I descended a step or two to enforce my orders. I pointed the gun at
her. "Open the front door!" I commanded. "Go into the vestibule and
close it behind you."
My purpose was to lock her between the two sets of doors while I
searched for Sadie. She scowled at me sullenly, and for a moment I
thought I had her beaten; she seemed about to obey. But reflecting
perhaps that I didn't want to bring in outsiders any more than she, she
took a chance. Suddenly putting down her head she ran like a deer for
the rear hall, the little dog whimpering in terror at her heels.
The door at the head of the basement stairs banged open and she plunged
down, calling on her servant. I had to make a quick decision. The way
was presumably open to Sadie, but there were plenty of knives in the
kitchen and if she liberated the man I would have to fight my way out
of the house against the two of them. I ran after her. A rough house
in the basement followed, doors slamming, chairs overturned, and the
ceaseless yelping of the dog.
She ran into the front room, saw the negro's predicament, and ran back
through the pantries to the kitchen. I was close at her heels. She
knew just where to find her knife, and she was out of the room again by
the other door before I could stop her. She ran back through the hall
to the front room, slamming both doors in my face to delay me. She
tried to lock the second door, but I got my foot in it.
She flung herself on the negro, sawing at his bonds with the knife.
Fortunately there was some light in this room. I dragged her off the
bed. I had only one arm free on account of the gun. She tore herself
free from me, and turning, came at me stabbing with the knife. I
thought my last hour had come. I fired over her head. She ran out of
the room.
I stopped to look at my prisoner's bonds. I found them intact. In
bending over him my foot struck something on the floor. I picked up
her gun. She had been obliged to drop it in order to use the knife.
I ran after her. As I put foot on the upper stairs I heard her slam
her bedroom door and turn the key. So there I had my work to do all
over--but not quite all, for I had the gun now, and it was hardly
likely she would have another.
22
I hammered on the door with the butt of my revolver--a little noise
more or less scarcely mattered now, and commanded her to open it.
She was not so easily to be intimidated. Through the door she
consigned me to the nether world. "If you break in the door I'll croak
the girl," she threatened.
I believed her capable of it. Remembering the knife she carried, I
shuddered.
We spent some moments in exchanging amenities through the door. I
wished to keep her occupied, while I threshed around in my head for
some expedient to trap her.
"All right!" I cried, giving the door a final rattle. "I'll get the
poker from the furnace."
She laughed tauntingly.
Of course I had no such intention. I had suddenly remembered the open
windows on the roof of the extension. It seemed easier to drop from
above than climb from below, so I went up-stairs.
The room over Mrs. Mansfield's bedroom was unlocked and untenanted. I
took off my shoes at the threshold, and crept across with painful care
to avoid giving her warning below. Unfortunately the windows were
closed. I lost precious time opening one of them a fraction of an inch
at a time.
Finally I was able to lean out. She had lighted up her room. I could
see the glow on the sill below. To my great satisfaction I saw that
she had pulled down the blinds, without, however, closing the window
under me. For while I looked the blind swayed out a little in the
draft. Evidently the possibility of an attack from that side had not
occurred to her.
It was a drop of about fourteen feet from the window sill on which I
leaned to the roof of the extension below. I dared not risk it. Even
suppose I escaped injury, the noise of my fall would warn her, and the
moments it would take me to recover my balance might give her time to
execute her foul plan. I believed that she had my girl locked in the
inner room (else I should surely have heard from Sadie). This would
give me one second, while she was unlocking the door--but only one
second.
The bed in the room I was in was made up. Always with the same
precautions of silence I fashioned a rope sufficiently long out of the
two sheets and the cotton spread. I fastened the end of the rope to
the leg of a heavy bureau beside the window, and carefully paid it out
over the sill. Before trusting myself to it I planned every movement
in advance.
I must let myself down face to the building, I decided, until I had
almost reached the roof. Then I must drop, and with the reflex of the
same movement spring into the woman's room.
It worked all right. I was already inside when she turned around. It
was well that it was so, because the door into the inner room stood
wide. I saw my girl lying on a couch. Like a flash the woman had the
lights out. Quick as a cat she was through the door, knife in hand.
But I had got my bearings with that one glimpse. I was hard upon her.
