"Find out if you can without giving yourself away where they have put
her."
"I'll try. Where can I meet you?"
"We can't meet. But watch out for my friend Joe the taxi-driver. He
stands outside your joint up on Lexington avenue. The number of his
licence is 11018. It's painted on the sidelamps."
"I get you," said Mr. Dunsany.
I cannot give a very clear account of the next hour or two. It was
like a nightmare. I knew a young fellow that drove a taxi which he
hired from a big garage by the day. I was depending on him to help me
out. I had often employed him. I searched him out, taking suitable
precautions against being trailed. He agreed to hire me his cab for
the night and I went to his room to change clothes with him. The
visored cap in itself was a pretty good disguise. I had made an
engagement by telephone with my good friend Oscar Nilson, and he fixed
me up so my own mother wouldn't have known me.
In my anxious eagerness I arrived at the Turtle Bay Café long before
the hour. None of the men I was looking for had arrived, and I was
compelled to drive around the streets for another half hour or more. I
turned down the little flag on the meter, to avoid taking any business.
Once more I had a drink at the bar without seeing any of my men. The
third time I returned I caught a glimpse of Mr. Dunsany's face at one
of the tables, and I waited outside as if for a fare who had gone in
for a drink.
After a while I could stand it no longer. My torturing curiosity drove
me inside. I went to the bar taking care not to look towards the
alcove where the three sat. I found I could see them in the mirror
without turning my head. Mr. Dunsany, or "English," as I shall call
him, and "Foxy" each presented a side view, while Jumbo, seated
farthest within the alcove, faced me. Foxy was Milbourne, as you have
already guessed.
All the alcoves down the side of the room were fully occupied. Even if
I had been able to secure a place in either of the adjoining
compartments, I doubt if I could have heard any of my men's talk. They
had their heads very close together. There was an infernal racket in
the place. I had to content myself with watching Jumbo's lips, wishing
vainly that I might read them. I had to be careful not to seem to
stare, for at any moment he might raise his eyes and meet mine in the
mirror. My face was revealed in every line by the strong lights behind
the bar.
As far as I could make out Jumbo and Foxy were trying to urge something
on English to which he resisted. His reluctance was so well done I
could not decide if it were real or assumed. Once more I was compelled
to pay tribute to my friend and assistant. What a lucky chance it was
that had led me to him. He was a wonder!
The other two were an ugly-looking pair at that moment, the one face
gross and mean, the other sharp and mean. They had dropped their
masks. I wondered now how I could have thought even for a moment that
Milbourne was stupid. His long nose, his close-set eyes, the whole
eager thrust-forward of his gaunt face suggested the evil intelligence
of the devil himself. Not for nothing was this man called Foxy.
After a while they seemed to come to an understanding. Jumbo sat back
and putting his hand in his pocket, looked around for the waiter. I
made a quiet exit to my cab outside where I waited the turn of events.
They must have had another drink for it was still some moments before
they issued from between the swinging doors. I saw English's eyes go
at once to the number on my side lamps, which he read off with visible
satisfaction. He gave me a fleeting glance as I sat nodding on the
driver's seat. English was making out to show the effects of his
liquor a little. The other two were cold sober.
"Say, boys," said English, "let's taxi it up; I'll blow."
I made believe to come to life, hearing that, and hopping out touched
my cap and opened the door.
Foxy frowned and held back. "What's the use?" he grumbled.
"Aw, come on," said English. "I ain't had an auto ride since I
landed." His slightly foolish air was beautifully done.
Neither Jumbo nor Foxy liked the idea, but they liked less calling
attention to themselves by a discussion in the street. So they all
piled in. Jumbo gave me a number on Lexington avenue which would be
about half a mile North of where we then were.
There was a hole in the front glass at my ear for the purpose of
allowing fare to communicate with driver. With the noise of the
engine, however, I could hear no more than the sound of their voices.
It seemed to me that both Foxy and Jumbo were admonishing English not
to drink so much if he couldn't carry it better.
I found my number on a smallish brown stone dwelling facing the great
sunken railway yards, and drew up before it. It was one of a long row
of houses, all exactly alike.
