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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85239dc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51965 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51965) diff --git a/old/51965-0.txt b/old/51965-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f648cd9..0000000 --- a/old/51965-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8976 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. Packard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Pawned - -Author: Frank L. Packard - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51965] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAWNED *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -PAWNED - -By Frank L. Packard - -The Copp, Clark Co., Limited Toronto - -1921 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -PAWNED - - - - -BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION - - - - -HER STORY - - -|A HANSOM cab, somewhat woebegone in appearance, threaded its way in a -curiously dejected manner through the heart of New York's East Side. A -fine drizzle fell, through which the street lamps showed as through a -mist; and, with the pavements slippery, the emaciated looking horse, -the shafts jerking and lifting up at intervals around its ears, appeared -hard put to it to preserve its footing. - -The cabman on his perch drove with his coat collar turned up and his -chin on his breast. He held the reins listlessly, permitting the horse -to choose its own gait. At times he lifted the little trap door in the -roof of the cab and peered into the interior; occasionally his hand, -tentatively, hesitantly, edged toward a bulge in his coat pocket-only to -be drawn back again in a sort of panic haste. - -The cab turned into a street where, in spite of the drizzle, hawkers -with their push-carts under flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were -doing a thriving business. The horse went more slowly. There was very -little room. With the push-carts lining the curbs on both sides, and -the overflow of pedestrians from the sidewalks into the street, it was -perhaps over-taxing the horse's instinct to steer a safe course for the -vehicle it dragged behind it. Halfway along the block a wheel of -the hansom bumped none too gently into one of the push-carts, nearly -upsetting the latter. The hawker, with a frantic grab, saved his wares -from disaster-by an uncomfortably narrow margin, and, this done, hurled -an impassioned flood of lurid oratory at the two-wheeler. - -The cabman lifted his chin from his breast, stared stonily at the -hawker, slapped the reins mechanically on the roof of the cab as an -intimation to the horse to proceed, and the cab wended its way along -again. - -At the end of the block, it turned the corner, and drew up before a -small building that was nested in between two tenements. The cabman -climbed down from his perch, and stood for a moment surveying the three -gilded balls that hung over the dingy doorway, and the lettering--“Paul -Veniza. Pawnbroker”--that showed on the dully-lighted windows which -confronted him. - -He drew his hand across his eyes; then, reaching suddenly inside the -cab, lifted a bundle in his arms, and entered the shop. A man behind the -counter stared at him, and uttered a quick ejaculation. The cabman went -on into a rear room. The man from behind the counter followed. In the -rear room, a woman rose from a table where she had been sewing, and took -the bundle quickly from the cabman's arms, as it emitted a querulous -little cry. - -The cabman spoke for the first time. - -“She's dead,” he said heavily. - -The woman, buxom, middle-aged, stared at him, white-faced, her eyes -filling suddenly with tears. - -“She died an hour ago,” said the cabman, in the same monotonous -voice. “I thought mabbe you'd look after the baby girl for a bit, Mrs. -Veniza--you and Paul.” - -“Of course!” said the woman in a choked voice. “I wanted to before, -but--but your wife wouldn't let the wee mite out of her sight.” - -“She's dead now,” said the cabman. “An hour ago.” - -Paul Veniza, the pawnbroker, crossed to the cabman's side, and, placing -his hands on the other's shoulders, drew the man down into a chair. - -“Hawkins,” he said slowly, “we're getting on in years, fifty each of us, -and we've known each other for a good many of those fifty.” He cleared -his throat. “You've made a mess of things, Hawkins.” - -The woman, holding the baby, started suddenly forward, a red flush -dyeing her cheeks. - -“Paul!” she cried out sharply. “How can you be so cruel at such an hour -as this?” - -The pawnbroker shook his head. He had moved to the back of the cabman's -chair. Tall, slight, grave and kindly-faced, with high forehead and the -dark hair beginning to silver at the temples, there seemed something -almost esthetic about the man. - -“It is _the_ hour,” he said deliberately; “the one hour in which I must -speak plainly to my old friend, the one hour that has come into his -life which may mean everything to him.” His right hand slipped from the -cabman's shoulder and started, tentatively, hesitantly, toward a bulge -in the cabman's coat pocket--but was drawn back again, and found its -place once more on the cabman's shoulder. “I was afraid, Hawkins, when -you married the young wife. I was afraid of your curse.” - -The cabman's elbows were on the table; he had sunk his chin in his -hands. His blue eyes, out of a wrinkled face of wind-beaten tan, roved -around the little room, and rested finally on the bundle in the woman's -arms. - -“That's finished now,” he said dully. - -“I pray God it is,” said Paul Veniza earnestly; “but you said that -before--when you married the young wife.” - -“It's finished now--so help me, God!” The cabman's lips scarcely moved. -He stared straight in front of him. - -There was silence in the little, plainly furnished room for a moment; -then the pawnbroker spoke again: - -“I was born here in New York, you know, after my parents came from -Italy. There was no money, nothing--only misery. I remember. It is like -that, Hawkins, isn't it, where you have just come from, and where you -have left the young wife?” - -“Paul!” his wife cried out again. “How can you say such things? It--it -is not like you!” Her lips quivered. She burst into tears, and buried -her face in the little bundle she snuggled to her breast. - -The cabman seemed curiously unmoved--as though dazed, almost detached -from his immediate surroundings. He said nothing. - -The pawnbroker's hands still rested on the cabman's shoulders, a -strange gentleness in his touch that sought somehow, it seemed, to offer -sympathy for his own merciless words. - -“I have been thinking of this for a long time, ever since we knew that -Claire could not get better,” he said. “We knew you would bring the -little one here. There was no other place, except an institution. And so -I have been thinking about it. What is the little one's name?” - -The cabman shook his head. - -“She has no name,” he said. - -“Shall it be Claire, then?” asked the pawnbroker gently. - -The cabman's fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold -of flesh and tightened until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. -He nodded his head. - -Again the pawnbroker was silent for a little while. - -“My wife and I will take little Claire--on one condition,” he said at -last, gravely. “And that condition is that she is to grow up as our -child, and that, though you may come here and see her as often as you -like, she is not to know that you are her father.” - -The cabman turned about a haggard face. - -“Not to know that I am her father--ever,” he said huskily. - -“I did not say that,” said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, leaning -over the cabman. “I am a pawnbroker; this is a pawn-shop. There is a way -in which you may redeem her.” - -The cabman pressed a heavy hand over his eyes. - -“What is that way?” He swallowed hard as he spoke. - -“By redeeming yourself.” The pawnbroker's voice was low and earnest. -“What have you to offer her to-day, save a past that has brought only -ruin and misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no home. -There was no home for the young wife. You said when you married Claire, -as you have said to-night, that it was all finished. But it was not -finished. And your curse was the stronger. Well, little Claire is only -a baby, and there would be years, anyhow, before just a man could take -care of her. Do you understand, my old friend? If, at the end of those -years, enough of them to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you -have changed your life and overcome your weakness, then you shall have -little Claire back again, and she shall know you as her father, and be -proud of you. But if you do not do this, then she remains with us, and -we are her parents, and you pledge me your word that it shall be so.” - -There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying--but -more softly now. The cabman's chin had sunk into his hands again. The -minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and, pushing -back his chair, stumbled to his feet. - -“God--God bless you both!” he whispered. “It's all finished now for -good, as I told you, but you are right, Paul. I--I ain't fit to have her -yet. I'll stand by the bargain.” He moved blindly toward the