I flung my arms around her from behind, pinioning her close. I dragged
her back into the outer room. She was surprisingly strong for a woman,
but I was just a little stronger. She spit out curses like an angry
cat.
I dragged her across the room to where the switch was. I had to take
an arm from her to search for it. She renewed her struggles. It took
half a dozen attempts. Once she escaped me altogether. She still had
the knife. I do not know how I managed to escape injury. She slit my
coat with it.
At last I got the blessed light turned on. She was still jabbing at me
with the knife, but I could see what I was doing now. The little dog
fastened his teeth in my ankle. I kicked him across the room.
Between the two doors I have mentioned there was a third door, which
evidently gave on a closet. It had a key in it. I dragged my captive
to it, and somehow managed to get it open. I flung her in, knife and
all, slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against the frame sobbing
for breath. I was half blinded by the sweat in my eyes. The woman was
all in, too, or I never should have got the door closed. For a while
she lay where she had fallen without sound or movement. When his
mistress disappeared the dog ran under the bed. His little pipe was
now so hoarse he could scarcely make himself heard.
Presently the woman recovered her forces. Springing up, she hurled
herself against the door with as much force as she could gather in that
narrow space. The door opened out, and the lock was a flimsy one. I
saw that I couldn't keep her there for long. I ran into the inner room.
My dearest girl was lying on a couch, fully dressed and unfettered, but
strangely inert, stupefied. I was terrified by her aspect. However,
her body was warm and she was breathing, though not naturally. She was
not wholly unconscious. Her head moved on the pillow, and her misty
eyes sought mine with a faint returning gleam of sentience. Obviously
she had been drugged, and the effect was just now beginning to wear off.
I could not stop to restore her there. I gathered her up in my arms,
snatched up her hat which was lying near, and ran out through the
bedroom. I had no more than got the bedroom door locked behind me,
when the door of the closet burst open, and the woman fell out into the
room. She immediately threw herself against the other door, but as
regarded that, my mind was easier. It was a much heavier affair, and
it opened towards her. I need not point out that there is a
considerable difference, between bursting a door out, and pulling it in.
I carried my precious burden down the stairs, murmuring phrases in her
ear that I did not know I had at my command. She commenced to weep, a
very encouraging sign. I believe I wept with her. She was dearer to
me than my life.
I paused at the front door to try to bring her to somewhat before
venturing out into the street. Unfortunately there was no water within
reach. I was afraid to take much time. The woman up-stairs had
obtained some kind of a weapon with which she was battering the door.
In her insane passion she had forgotten all considerations of prudence.
She finally managed to split one of the panels; the key, however, was
safe in my pocket. She hurled imprecations after us.
I opened the outer door a little, and the fresh air revived my dearest
girl marvellously. Presently she was able to stand with a little
assistance. Her first conscious act was to pin on her hat with a
piteous assumption of her usually composed manner. For a long time she
could not speak, but she knew me now, and leaned on me trustfully.
I knew how best to reach her. "Brace up!" I whispered urgently. "Pull
yourself together. I need you. Show me what you can do!"
She smiled as much as to say she was ready for anything. Such was her
temper.
We went out, closing both doors behind us. I fully expected to see a
knot of the curious on the steps, attracted by the strange sounds from
within. But the street was still empty. There must be a lot of
strange things happening that no one ever knows of. We did not meet
anybody until we got around the corner. Here a policeman stood idly
swinging his club and staring at the taxicab, speculating no doubt on
the mystery of its apparent abandonment and wondering what he ought to
do about it. The back room of the saloon was now closed.
I saluted him, inwardly praying that he would not be led to look down
at my feet. I had managed to keep my cap through all vicissitudes, but
I had no shoes on. I briskly opened the door, and helped Sadie in.
"Here you are, Miss," said I.
Then I ran completely around the car to avoid the bluecoat, and cranked
her. Even then I could hear in the stillness the muffled sound of the
woman's blows on the door. The policeman was apparently unaware of
anything amiss. Fortunately my engine popped at the first turn. The
policeman's suspicions of me were gathering, but he was a slow-thinking
specimen.
"Hold on a minute, fellow," he said at last.
The car was then in motion, and I made believe not to hear him.
Apparently he did not think it worth while to raise an alarm.