As my fares climbed out, English said to Jumbo: "How long will we be in
here?"
"Not long," was the answer.
"Then wait," said English to me. A glance of intelligence passed
between us.
"You must like to throw your money away," grumbled Foxy, as they
mounted the steps.
They were admitted by a negro man-servant.
I examined the surroundings more particularly. The excavating of the
great yards opposite has damaged the neighbourhood as a residential
district and the tidy little houses were somewhat fallen from their
genteel estate. Small, cheap shops had opened in one or two of the
basements, and beauty parlours, or dry-cleaning establishments on the
parlour floors. Only one or two houses of the row retained a
self-respecting air, and of these the house I waited before was one.
The stone stoop had been renovated, the door handles were brightly
polished, and the windows cleaned. Simple, artistic curtains showed
within. In fact it had all the earmarks of the dwelling of a
well-to-do old-fashioned family which had refused to give up its old
home when the first breath of disfavour fell upon the neighbourhood.
I should further explain that the houses were three story and basement
structures with mansard roofs over the cornices. At the corner of the
street, that is to say three doors from where my cab was standing,
there was a new building four stories high, which contained a brightly
lighted café on the street level and rooms above. In other words what
New Yorkers call a Raines' Law Hotel.
The three men remained inside the house about forty-five minutes, I
suppose. It seemed like three times that space to me, waiting. They
appeared at last, talking in slightly heightened tones, which suggested
that they had partaken of spirituous refreshment inside. Their talk as
far as I could hear it was all in respectful praise of a lady they had
just left. She was a "good fellow," a "wise one," "long-headed."
At the cab door they hesitated a moment as if in doubt of their next
move.
"It's early," said Jumbo. "Let's go back to the Turtle Bay."
The others agreed.
English let them get in first. "Back to the Turtle Bay," he said to
me. His lips added soundlessly: "She is here!"
When they got out again, English paid me off. His expressive eyes said
clearly that he wished to speak to me further. The others stood close,
and we dared not take any risk.
I thanked him, touching my cap. "Any time you want me, gen'lemen, call
up Plaza 6771," I said.
They went inside.
I had given the first telephone number that came into my head. It was
that of an artist friend of mine who had a studio apartment on
Fifty-ninth street. I hastened up there in the car, and routed him out
of bed. Artists are used to these interruptions. I had a little
difficulty, however, in making myself known to a man half asleep. He
was decent about it, though. He gave me tobacco, and telling me to
make myself comfortable, went back to bed.
In an hour or so the telephone bell rang, and to my joy I heard
English's voice on the wire.
"This you?" he said. We named no names.
"I get you," I said. "Fire away."
He plunged right into his story and though plainly labouring under
excitement, was admirably clear and succinct.
"She is confined in that house. She was lured there this morning by a
forged letter from you instructing her to go there for certain
evidence. I did not see her. I understood from their talk that so far
she is all right."
"The house is occupied by a woman they call Lorina or Mrs. Mansfield.
Handsome, blonde woman of forty; great force of character. She is a
member of the gang, perhaps the leader of it. Anyway, they all defer
to her. She has a better head than either Jumbo or Foxy. I was taken
there to-night for the purpose of having her size me up. Apparently
she approved of me."
"I understood that the girl is safe until to-morrow morning. Then they
plan"--his voice began to shake here--"to--to do away with her."
"Unless I come across with the paper they want?" I interrupted.
"Whether you do or not," he said grimly. "They have no intention of
letting her go. They plan to get you, too, to-morrow."
"How?"
"I don't know. I was not consulted."
"Go on."
"The--the job they are trying to force on me," he faltered, "is to
dispose of her body. They chose me because I am not suspected by you,
not followed. I am to carry it out of the house piecemeal. Oh--! it's
horrible!"
"Steady!" I said. "I promise you that won't be necessary. Any more
particulars?"
"Mrs. Mansfield lives alone," he went on. "She has three coloured
servants, two maids and a man."
"Did you find out where they slept?"
