other night in the garret that things were beginning to break our way,
and that you wouldn't have to stay there much longer, but I didn't tell
you how or why--you wouldn't give me a chance. I'll tell you now; and
it's the main reason why I've kept away from you lately. I couldn't
take a chance of Cloran getting wise to that garret and Gypsy Nan.” He
grinned suddenly. “I've been cultivating Cloran myself for the last two
weeks. We're quite pals! I'm for playing the luck every time! When
the jewels showed up to-day, I figured that to-night's the night--see?
Cloran and I are going to supper together at the Silver Sphinx at about
eleven o'clock--and this is where you shed the Gypsy Nan stuff, and show
up as your own sweet self. Cloran'll be glad to meet you!”
She stared at him in genuine perplexity and amazement.
“Show myself to Cloran!” she ejaculated heavily. “I don't get you!”
“You will in a minute,” said Danglar softly. “You're the bait--see?
Cloran and I will be at supper and watching the fox-trotters. You blow
in and show yourself--I don't need to tell you how, you're clever enough
at that sort of thing yourself--and the minute he recognizes you as
the woman he's been looking for that murdered Deemer, you pretend to
recognize him for the first time too, and then you beat it like you had
the scare of your life for the door. He'll follow you on the jump. I
don't know what it's all about, and I sit tight, and that lets me out.
And now get this! There'll be two taxicabs outside. If there's more than
two, it's the first two I'm talking about. You jump into the one at the
head of the line. Cloran won't need any invitation to grab the second
one and follow you. That's all! It's the last ride he'll take. It'll be
our boys, and not chauffeurs, who'll be driving those cars to-night,
and they've got their orders where to go. Cloran won't come back.
Understand, Bertha'?”
There was only one answer to make, only one answer that she dared make.
She made it mechanically, though her brain reeled. A man named
Cloran was to be murdered; and she was to show herself as this--this
Bertha--and...
“Yes,” she said.
“Good!” said Danglar. He pulled out his watch again. “All right, then!
We've been here long enough.” He rose briskly. “It's time to make a
move. You hop it back to the garret, and get rid of that fancy dress.
I've got to meet Cloran uptown first. Come on, Matty, let us out.”
The place stifled her. She got up and moved quickly through the
intervening room. She heard Danglar and his crippled brother talking
earnestly together as they followed her. And then the cripple brushed
by her in the darkness, and opened the front door--and Danglar had drawn
her to him in a quick embrace. She did not struggle; she dared not. Her
heart seemed to stand still. Danglar was whispering in her ear:
“I promised I'd make it up to you, Bertha, old girl. You'll see--after
to-night. We'll have another honey-moon. You go on ahead now--I can't be
seen with Gypsy Nan. And don't be late--the Silver Sphinx at eleven.”
She ran out on the street. Her fingers mechanically clutched at her
shawl to loosen it around her throat. It seemed as though she were
choking, that she could not breathe. The man's touch upon her had seemed
like contact with some foul and loathsome thing; the scene in that room
back there like some nightmare of horror from which she could not awake.
XVI. THE SECRET PANEL
Rhoda Gray hurried onward, back toward the garret, her mind in riot and
dismay. It was not only the beginning of the end; it was very near the
end! What was she to do? The Silver Sphinx--at eleven! That was the
end--after eleven--wasn't it? She could impersonate Gypsy Nan; she could
not, if she would, impersonate the woman who was dead! And then, too,
there were the stolen jewels at old Jake Luertz's! She could not turn
to the police for help there, because then the Pug might fall into their
hands, and--and the Pug was--was the Adventurer.
And then a sort of fatalistic calm fell upon her. If the masquerade was
over, if the end had come, there remained only one thing for her to
do. There were no risks too desperate to take now. It was she who must
strike, and strike first. Those jewels in old Luertz's bedroom became
suddenly vital to her. They were tangible evidence. With those jewels
in her possession she should be able to force Danglar to his knees.
She could get them--before Pinkie Bonn and the Pug--if she hurried.
Afterward she would know where to find Danglar--at the Silver Sphinx.
Nothing would happen to Cloran, because, through her failure to
cooperate, the plan would be abortive; but, veiled, as the White Moll,
she could pick up Danglar's trail again there. Yes, it would be the
end--one way or the other--between eleven o'clock and daylight!
