JUST A CLEVER GAME.
When the old hag glanced cautiously about the disreputable apartment,
Havens began to hope that the bribe of twenty thousand dollars which he
had offered her might secure his release. It seemed to him that the old
woman was strongly tempted to accept the money.
“You can do it easy enough,” the young millionaire said, as the woman
helped herself to a drink of liquor and restored the bottle to a pocket.
“You can get me out of here without danger to yourself, and then you can
disappear with the money. No one will ever know.”
Havens had been born and reared in New York. Well he knew the law of
club and fang which governed the underworld on the East Side. He knew
that death follows betrayal as surely as night follows day. He
understood that the old woman was taking long chances in even
considering his release.
“It ain’t enough!” the hag declared in a moment, her vicious eyes
showing both greed and terror. “It ain’t enough for a poor old woman
like me. I’d have to leave New York forever!”
“I don’t doubt it!” Havens replied. “Still,” he went on, “judging from
appearances, your life here hasn’t been one to be much mourned. You
haven’t had many of the comforts of life,” he continued, “and possibly
none of its pleasures.”
“I’m an old, old woman to leave the East Side,” wailed the hag.
“Besides,” she went on, “how do I know that you would play fair with me?
Once out of this place, you’d be likely to hand me over to the police
instead of handing the money over to me! I don’t think I can trust you!”
“Tell me this,” asked Havens, “by whose orders was I brought here?”
The old woman hesitated and then shook her head.
“Tim brought you here,” she said in a moment, “and that’s all I know
about it. He told me to keep you safe and sound.”
“Who’s Tim?” asked Havens.
“One of the boys,” was the indefinite reply.
“What else did he say?” asked Havens.
“Not much!” was the sullen reply. “Nothing at all!”
The hag was becoming more reticent now. She appealed for consolation to
her bottle at regular intervals, and finally drew out a black old clay
pipe, filled it by poking a scrawny finger into the bowl, and sat down
on the edge of the bunk upon which Havens lay to send the rank fumes of
villainous, adulterated tobacco into the already nauseating air of the
room.
“How long are they going to keep me?” asked the millionaire.
The hag mumbled over her pipe stem and shook her head silently.
“Now let me give you my last offer,” Havens went on. “If you’ll get me
out of this place without any further inconvenience to myself, I’ll go
directly to a bank and get you twenty-five thousand dollars! You may go
with me if you like, after making yourself presentable.”
The old woman hesitated, mumbling over her bottle and her pipe for what
seemed to Havens to be a long time. Once or twice he was on the point of
asking her if his abduction had been brought about by friends of
Phillips and Mendosa.
However, he was uncertain as to the wisdom of this, for he was in doubt
as to whether the old woman knew anything concerning the interest which
had brought him into his present unpleasant situation, so he remained
silent on that point.
He knew very well that if the old woman did not already know that she
was serving the interests of the murderers in keeping him there, her
terror of punishment for any assistance she might give him would be
increased tenfold. For years the Phillips and Mendosa gang had ruled the
East Side, not exactly with a rod of iron, but with revolvers and
bung-starters. He knew that the very mention of the gang would bring
additional horror to the old woman’s mind.
“I believe,” the old woman said, in a moment, “that you really would do
it, dearie. I really believe you would!”
“I surely would!” replied Havens. “I have many business interests at
stake, and might lose much more than twenty-five thousand dollars by
remaining in this place, to say nothing of the objectionable features of
the apartment. I’ll play fair with you, mother.”
At the word “mother” the old woman turned her rheumy eyes toward the
captive and let them rest upon his face in earnest amazement.
“That’s what I’m called here,” she said in a moment, “they all call me
‘mother’ in this place. How did you know?”
“You seemed to me to deserve the title,” answered Havens.
No more was said for some moments, then the old woman arose and went to
the window, through which the red light still shone from the vessel’s
mast, and looked out. She shook her head vigorously as she turned back.
“Can you swim?” she said.
“I certainly can,” answered Havens.
“And climb up the side of a vessel on a rope?”
“That is an old trick of mine.”
“And you can strike a hard blow?” she then asked.
“I am noted among my friends as having the punch,” answered Havens with
a slight smile.
“Then,” said the old woman, “I want you to saw the cords from your
wrists over a nail in the wall until they come apart. Then I want you to
strike me a knock-out blow on the head, cut the cords on your ankles,
make your way through this window, and cross the street to the pier.
Then you must drop into the water, softly so as not to attract the
attention of the police, and climb a rope leading to the deck of the
vessel showing the red light. Do you understand all this?”
“Perfectly!” replied Havens.
“And after you are aboard the vessel,” the old woman went on, “you must
pretend to have fallen into the water by mistake. You are never to
mention being in this apartment at all. When they put you ashore, go on
about your business until you receive a note from me. Then we can settle
the matter of the money. It will be signed ‘Mother DeMott’.”
“That’s all very well,” Havens remarked, sawing away at the cords on his
wrists, “but I can’t give the blow you ask for, mother.”
“If you don’t,” the old woman insisted, “I shall be murdered before
morning!”
