Pressed, rigid, against the wall behind her curtain, Molly had
listened in utter bewilderment to the sounds of strife in the passage
outside. The half-heard conversation between the detectives had done
nothing toward a solution of the mystery. Galer's voice she thought
she recognized as one that she had heard before; but she could not
identify it.
When the detectives had passed away together down the corridor, she
had imagined that the adventure was at an end and that she was at
liberty to emerge--cautiously--from her hiding place and follow them
downstairs. She had stretched out a hand, to draw the curtain aside,
when she caught sight of the yellow ray of the lamp on the floor, and
shrank back again. As she did so, she heard the sound of breathing.
Somebody was still in the room.
Her mystification deepened. She had supposed that the tale of visitors
to the dressing room was complete with the two who had striven in the
passage. Yet here was another.
She strained her ears to catch a sound. For a while she heard nothing.
Then came a voice that she knew well; and, abandoning concealment, she
came out into the room, and found Jimmy kneeling on the floor beside
the rifled jewel box.
For a full minute they stood staring at each other, without a word.
The light of the lamp hurt Molly's eyes. She put up a hand, to shade
them. The silence was oppressive. It seemed to Molly that they had
been standing like this for years.
Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude which filled
Molly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the lamp, he looked
shapeless and inhuman.
"What are you doing here?" he said at last, in a harsh, unnatural
voice.
"I----"
She stopped.
"You're hurting my eyes," she said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think. Is that better?"
He turned the light from her face. Something in his voice and the
apologetic haste with which he moved the lamp seemed to relax the
strain of the situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began to
leave her. She found herself thinking coherently again.
The relief was but momentary. Why was Jimmy in the room at that time?
Why had he a lamp? What had he been doing? The questions shot from her
brain like sparks from an anvil.
The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall for
the switch, and flooded the room with light.
Jimmy laid down the lantern, and stood for a moment, undecided. He
looked at Molly, and suddenly there came over him an overwhelming
desire to tell her everything. He had tried to stifle his conscience,
to assure himself that the old days were over, and that there was no
need to refer to them. And for a while he had imposed upon himself.
But lately the falseness of his position had come home to him. He
could not allow her to marry him, in ignorance of what he had been. It
would be a villainous thing to do. Often he had tried to tell her, but
had failed. He saw that it must be done, here and now.
He lifted the lid of the jewel box, and dangled the necklace before
her eyes.
She drew back.
"Jimmy! You were--stealing them?"
"No, I was putting them back."
"Putting them back?"
"Listen. I'm going to tell you the truth, Molly--I've been trying to
for days, but I never had the pluck. I wasn't stealing this necklace,
but for seven years I lived by this sort of thing."
"By----"
"By stealing. By breaking into houses and stealing. There. It isn't
nice, is it? But it's the truth. And whatever happens, I'm glad you
know."
"Stealing!" said Molly slowly. "You!"
He took a step forward, and laid his hand on her arm. She shrank away
from him. His hand fell to his side like lead.
"Molly, do you hate me?"
"How could you?" she whispered. "How could you?"
"Molly, I want to tell you a story. Are you listening? It's the story
of a weak devil who was put up to fight the world, and wasn't strong
enough for it. He got a bad start, and he never made it up. They sent
him to school, the best school in the country; and he got expelled.
Then they gave him a hundred pounds, and told him to make out for
himself. He was seventeen, then. Seventeen, mind you. And all he knew
was a little Latin and Greek, a very little, and nothing else. And
they sent him out to make his fortune."
He stopped.
"It will be much simpler to tell it in the first person," he said,
with a short laugh. "I arrived in New York--I was seventeen, you will
remember--with ninety pounds in my pocket. It seemed illimitable
wealth at the time. Two pounds was the most I had ever possessed
before. I could not imagine its ever coming to an end. In dollars it
seemed an inconceivable amount of money. I put up at the Waldorf. I
remember, I took a cab there. I gave the man three dollars."
He laughed again.