She quickened her steps. Old Luertz was to be inveigled away from his
home about ten o'clock. At a guess, she made it only a little after nine
now. She would need the skeleton keys in order to get into old Luertz's
place, and, yes, she would need a flashlight, too. Well, she would have
time enough to get them, and time enough, then, to run to the deserted
shed in the lane behind the garret and change her clothes.
Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, went on as speedily as she dared without
inviting undue attention to herself, reached the garret, secured the
articles she sought, hurried out again, and went down the lane in the
rear to the deserted shed. She remained longer here than in the attic,
perhaps ten minutes, working mostly in the darkness, risking the
flashlight only when it was imperative; and then, the metamorphosis
complete, a veiled figure, in her own person, as Rhoda Gray, the White
Moll, she was out on the street again, and hastening back in the same
general direction from which she had just come.
She knew old Jake Luertz's place, and she knew the man himself very
intimately by reputation. There were few such men and such places that
she could have escaped knowing in the years of self-appointed service
that she had given to the worst, and perhaps therefore the most needy,
element in New York. The man ostensibly conducted a little secondhand
store; in reality he probably “shoved” more stolen goods for his
clientele, which at one time or another undoubtedly embraced nearly
every crook in the underworld, than any other “fence” in New York. She
knew him for an oily, cunning old fox who lived alone in the two rooms
over his miserable store--unless, of late, his young henchman, the Crab,
had taken to living with him; though, as far as that was concerned, it
mattered little to-night, since the Crab, for the moment, thanks to the
gang, was eliminated from consideration.
She reached the secondhand store--and walked on past it. There was a
light upstairs in the front window. Old Luertz therefore had not yet
gone out in response to the gang's fake message. She knew old Luertz's
reputation far too well for that; the man would never go out and leave a
gas jet burning--which he would have to pay for!
There was nothing to do but wait. Rhoda Gray sought the shelter of a
doorway across the street. She was nervously impatient now. The
minutes dragged along. Why didn't 'the man hurry and go out? “About ten
o'clock,” Danglar had said--but that was very indefinite. Pinkie Bonn
and the Pug might be as late as that; but, equally, they might be
earlier!
It seemed an interminable time. And then, her eyes strained across the
street upon that upper window, she drew still farther back into the
protecting shadows of the doorway. The light had gone out.
A moment more passed. The street door of the house opposite to her--a
door separate from that of the secondhand store-opened, and a bent,
gray-bearded man, stepped out, peered around, locked the door behind
him, and scuffled down the street.
Rhoda Gray scanned the dingy and ill-lighted little street. It was
virtually deserted. She crossed the road, and stepped into the doorway
from which the old “fence” had just emerged. It was dark here, well out
of the direct radius of the nearest street lamp, and, with luck, there
was no reason why she should be observed--if she did not take too long
in opening the door! She had never actually used a skeleton key in her
life before, and...
She inserted one of her collection of keys in the lock. It would not
work. She tried another, and still another-with mounting anxiety and
perplexity. Suppose that--yes! The door was open now! With a quick
glance over her shoulder, scanning the street in both directions to make
sure that she was not observed, she stepped inside, closed the door, and
locked it again.
Her flashlight stabbed through the darkness. Narrow stairs immediately
in front of her led upward; at her right was a connecting door to the
secondhand shop. Without an instant's hesitation she ran up the stairs.
There was no need to observe caution since the place was temporarily
untenanted; there was need only of haste. She opened the door at the
head of the stairs, and, with a quick, eager nod of satisfaction, as the
flashlight swept the interior, stepped over the threshold. It was the
room she sought--old Luertz's bedroom.
And now the flashlight played inquisitively about her. The bed occupied
a position by the window; across one corner of the room was a cretonne
hanging, that evidently did service as a wardrobe; across another corner
was a large and dilapidated washstand; there were a few chairs, and a
threadbare carpet; and, opposite the bed, another door, closed, which
obviously led into the front room.
Rhoda Gray stepped to this door, opened it, and peered in. She was not
concerned that it was evidently used for kitchen, dining-room and
the stowage of everything that overflowed from the bedroom; she was
concerned only with the fact that it offered no avenue through which
any added risk or danger might reach her. She closed the door as she
had found it, and gave her attention now to the walls of old Luertz's
bedroom.