door. - -The pawnbroker interposed. - -“Wait, Hawkins, old friend,” he said. “I'll go with you. You'll need -some help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things -that are to be done.” - -The cabman shook his head. - -“Not to-night,” he said in a choked way. “Leave me alone to-night.” - -He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside, -but, following, stood bareheaded in the doorway as the other clambered -to his perch on the hansom cab. - -Hawkins slapped his reins on the roof of the cab. The horse started -slowly forward. - -The drizzle had ceased; but the horse, left to his own initiative, was -still wary of the wet pavements and moved at no greater pace than a -walk. Hawkins drove with his coat collar still turned up and his chin on -his breast. - -And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street--and the night -grew late. - -And the cabman's hand reached tentatively, hesitantly, a great many -times, toward a bulge in his coat pocket, and for a great many times -was withdrawn as empty as it had set forth. And then, once, his fingers -touched a glass bottle neck... and then, not his fingers, but his -lips... and for a great many times. - -It had begun to rain again. - -The horse, as if conscious of the futility of its own movements, had -stopped, and, with head hanging, seemed to cower down as though seeking -even the slender protection of the shafts, whose ends now made half -circles above his ears. - -Something slipped from the cabman's fingers and fell with a crash to the -pavement. The cabman leaned out from his perch and stared down at the -shattered glass. - -“Broken,” said the cabman vacantly. - - - - -TWENTY YEARS LATER - -|IT was silver light. Inside the reefs the water lay placid and still, -mirroring in a long, shimmering line the reflection of the full tropic -moon; beyond, ever and anon, it splashed against its coral barriers in -little crystal showers. It was a soundless night. No breeze stirred the -palms that, fringing white stretches of beach around the bay, stood out -in serene beauty, their irregular tops etched with divine artistry into -the sky-line of the night. - -Out from the shore, in that harbor which holds no sanctuary in storm, -the mail boat, dark save for her riding lights, swung at her moorings; -shoreward, the perspective altered in the moonlight until it seemed that -Mount Vaea had lowered its sturdy head that it might hover in closer -guardianship over the little town, Apia straggled in white patches along -the road. And from these white patches, which were dwellings and stores, -there issued no light. - -From a point on the shore nearest the mail boat, a figure in cotton -drawers and undershirt slipped silently into the water and disappeared. -Thereafter, at intervals, a slight ripple disturbed the surface as the -man, coming up to breathe, turned upon his back and lay with his face -exposed; for the rest he swam under water. It was as though he were in -his natural element. He swam superbly even where, there in the Islands, -all the natives were born to the sea; but his face, when visible on the -few occasions that it floated above the surface, was the face, not of a -native, but of a white man. - -And now he came up in the shadow of the steamer's hull where, near the -stern, a rope dangled over the side, almost touching the water's edge. -And for a moment he hung to the rope, motionless, listening. Then he -began to swarm upward with fine agility, without a sound, his bare feet -finding silent purchase against the iron plates of the hull. - -Halfway up he paused and listened intently again. Was that a sound as of -some one astir, the soft movement of feet on the deck above? No, there -was nothing now. Why should there be? It was very late, and Nanu, the -man who lisped, was no fool. The rope had hung from exactly that place -where, of all others, one might steal aboard without attracting the -attention of the watch. - -He went on again, and finally raised his head above the rail. The deck, -flooded with moonlight, lay white and deserted below him. He swung -himself over, dropped to the deck--and the next instant reeled back -against the rail as a rope-end, swung with brutal force, lashed across -his face, raising a welt from cheek to cheek. Half stunned, he was -still conscious that a form had sprung suddenly at him from out of the -darkness of the after alleyway, that the form was one of the vessel's -mates, that the form still swung a short rope-end that was a murderous -weapon because it was little more flexible than iron and was an inch in -thickness, and that, behind this form, other forms, big forms, Tongans -of the crew, pressed forward. - -A voice