"You can guess how long my ninety pounds lasted. Within a month I had
begun to realize that my purse was shallower than I had thought. It
occurred to me that work of some sort would be an advantage. I went
round and tried to get some. My God! Remember, I was seventeen, and
absolutely ignorant of every useful trade under the sun."
"Go on."
"One day I was lunching at the Quentin, when a man came and sat down
at the same table, and we got into conversation. I had spent the
morning answering want advertisements, and I was going to break my
last twenty-dollar bill to pay for my lunch. I was in the frame of
mind when I would have done anything, good or bad, that would have
given me some money. The man was very friendly. After lunch, he took
me off to his rooms. He had a couple of parlor rooms in Forty-fifth
Street. Then he showed his hand. He was a pretty scoundrel, but I
didn't care. I didn't care for anything, except that there seemed to
be money to be had from him. Honesty! Put a man in New York with
nineteen dollars and a few cents in his pockets, and no friends, and
see what happens! It's a hell for the poor, in New York. An iron,
grinding city. It frightens you. It's so big and hard and cruel. It
takes the fight out of you. I've felt it, and I know."
He stopped, and gave a little shiver. Nine years had passed since that
day, but a man who has all but gone under in a big city does not
readily forget the nightmare horror of it.
"Stone--that was the man's name--was running a tapless wire-tapping
game. You've read about the trick, I expect. Every one has known about
it since Larry Summerfield was sent to Sing Sing. But it was new then.
There are lots of ways of doing it. Stone's was to hire a room and fix
it up to look like a branch of the Western Union Telegraph Company. He
would bring men in there and introduce them to a man he called the
manager of the branch, who was supposed to get racing results ten
minutes before they were sent out to the pool rooms. The victim would
put up the money for a bet, and Stone and his friends got it at once.
Stone was looking for an assistant. He wanted a man who looked like a
gentleman. To inspire confidence! I looked older than I was, and he
took me on. It was a filthy business, but I was in a panic. I was with
Stone eight months. Then I left him. It was too unsavory--even for me.
"It was after that that I became a cracksman. I wanted money. It was
no use hoping for work. I couldn't get it, and I couldn't have done it
if I had got it. I was a pirate, and fit for nothing except piracy.
One night I met a man in a Broadway rathskeller. I knew him by sight.
I had seen him about at places. 'You're with Stone, aren't you?' he
said, after we had talked about racing and other things for a while. I
stared at him in surprise. I was frightened, too. 'It's all right', he
said, 'I know all about Stone. You needn't be afraid of me. Aren't you
with him?' 'I was', I said. 'You left him? Why?' I told him. 'You seem
a bright kid', he said. 'Join me if you feel like it.' He was a
cracksman. I never found out his real name. He was always called Bob.
A curious man. He had been at Harvard, and spoke half a dozen
languages. I think he took to burglary from sheer craving for
excitement. He used to speak of it as if it were an art. I joined him,
and he taught me all he knew. When he died--he was run over by a
car--I went on with the thing. Then my uncle died, and I came back to
England, rich.
"When I left the lawyer's office, I made up my mind that I would draw
a line across my life. I swore I would never crack another crib. And
when I met you I swore it again."
"And yet----"
"No. It isn't as bad as you think. When I was in London I fell in with
a man named Mullins, who used to work with me in the old days. He was
starving, so I took him in, and brought him along here with me, to
keep him out of mischief. To-night he came to me with this necklace.
He had been in here, and stolen it. I took it from him, and came to
put it back. You believe me, don't you, Molly?"
"Yes," said she simply.
He came a step nearer.
"Molly, don't give me up. I know I've been a blackguard, but I swear
that's all over now. I've drawn a line right through it. I oughtn't
to have let myself love you. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't,
dear. You won't give me up, will you? If you'd only take me in hand,
you could make what you liked of me. I'd do anything for you. Any
mortal thing you wanted. You can make me just anything you please.
Will you try? Molly!"
He stopped. She held out both her hands to him.
The next moment she had gone.