She smiled a little whimsically. The Crab had used a somewhat dignified
term when he had referred to “panels.” True, the walls were of stained
wood, but the wood was of the cheapest variety of matched boards, and
the stain was of but a single coat, and a very meager one at that! The
smile faded. There were a good many knots; and there were four corners
to the room, and therefore eight boards, each one of which would answer
to the description of being the “sixth panel.”
She went to the corner nearest her, and dropped down on her knees. As
well start with this one! She had not dared press Danglar, or Danglar's
deformed brother, for more definite directions, had she? She counted the
boards quickly from the corner to her right; and then, the flashlight
playing steadily, she began to press first one knot after another, in
the board before her, working from the bottom up. There were many knots;
she went over each one with infinite care. There was no result.
She turned then to the sixth board from the corner to her left. The
result was the same. She stood up, her brows puckered, a sense of
anxious impatience creeping upon her. She had been quite a while over
even these two boards, and it might be any one of the remaining six!
Her eyes traversed the room, following the ray of the flashlight. If she
only knew which one, it would--Was it an inspiration? Her eyes had fixed
on the cretonne hanging across one of the far corners from the door, and
she moved toward it now quickly. The hanging might very well serve for
an other purpose than that of merely a wardrobe! It seemed suddenly
to be the most likely of the four corners because it was ingeniously
concealed.
She parted the hanging. A heterogeneous collection of clothing hung
from pegs and nails. Eagerly, hastily now, she brushed these aside, and,
close to the wall, dropped down on her knees again. The minutes passed.
Twice she went over the sixth board from the corner to her right. She
felt so sure now that it was this corner. And then, still eagerly, she
turned to the corresponding board at her left.
It was warm and close here. The clothing hanging from the pegs and nails
enveloped her, and, with the cretonne hanging itself, shut out the air,
what little of it there was, that circulated through the room.
Over the board, from the tiniest knot to the largest, her fingers
pressed carefully. Had she missed one anywhere? She must have missed
one! She was sure the panel in question was here behind this hanging.
Well, she would try again, and...
What was that?
In an instant the flashlight in her hand was out, and she was listening
tensely. Yes, there was a footstep--two of them--not only on the stairs,
but already just outside the door. It seemed as though a deadly fear,
cold and numbing, settled upon her and robbed her of even the power of
movement. She was caught! If it was Pinkie Bonn and the Pug, and if this
corner hid the secret panel as she still believed it did, this was
the first place to which they would come, and they would find her here
amongst the clothing--which had evidently been the cause of deadening
any sound on those stairs out there until it was too late.
She held her breath, her hands tight upon her bosom. There was no time
to reach the sanctuary of the other room--the footsteps were already
crossing the threshold from the head of the stairs. And then a voice
reached her--the Pug's. It was the Pug and Pinkie Bonn.
“Strike a light, Pinkie! Dere's no use messin' around wid a flash. De
old geezer'll be back on de hop de minute he finds out he's been bunked,
an' de quicker we work de better.”
A match crackled into flame. An air-choked gas jet, with a protesting
hiss, was lighted. And then Rhoda Gray's drawn face relaxed a little,
and a strange, mirthless smile came hovering over her lips. What was she
afraid of? The Pug was the Adventurer, wasn't he? This was one of the
occasions when he could not escape the entanglements of the gang, and
must work for the gang instead of appropriating all the loot for his own
personal and nefarious ends; but he was the Adventurer. The White Moll
need not fear him, even though he appeared, linked with Pinkie Bonn, in
the role of the Pug! So there was only Pinkie Bonn to fear.
Rhoda Gray took her revolver from her pocket. She was well armed--and
in more than a material sense. The Adventurer did not know that she was
aware of the Pug's identity. Her smile, still mirthless, deepened.
She might even turn the tables upon them, and still secure the stolen
stones. She had turned the tables upon Pinkie Bonn last night; to-night,
if she used her wits, she could do it again!
And then, suddenly, she stifled an exclamation, as the Pug's voice
reached her again:
“Wot are youse gapin' about? Dere ain't anything else worth pinchin'
around here except wot's in de old gent's safety vault. Get a move on!
We ain't got all night! It's de corner behind de washstand. Give us a
hand to move de furniture!”