roared out, hoarse, profane, the mate's voice: - -“Thought you'd try it again, did you, you damned beachcomber? I'll teach -you! And when I find the dog that left that rope for you, I'll give -him a leaf out of the same book! You bloody waster! I'll teach you! -I'll----” - -The rope-end hissed as it cut through the air again, aiming for the -swimmer's face. But it missed its mark. Perhaps it was an illusion -of the white moonlight, lending unreality to the scene, exciting the -imagination to exaggerate the details, but the swimmer seemed to move -with incredible speed, with the lithe, terrible swiftness of a panther -in its spring. The rope-end swished through the air, missing a suddenly -lowered head by the barest fraction of an inch, and then, driven home -with lightning-like rapidity, so quick that the blows seemed as one, the -swimmer's fists swung, right and left, crashing with terrific impact to -the point of the mate's jaw. And the mate's head jolted back, quivered -grotesquely on his shoulders for an instant like a tuning fork, sagged, -and the great bulk of the man collapsed and sprawled inertly on the -deck. - -There was a shuffle of feet from the alleyway, cries. The swimmer swung -to face the expected rush, and it halted, hesitant. It gave him time to -spring and stand erect upon the steamer's rail. On the upper deck faces -and forms began to appear. A man in pajamas leaned far out and peered at -the scene. - -There was a shout from out of the dark, grouped throng in the alleyway; -it was chorused. The rush came on again for the rail; and the dripping -figure that stood there, with the first sound that he had made--a laugh, -half bitter, half of cool contempt--turned, and with a clean dive took -the water again and disappeared. - -Presently he reached the shore. There were more than riding lights out -there on the steamer now. He gave one glance in that direction, shrugged -his shoulders, and started off along the road. At times he raised his -hand to brush it across his face where the welt, raw and swollen now, -was a dull red sear. He walked neither fast nor slow. - -The moonlight caught the dripping figure now and then in the open -spaces, and seemed to peer inquisitively at the great breadth of -shoulder, and the rippling play of muscle under the thin cotton drawers -and shirt, which, wet and clinging, almost transparent, scarce hid the -man's nakedness; and at the face, that of a young man, whose square jaw -was locked, whose gray eyes stared steadily along the road, and over -whose forehead, from the drenched, untrimmed mass of fair hair, the -brine trickled in little rivulets as though persistent in its effort -to torture with its salt caress the raw, skin-broken flesh across the -cheeks. - -Then presently a point of land ran out, and, the road ignoring this, the -bay behind was shut out from view. And presently again, farther on, the -road came to a long white stretch of beach on the one hand, and foliage -and trees on the other. And here the dripping figure halted and stood -hesitant as though undecided between the moonlit stretch of sand, and -the darkness of a native hut that was dimly outlined amongst the trees -on the other side of the road. - -After a moment he made his way to the hut and, groping around, secured -some matches and a box of cigarettes. He spoke into the empty blackness. - -“You lose, Nanu,” he muttered whimsically. “They wouldn't stand water -and I left them for you. But now, you see, I'm back again, after all.” - -He lighted a cigarette, and in the flame of the match stared -speculatively at the small, broken pieces of coral that made the floor -of the hut, and equally, by the addition of a thin piece of native -matting, his bed. - -“The sand is softer,” he said with a grim drawl. - -He went out from the hut, crossed the road, flung himself upon his back -on the beach, and clasped his hands behind his head. The smoke from his -cigarette curled languidly upward in wavering spirals, and he stared for -a long time at the moon. - -“Moon madness,” he said at last. “They say if you look long enough the -old boy does you in.” - -The cigarette finished, he flung the stub away. After a time, he raised -his head and listened. A moment later he lay back again full length on -the sand. The sound of some one's footsteps coming rapidly along the -road from the direction of the town was now unmistakably audible. - -“The jug for mine, I guess,” observed the young man to the moon. -“Probably a file of native constabulary in bare feet that you can't hear -bringing up the rear!” - -The footsteps drew nearer, until, still some distance away, the -white-clad figure of a man showed upon the tree-fringed road. The -sprawled