"Yes. The two maids on the top floor in the front room, the man
somewhere in the basement."
"Are they in the gang?"
"No. They do not know that Miss Farrell is in the house. But the man,
I understood, could be depended on absolutely. Which means that he is
ready for any black deed. He is as ugly and strong as a gorilla."
"What about the other internal arrangements of the house?"
"On the first floor there is a parlour in front, dining-room and pantry
behind. On the second floor the front room is a sitting-room or
office. The telephone is here. Mrs. Mansfield sleeps in the rear room
on this floor. Between her bedroom and the office there is an interior
room, and that is where Miss Farrell is confined. This room can be
entered only through Mrs. Mansfield's bedroom."
"Did you notice the locks on the doors?"
"No. There was nothing out of the common. On the front door a Yale
lock of the ordinary pattern."
"Anything more?"
"One thing. Mrs. Mansfield goes armed. She has a small automatic
pistol with a maxim silencer which is evidently her favourite toy. I
hope I got what you wanted. They were at me every minute. I could not
look around much."
"No one could have done better!" I said heartily.
"What do you want me to do now?"
"Where are you?"
"In my own boarding-house. The party at the Turtle Bay soon broke up.
The telephone here is in the restaurant in the basement, and everybody
sleeps upstairs."
"You had better stay at home until morning," I said, after thinking a
moment. "It is very likely that they are having you watched to-night."
"But I must do something. I couldn't sleep."
"There is really nothing you can do now. Stay where you can hear the
telephone and I'll call you if I need you. I'll call you anyway when I
get her out safe. If you do not hear from me by say, three o'clock, go
to police headquarters, tell them all the circumstances, and have the
house surrounded and forced."
"I understand."
"To-morrow morning if all goes well, you must go to work as usual. I
don't mean that we shall lose all our work so far if I can help it.
They must not suspect you."
"Don't take too big a chance, Ben, the girl----"
"Don't worry. The girl is worth fifty cases to me. But I mean to save
both."
21
I went home for some things I needed, and in less than half an hour
after the telephone talk I was back in front of the Lexington avenue
house, still at the wheel of my taxi. I had, however, changed my
clothes in the meantime. I did not want the chauffeur's uniform I had
worn earlier to figure in any description that might be circulated in
the gang.
Passing the house slowly I surveyed it from pavement to roof. All the
windows were dark. The basement windows were open, but were protected
as is customary by heavy bars. The first floor and the second floor
windows were closed. The two windows on the top floor which were above
the cornice, stood open.
Turning the corner, I came to a stop outside the rear door of the
saloon I have mentioned. It was after the legal closing hour, but they
were serving drinks in the back room. I went in and ordered a beer.
The desk and the hotel register were in this room. You entered from a
narrow lobby from which rose the steep stairs. I paid for my drink and
took it. Choosing a moment when the waiter was in the bar, I rose to
leave. In the lobby I turned to the right instead of the left and
mounted the stairs. There was no one to question me.
In one side pocket I carried a small but efficient kit of tools, in the
other a bottle of chloroform and a roll of cotton. My pistol was in my
hip pocket.
I went up the three flights without meeting any one, lighted by a red
globe on each landing. There was a fourth flight ending at a closed
door which I figured must give on the roof. It was bolted on the
inside, of course, and I presently found myself out under the stars.
This building, you will remember, was half a story higher than the row
of dwellings which adjoined it. It was therefore a drop of only six
feet from the parapet of one roof to the parapet of the other. Easy
enough to go; a little more difficult perhaps to return that way. From
the parapet I stepped noiselessly to the roof of the first dwelling,
and crossed the two intervening roofs to the house I meant to enter. I
had nearly two hours before Mr. Dunsany would put the police in motion,
ample time, I judged. Probably the first few minutes in the house
would decide success or failure.
There was a flat scuttle in the roof which, as I expected, was fastened
from within. I could have opened it with my tools, but it seemed to me
quicker and safer to enter by one of the windows in the mansard. In
any case I would have to deal with the maids on that floor, and it was
likely they slept behind locked doors.