It wasn't here behind the cretonne hanging! Rhoda Gray bit her lips in
a crestfallen little way. Well, her supposition had been natural enough,
hadn't it? And she would have tried every corner before she was through
if she had had the opportunity.
She moved now slightly, without a sound, parting the clothing away from
in front of her, and moving the cretonne hanging by the fraction of an
inch where it touched the side wall of the room. And now she could see
the Pug, with his dirty and discolored celluloid eye-patch, and his
ingeniously contorted face; and she could see Pinkie Bonn's pasty-white,
drug-stamped countenance.
It was not a large room. The two men in the opposite corner along the
wall from her were scarcely more than ten feet away. They swung the
washstand out from the wall, and the Pug, going in behind it, began
to work on one of the wall boards. Pinkie Bonn, an unlighted cigarette
dangling from his lip, leaned over the washstand watching his companion.
A minute passed--another. It was still in the room, except only for
the distant sounds of the world outside--a clatter of wheels upon the
pavement, the muffled roar of the elevated, the clang of a trolley bell.
And then the Pug began to mutter to himself. Rhoda Gray smiled a little
grimly. She was not the only one, it would appear, who experienced
difficulty with old Jake Luertz's crafty hiding place!
“Say, dis is de limit!” the Pug growled out suddenly. “Dere's more
damned knots in dis board dan I ever save in any piece of wood in me
life before, an'--” He drew back abruptly from the wall, twisting his
head sharply around. “D'ye hear dat, Pinkie!” he whispered tensely.
“Quick! Put out de light! Quick! Dere's some one down at de front door!”
Rhoda Gray felt the blood ebb from her face. She had heard nothing save
the rattle and bump of a wagon along the street below; but she had had
reason to appreciate on a certain occasion before that the Pug, alias
the Adventurer, was possessed of a sense of hearing that was abnormally
acute. If it was some one else--who was it? What would it mean to her?
What complication here in this room would result? What...
The light was out. Pinkie Bonn had stepped silently across the room to
the gas jet near the door. Her eyes, strained, she could just make out
the Adventurer's form kneeling by the wall, and then--was she mad!
Was the faint night-light of the city filtering in through the window
mocking her? The Adventurer, hidden from his companion by the washstand,
was working swiftly and without a sound--or else it was a phantasm of
shadows that tricked her! A door in the wall opened; the Adventurer
thrust in his hand, drew out a package, and, leaning around, slipped it
quickly into the bottom of the washstand, where, with its little doors,
there was a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turned
again then, seemed to take something from his pocket and place it in the
opening in the wall, and then the panel closed.
It had taken scarcely more than a second.
Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm!
She had misjudged the Adventurer--quite misjudged him! The Adventurer,
even with one of the gang present--to furnish an unimpeachable alibi
for him!--was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undivided
enrichment!
Pinkie Bonn's voice came in a guarded whisper from the doorway.
“I don't hear nothin'!” said Pinkie Bonn anxiously.
The Pug tiptoed across the room, and joined his companion. She could not
see them now, but apparently they stood together by the door listening.
They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper to
each other; and then finally the Pug spoke in a less guarded voice.
“All right,” he said. “I guess me nerves are gettin' de creeps. Shoot de
light on again, an' let's get back on de job. An' youse can take a turn
dis time pushin' de knots, Pinkie; mabbe youse'll have better luck.”
The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and now
Pinkie Bonn knelt at the wall while the Pug leaned over the washstand
watching him. Pinkie Bonn was not immediately successful; the Pug's
nerves, of which he had complained, appeared shortly to get the better
of him.
“Fer Gawd's sake, hurry up!” he urged irritably. “Or else lemme take
another crack at it, Pinkie, an'...”
A low, triumphant exclamation came from Pinkie Bonn, as the small door
in the wall swung suddenly open.
“There she is, my bucko!” he grinned. “Some nifty vault, eh? The old
guy-” He stopped. He had thrust in his hand, and drawn it out again. His
fingers gripped a sheet of notepaper--but he was seemingly unconscious
of that fact. He was leaning forward, staring into the aperture. “It's
empty!” he choked.
“Wot's dat?” cried the Pug, and sprang to his companion's side.
