" said the figure. "Oh, I'm a anarchist."