I cannot tell you with what a feeling of thankfulness I left that
neighbourhood behind me.
I took Sadie direct to her sister's. We found that young woman in a
pretty state of fluster. She was of an emotional type, very different
from the matter-of-fact Sadie. Maybe she didn't give it to me for
leading her darling into danger! But I was happy enough to be able to
take it with a grin. Sadie by this time could speak for herself. She
took my part.
I telephoned from here to English at his boarding-house as I had
agreed. I still had more than half an hour to the good.
He gave a restrained whoop when he heard my voice. "You've got her!"
he cried. "You're both all right?"
"Right as rain!"
"Ben, you're a wonder!"
At that moment I was quite prepared to believe it.
"How did you manage it?" he asked.
"Can't tell you now. The game is only starting."
"What am I to do?"
"Go to bed. Above all keep them from suspecting you. The whole case
depends on you now. I will write you care Dunsany's on Monday."
"Take care of yourself!"
"Same to you!"
Warning the girls to be ready to start for the country in an hour, I
borrowed a pair of brother-in-law's shoes and returned the taxi to its
garage. I then went home and washed and dressed myself in my own
clothes. Afterwards I got out my own little car and went back for
Sadie. By this time the dawn was breaking. It was Sunday.
I found Sadie quite her own self again, and flatly rebellious at being
ordered to give up the game and retire to the country. In vain I
explained to her that these people had their backs against the wall
now, and that our lives were not worth a farthing dip if they ever
caught sight of us. Sister was now on my side, not, however, without a
few back shots at the one who had first got her Sadie into the crooks'
bad books. It was not until I said that I was myself going to lie low
for a while that Sadie gave in. I'm afraid at that, that her opinion
of me suffered a fall for the time being.
The dearest girl was furious when she learned that I had almost been
frightened out of my wits by the message from her they had sent me, so
much so that I had been prepared to drop the whole case to save her.
"That was what they were after!" she cried. "I had to write it, of
course, because she held a pistol to my head. But I was sure you would
understand. If I had thought for a moment that you would let it
interfere with the case I would have let her shoot."
I shuddered. One did not know whether to praise or blame such game
folly. However, I registered a little vow privately not to let Sadie's
enthusiasm lead her into danger again. Meanwhile I hugged her right
there with sister looking on. She promptly slapped my face--but not so
hard as usual.
I took the sisters to that same little sanatorium at Amityville, Long
Island, where Sadie had been before with Miss Hamerton. The
doctor-proprietor was an old friend of mine. A single warning word to
him, and I knew they would be as safe as I could guard them myself.
Notwithstanding Sadie's violent objections (she said she had been lured
to Amityville under false pretenses), I motored right back to town. I
did intend to lay off for a day or two but I had to put my office in
order first. It was about eight o'clock when I got back to Manhattan.
I put up my car and had an excellent breakfast. I thought if I was
going to be plugged it might as well be on a full stomach. I did not
deceive myself as to the risk I ran in visiting my office, but it was
absolutely necessary for me to secure certain papers and destroy others.
I took a taxi down and ordered the man to wait. I cleaned everything
up in case the place should be entered during my absence. What papers
I meant to take with me I deposited in a satchel, and took the
precaution of strapping it to my wrist. Then I locked up and returned
down stairs. I found that my chauffeur had moved away from the doorway
a little, consequently I was exposed for a moment or two on the
sidewalk.
It was sufficient. I heard that deadly little "ping" and
simultaneously a sound like a slap on bare flesh. I did not know I was
hit, but I fell down. Then a pain like the searing of a hot iron
passed through my shoulder.
"I'm shot!" I cried involuntarily.
I realised that I was not seriously hurt. However, I had no mind to
get up and make myself a target for more. I made believe to close my
eyes, and lay still. My mind worked with a strange clearness. I saw
the woman across the street. She was poorly dressed with a shawl over
her head, but I recognised the stature and the curves of my antagonist
of the night before.
The usual gaping crowd gathered. Nobody had heard the shot but me.
While all eyes were directed on me the woman coolly walked away across
the park, tossing the gun into the middle of a bush as she went. I
said nothing. It was no part of my game to have her arrested.