“I’ll compromise by tying you up,” Havens said. “I’ll tie you good and
tight, and put a handkerchief over your mouth, and they will never
suspect.”
The young millionaire thought he detected a queer smile on the face of
the old lady as he tied the cords with which he had been bound about her
withered old wrists and ankles!
The window was not barred or protected in any way, so the sash was
easily lifted. It opened to a paved street, the bottom of the sash
running on a level with the stones, for the apartment in which he had
been confined was a half basement. It was perhaps two o’clock in the
morning, and only the skulkers of the night were abroad.
Here and there men slouched by with their chins low down on their
breasts and their greasy hats hiding furtive eyes. Now and then a
policeman, swinging a heavy night-stick, passed along the street,
mumbling imprecations at the waifs who refused to go to bed for the very
good reason that they had no beds to go to!
Havens passed out of the window unobserved. He saw a man standing at the
entrance to a sailor’s boarding house, next door, and there were several
moving about at the head of the pier. However, no one seemed to pay any
attention to him as he crossed the street and sat down on the pier with
his legs hanging over the side.
While he waited for those nearest to him to go about their business, if
they had any to go to, the man standing in the boarding-house door, lit
a cigar and waved the still flaming match up and down in the quiet air,
as if for the purpose of extinguishing the flame.
At that time Havens thought nothing at all of the incident, but later on
he remembered with self-reproach that he ought to have been warned by
it.
Presently he dropped into the chill waters of the river and struck out
for the boat, not very far away, which displayed the red light from the
mast. Not one rope, but a dozen hung from the chains at the prow, and
the millionaire had little difficulty in making his way to the deck.
For a moment he saw no one about the vessel, then a bushy head was
lifted above a hatchway and a pair of surly eyes turned toward the
intruder. Havens stepped forward and spoke.
“Good-evening,” he said in his best society manner.
The head was followed out of the hatchway by a short, broad, hulking
figure. The face of the man was short and broad like his body. The jaw,
which was set like that of a bulldog, was outlined against a rim of red
whiskers growing down on his neck.
“What do you want?” the fellow demanded in an angry tone.
“Why,” Havens replied, “I was mooning about the pier and fell into the
river. I shall want to be set ashore presently.”
“You’ll go ashore the way you came on board!”
The man flashed ugly eyes at the millionaire. Havens felt the necessity
at that time of propitiating the man, for the reason that he wanted to
remain hidden on board the vessel until daylight. He believed that a
search all through that section would be made for him as soon as his
escape had been discovered. He knew, too, that the attempt to pass
through that section of the city in the middle of the night would be
dangerous to any person having the appearance of wealth.
“Well,” Havens said, presently, “I’d like a drink of water, if you have
such a thing on board, and I’m willing to pay liberally for your
trouble.”
“Water cold, eh?” snarled the other.
“Decidedly,” answered Havens with a slight shiver.
The man, who appeared to be master of the vessel, which was a small
coast-wise trading schooner, walked to the rail and looked out over the
street Havens had so recently crossed.
While standing there he took a foul old briar pipe from his pocket,
filled it with cut plug tobacco, and touched a match to the ill-smelling
heap. Havens noticed that as he did so he shook the match viciously in
the air, as if trying to extinguish the flame.
Again the millionaire was entirely deceived by the apparently innocent
action. Feeling comparatively at peace with himself, he stood waiting
for the captain’s decision.
Presently the squat of a man returned to where the millionaire was
standing and pointed toward the hatchway.
“I wouldn’t send a cat ashore if he was wet and thirsty,” commented the
captain. “If you’ll step down the hatchway, I’ll give you something to
offset the chill of the water.”
Havens followed the pointing finger, and soon stood in a small cabin
which lay completely under the one deck of the schooner. It was a large
room, evidently long used for the storage of such goods as the vessel
carried, but one corner was partitioned off by a screen, and here a
faded and worn rug, a broken couch, a table, and a couple of chairs
proclaimed the home of the master of the craft. Havens took one of the
chairs and waited for his host to speak. A clock on the wall showed the
hour of half-past two.
Directly the captain opened a cupboard and brought forth a bottle of
spirits and two glasses.
“Help yourself!” he said to Havens.
Now Havens had not the slightest notion of taking a drink of liquor. He
was a total abstainer, and even had he been in the habit of using
intoxicating liquors, he would never have indulged under such
circumstances. His watch and money had been taken from him before he had
regained consciousness, but his general appearance was that of a man who
would be apt to pay roundly for his release in case he was temporarily
removed from the society of his friends.
However, he poured out a small portion of whiskey and waited for an
opportunity to toss it away. The captain of the schooner eyed him
maliciously, his undershot jaw set like that of a bulldog.
“So you don’t drink, eh?” the captain said, with a snarl.
“You may be mistaken!” answered Havens.
“Sometimes I do.”
“Mistaken, yourself!” shouted the captain. “You thought you’d bribed
Mother DeMott, didn’t you? You thought you’d be dropping off the _Nancy_
in the morning and turning us all over to the police, didn’t you?”
Havens eyed the man for a moment, too dazed to speak.
“In the morning,” the captain sneered, “we set sail for South America
with one very prominent passenger on board.”