“Youse're crazy, Pinkie!” He thrust his head toward the opening--and then
turned and stared for a moment helplessly at Pinkie Bonn. “So help me!”
he said heavily. “It's--it's empty.” He shook his fist suddenly. “De
Crab's handed us one, dat's wot! But de Crab'll get his fer--”
“It wasn't the Crab!” Pinkie Bonn was stuttering his words. He stood,
jaws dropped, his eyes glued now on the paper in his hand.
The Pug, his face working, the personification of baffled rage and
intolerance, leered at Pinkie Bonn. “Well, who was it, den?” he snarled.
Pinkie Bonn licked his lips.
“The White Moll!” He licked his lips again.
“De White Moll!” echoed the Pug incredulously.
“Yes,” said Pinkie Bonn. “Listen to what's on this paper that I fished
out of there I Listen! She's got all the nerve of the devil! 'With
thanks, and my most grateful appreciation--the White Moll.'”
The Pug snatched the paper from Pinkie Bonn's hand, as though to assure
himself that it was true. Rhoda Gray smiled faintly. It was good acting,
very excellently done--seeing that the Pug had written the note and
placed it in the hiding place himself!
“My God!” mumbled Pinkie Bonn thickly. “I ain't afraid of most things,
but I'm gettin' scared of her. She ain't human. Last night you know what
happened, and the night before, and--” He gulped suddenly. “Let's get
out of here!” he said hurriedly. The Pug made no reply, except for a
muttered growl of assent and a nod of his head.
The two men crossed the room. The light went out. Their footsteps echoed
back as they descended the stairs, then died away.
And then Rhoda Gray moved for the first time. She brushed aside the
cretonne hanging, ran to the washstand, possessed herself of the package
she had seen the Pug place there, and then made her way, cautious now of
the slightest sound, downstairs.
She tried the door that led into the secondhand shop from the hall,
found it unlocked, and with a little gasp of relief slipped through, and
closed it gently behind her. She did not dare risk the front entrance.
Pinkie Bonn and the Pug were not far enough away yet, and she did not
dare wait until they were. Too bulky to take the risk of attempting
to conceal it about his person while with Pinkie Bonn, the Pug, it was
obvious, would come back alone for that package, and it was equally
obvious that he would not be long in doing so. There was old Luertz's
return that he would have to anticipate. It would not take wits nearly
so sharp as those possessed by the Pug to find an excuse for separating
promptly from Pinkie Bonn!
Rhoda Gray groped her way down the shop, groped her way to a back door,
unbolted it, working by the sense of touch, and let herself out into a
back yard. Five minutes later she was blocks away, and hurrying rapidly
back toward the deserted shed in the lane behind Gypsy Nan's garret.
Her lips formed into a tight little curve as she went along. There was
still work to do to-night--if this package really contained the stolen
legacy of gems left by Angel Jack. She had first of all to reach a place
where she could examine the package with safety; then a place to hide it
where it would be secure; and then--Danglar!
She gained the lane, stole along it, and disappeared into the shed
through the broken door that hung, partially open, on sagging hinges.
Here she sought a corner, and crouched down so that her body would
smother any reflection from her flashlight. And now, eagerly,
feverishly, she began to undo the package; and then, a moment later, she
gazed, stupefied and amazed, at what lay before her. Precious stones,
scores of them, nestled on a bed of cotton; they were of all colors and
of all sizes--but each one of them seemed to pulsate and throb, and from
some wondrous, glorious depth of its own to fling back from the white
ray upon it a thousand rays in return, as though into it had been
breathed a living and immortal fire.
And Rhoda Gray, crouched there, stared--until suddenly she grew afraid,
and suddenly with a shudder she wrapped the package up again. These were
the stones for whose fabulous worth the woman whose personality she,
Rhoda Gray, had usurped, had murdered a man; these were the stones which
were indirectly the instrumentality--since but for them Gypsy Nan would
never have existed--that made her, Rhoda Gray, to-night, now, at this
very moment, a hunted thing, homeless, friendless, fighting for her very
life against police and underworld alike!
She rose abruptly to her feet. She had no longer any need of a
flashlight. There was even light of a sort in the place--she could
see the stars through the jagged holes in the roof, and through one of
these, too, the moonlight streamed in. The shed was all but crumbling
in a heap. Underfoot, what had once been flooring, was now but rotting,
broken boards. Under one of these, beside the clothing of Gypsy Nan
which she had discarded but a little while before, she deposited the
package; then stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street
again.