I suspected that the openmouthed crowd surrounding me was full of
spies, so I made out to be worse hurt than I was, groaning and writhing
a little. The wound helped me out by bleeding profusely. One youth
with an evil face made to take my satchel as if to relieve me. The
strap frustrated his humane purpose. He was afraid to proceed further
under that circle of eyes.
Somebody had telephoned for an ambulance, and presently it came
clanging up with a fresh crowd in its train. The white clad surgeon
bent over me.
"I am not badly hurt," I whispered to him, "but please take me away
quickly out of this mob."
I was carried to Bellevue Hospital where I engaged a private room. My
wound, a slight affair, was cauterised--I had in mind the possibility
of poison, and dressed. Afterwards I enjoyed my first sleep in
twenty-four hours. I had left instructions that no one was to be
admitted to see me, and that no information regarding my condition was
to be given out.
By the next day I was quite myself again. I had already seen the
reporters, and by the exercise of persuasion and diplomacy had managed
to keep the affair from being unduly exploited in the papers. The
police, good fellows, were hard at work on the case, but they could
hardly be expected to accomplish anything without the evidence which I
did not intend to let them have. The doctors who hate to see any one
escape out of their hands so easily did their best to persuade me to
stop a while in the hospital and "rest" but how could I rest with so
much to do outside?
Having decided that I must leave the hospital, it was a matter of
considerable concern to me how this was to be effected without exposing
myself to a fresh danger. I had received a disguised telephone message
from English to the effect that they were waiting for me. I decided to
confide in the visiting surgeon, an understanding man.
"Sir," I said, "I am a private detective. I have a gang of crooks
almost ready to be rounded up. Knowing it, they are desperate. That
is the explanation of the attack on me. Now the chances are that the
instant I step outside the hospital I'll stop another bullet. What
would you do if you were me?"
"Call on the police," he said, of course.
"I can't do that without exploding my charges prematurely."
As I said, he was an understanding man. He didn't bother me with a lot
of questions, but took the case as he found it. After thinking a
while, he said:
"How would it do if I had you transferred in an ambulance to my private
clinic on ---- Street. You see you'll be loaded on out of sight in the
hospital yard here, and you will be driven right inside my place to be
unloaded. You lie flat in the ambulance and no one can see inside
without climbing on the step, and a surgeon sits there."
"Fine!" I said. "You're a man of resource."
He gave the order, and it was so done. Arrived at his private hospital
I dressed myself in street clothes, borrowing a coat to replace my
bloody one, and calling a taxi had myself carried to Oscar Nilson's
shop.
23
I have mentioned, I believe, that Oscar Nilson was a wig-maker, the
best in New York. His little shop on a quiet side street North of
Madison Square is quaint enough to be the setting of an old-fashioned
play. The walls are lined with old cuts of historical personages and
famous Thespians as historical personages, all with particular
attention to their hirsute features. On the counter stands a row of
forms, each bearing some extraordinary kind of scalp. Oscar deals in
make-up as a side line and the air bears the intoxicating odour of
grease paint and cold cream.
Oscar's business is chiefly with the theatrical profession, but many an
old beau and fading belle have found out that he knows more about
restoring youth than the more fashionable beautifiers. Oscar loves his
business. His knowledge, historical, artistic, scientific, is
immense--but all in terms of human hair. He can tell you offhand how
Napoleon wore his in 1803 or any other year of his career, and will
make you an exact sketch of the toupee ordered by the Duke of
Wellington when his fell out.
Oscar himself, strangely enough, or perhaps naturally, has next to no
hair of his own, merely a little mousy fringe above the ears. He has a
jolly rubicund face and is held in high affection and esteem by his
customers. He flatters me by taking a particular interest in my
custom. I am the only one of his clients in the criminal line.
He led me into one of the little cubicles where the trying-on takes
place, and stood off to observe me from between narrowed lids.
"What will it be now?" he said. "I was sorry to read of your accident."
"A mere trifle. What would you suggest? It must stand sunlight and
shadow, and be something I can keep up for a while if necessary."
"Let me think! Your head and face offer a good starting-point for so
many creations!"
"In other words the Lord left me unfinished," I said, teasingly.
"Not at all! I meant that in your case there were no awkward
malformations to be overcome."
From which it will be seen that Oscar is a diplomat.
"What would you say to a South American gentleman?" he asked. "New
York is full of them in the summer."