The cornice made a wide, flat ledge in front of these windows. It was
a simple task to let myself down the sloping mansard to the ledge and
creep to the window. Had I been seen from the pavement across the way
it would have ruined all, but the street was deserted as far as I could
see up and down. There were no houses opposite.
Pausing with my head inside the window I heard heavy breathing from the
back of the room. I cautiously let myself in. Then I could
distinguish two breathings side by side, and knew that both women were
sleeping in the same bed. I got out my cotton and chloroform.
Fortunately for me negroes are generally heavy sleepers. I let each
woman breathe in the fumes before the cotton touched her face. They
drifted away with scarcely a movement. I left the saturated cotton on
their faces without any cone to retain the fumes. In this way they
could not take any injury. The potency of the drug would soon be
dissipated in the atmosphere.
It was a hot night and the door of their room stood open. I didn't see
until too late, that a chair had been placed against the door to
prevent the draft from the window slamming it. I stumbled over the
chair. It made little noise, but the jar caused me to drop the
precious bottle, and before I recovered it the contents was wasted.
This was a serious loss.
I crept down the first flight of stairs. This landed me on the floor
where the mistress slept. As I approached the door of her room a
shrill yapping started up inside. I cursed the animal under my breath.
English had not told me that the woman kept a dog. It made things
twice as difficult. The noise sounded through the house loud enough,
it seemed to me, to wake the dead. I heard somebody move inside the
room, and I hastened down the next flight of stairs, and crouched at
the back of the hall outside the dining-room door.
Over my head I heard the bedroom door unlocked, and presently the upper
hall was flooded with light. I was safely out of reach of its rays. I
offered up a silent prayer that the lady would not be moved to descend
the stairs, for I pictured her carrying the automatic with the
silencer. True, I had my own gun, but for obvious reasons I was averse
to firing it.
She did not come down. The dog apparently was satisfied that all was
well, and ceased his yapping. From his voice I judged the animal to be
a Pomeranian. Mistress and dog finally returned to the bedroom and the
door was locked again. With the dog and the lock on the door my
problem was no easy one. I had to enter that way before I could reach
my girl. She left the light burning in the upstairs hall.
Before attempting to deal with the mistress it seemed to me necessary
to dispose of the negro in the basement. I went on downstairs not at
all relishing the prospect. There were swing doors both at the top and
the bottom of the basement stairs which had to be opened with infinite
caution to avoid a squeak. On the stairs between it was as dark as
Erebus. On every step I half expected to find the gorilla-like
creature crouching in wait for me, but when I finally edged through the
lower door I was reassured by the sound of a rumbling snore. The dog
had not awakened him.
He slept in the front room. This had originally been the dining-room
of the house. I cautiously opened the door and looked in. A certain
amount of light came through the area windows from the street lamps.
The negro's bed was against the wall between me and the windows. These
were the windows which were heavily barred outside.
When I saw the bars and felt the door which was a heavy hardwood
affair, and had a key in it, I thought it would be sufficient to lock
the man in. You see I was pretty well assured that none of these
people would care to make a racket. However, there was another door
leading to the pantry, thence to the kitchen. This had no lock on it,
and I was compelled to find another means of confining him.
Exploring the rear of the basement I came across a trunk in the back
hall with a stout strap around it. This I softly removed and
appropriated. Going on through the kitchen out into the yard I found
stout clothesline stretched from side to side. I cut down several
lengths of it.
While I was in the yard I made an important discovery respecting the
lay of the back of the house. The lower story extended out some
fifteen feet above the upper floors. The mistress' windows therefore
opened on a flat extension roof. These windows were opened and
unbarred. There was no light within the room.
I returned with the strap and the lengths of rope to the negro's
sleeping-room. He was still snoring vociferously. He lay on his back
with his brawny arms flung above his head like an infant, and his great
chest rose like a billow with every inhalation. The bed was a small
iron one with low head and foot. It looked strong, but I knew that
these things were generally of flimsy construction.
First I laid my gun on the floor where I could snatch it up at need.
Then with infinite care I passed my long trunk strap under the bed and
over his ankles, and drew it close, but not tight. This was intended
for a merely temporary entanglement. He never stirred. I made a noose
out of one of the pieces of rope and passed it carefully, carefully
over his two hands. During this he began to stir. The snores were
interrupted. I passed the rope around the iron bar at the head of the
bed, and as he came fully awake I gave it a sharp jerk binding his
hands hard and fast. I knotted the rope.
I flung a pillow over his head, and sat on it to still any cries while
I made a permanent job of trussing him up. His great frame heaved and
plunged on the bed in a paroxysm of brutish terror, finding himself
bound. You have seen a cat with a rope around it. Imagine a mad
creature thirty times the bulk of a cat. But everything held. The bed
rocked and bounced on the floor, but there were four closed doors
between me and the woman sleeping up-stairs, and I hoped the sound
might not carry.
It was all over in a moment or two. The ropes were ready to my hand.
Every time he heaved up I passed a fresh turn under him. Presently I
had him bound so tight he could not move a muscle. True to the
character of his race, he gave up the struggle all at once and lay
inert. There was a moment in which he might have cried out when I
changed the pillow for a gag made out of the sheet, but by that time he
was gasping for breath. I knotted the gag firmly between his teeth.
Smothered groans issued from under it. I went over all the ropes twice
to make sure nothing could slip. I expected, of course, that he would
wriggle out in the end, but I only needed a little while.
Before proceeding further I gave my stretched nerves a moment or two to
relax. The big task was still to come. Finally I stole up-stairs
again. When I closed the doors behind me I could no longer hear the
negro's smothered groans. The house was perfectly quiet. As I softly
crept up on all fours stair to stair I was busily debating how to open
the attack. Locked door, silent gun and dog made the odds heavy
against me.
By the time I was half way up the main stairway I had made a plan.
Rising to my feet I mounted the rest of the way with a firm tread.
Instantly the little dog inside broke into a frantic barking. I heard
his mistress spring out of bed. I hastily unscrewed the electric light
bulb, and throwing a leg over the banisters slid noiselessly down to
the first floor again. As before I sought the security of the back
hall.
She unhesitatingly opened the door--she was a bold one. I heard her
catch her breath to find the hall in darkness. Her hand shot out, I
heard the click of the switch, but of course there was no light.
Instantly she began shooting. The light "ping" of her weapon had an
inexpressibly deadly sound. The bullets thudded viciously into wood
and plaster. From the direction of the latter sounds, she was shooting
along the upper hall and down the stairs.
I knew she had ten shots, not more, and I counted them. After the
tenth, running forward in the hall, I set up a horrid groaning. She
was silent above. I kept up the groaning, and threshed about on the
floor alongside the stairs.
Suddenly she came running down. This was what I had prayed she might
do. She reached the switch in the lower hall and light flared out.
Instantly I sprang up the outside of the stairway, vaulted over the
banisters and stood half way up the stairs, cutting her off, I hoped,
from additional ammunition.
She stood at the foot of the stairs gun in hand, glaring up at me. I
saw a large, handsome woman with a rope of coarse blonde hair as thick
as my wrist hanging down her back and eyes like lambent blue flames.
By her snarl I saw that I had the advantage for the moment, but her
eyes never quailed. To give her her due she was as bold as a lion. I
know of few other women of her age who would look handsome under the
circumstances. She was wearing a pink negligee robe over her
nightdress. Her feet were bare, they were pretty feet, too. The
little dog sheltered himself behind her skirts barking madly. I saw
the woman glance down the hall. No doubt she was wondering why the
noise didn't bring the negro.
"What do you want?" she demanded in a high and mighty tone.
"Never mind what I want," I returned. "Do what I tell you."
"If you let me go to my room I'll give you what money I have," she said.
"And load up again," I said smiling.
"You can watch me. I have two hundred dollars in the house. It's all
you get, anyway."
"That's not what I came for."
By that she knew me. She bared her fine white teeth and raised her gun.
"It's empty," I said laughing. "I counted the shots."
She swore with heartfelt bitterness like a man.