figure on the beach made no effort toward flight, and less -toward concealment. With a sort of studied insolence injected into his -challenge, he stuck another cigarette between his lips and deliberately -allowed full play to the flare of the match. - -The footsteps halted abruptly. Then, in another moment, they crunched -upon the sand, and a tall man, with thin, swarthy face, a man of perhaps -forty or forty-five, who picked assiduously at his teeth with a quill -toothpick, stood over the recumbent figure. - -“Found you, have I?” he grunted complacently. - -“If you like to put it that way,” said the young man indifferently. He -raised himself on his elbow again, and stared toward the road. “Where's -the army?” he inquired. - -The tall man allowed the point of the quill toothpick to flex and strike -back against his teeth. The sound was distinctive. _Tck!_ He ignored the -question. - -“When the mate came out of dreamland,” he said, “he lowered a boat and -came ashore to lay a complaint against you.” - -“I can't say I'm surprised,” admitted the young man. “I suppose I am -to go with you quietly and make no trouble or it will be the worse for -me--I believe that's the usual formula, isn't it?” - -The man with the quill toothpick sat down on the sand. He appeared to be -absorbed for a moment in a contemplation of his surroundings. - -“These tropic nights are wonderful, aren't they? Kind of get you.” - He plied the quill toothpick industriously. “I'm a passenger on the -steamer, and I came ashore with the mate. He's gone back--without laying -the complaint. There's always a way of fixing things--even injured -feelings. One of the native boat's-crew said he knew where you were to -be found. He's over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the -road. - -The young man sat bolt upright. - -“I don't get you,” he said slowly, “except that you are evidently not -personifying the majesty of the law. What's the idea?” - -“Well,” said the other, “I had three reasons for coming. The first was -that I thought I recognized you yesterday when they threw you off the -steamer, and was sure of it to-night when--I am a light sleeper--I came -out on the upper deck at the sound of the row and saw you take your -departure from the vessel for the second time.” - -“I had no idea,” said the young man caustically, “that I was so well -known. Are you quite sure you haven't made a mistake?” - -“Quite!” asserted the other composedly. “Of course, I am not prepared -to say what your present name is--you may have considered a change -beneficial--so I will not presume in that respect. But you are, or were, -a resident of San Francisco. You were very nice people there. I have -no knowledge of your mother, except that I understand she died in your -infancy. A few years ago your father died and left you, not a fortune, -but quite a moderate amount of money. I believe the pulpits designate -it as a 'besetting sin.' You had one--gambling. The result was that you -traveled the road a great many other young men have traveled; the only -difference being that, in so far as I am competent to speak, you -hold the belt for speed and all-round proficiency. You went utterly, -completely and whole-heartedly to hell.” - -The tall man became absorbed again in his surroundings. “And I take it,” -he said presently, “that in spite of the wonders of a tropic night, you are still there.” - -The young man shrugged his shoulders. - -“You have put it very delicately,” he said, with a grim smile. “I'm -sorry, but I am obliged to confess that the recognition isn't mutual. -Would you mind telling me who you are?” - -“We'll get to that in due course,” said the other. “My second reason was -that it appeared to me to be logical to suppose that, having once -been the bona fide article, you could readily disguise yourself as a -gentleman again, and your interpretation of the rôle would be beyond -suspicion or----” - -“By God!” The welt across the young man's face grew suddenly white, as -though the blood had fled from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose, -staring levelly into the other's eyes. - -The tall man apparently was quite undisturbed. - -“And the third reason is that I have been looking for just such a--there -really isn't any other word--gentleman, providing he was possessed -of another and very essential characteristic. You possess that -characteristic in a most marked degree. Your actions tonight are -unmistakable evidence that you have nerve.” - -“It strikes me that you've got a little of it yourself,” observed the -young man evenly. - -The quill toothpick under the adroit guidance of his tongue traveled -from the left- to the right-hand side of the other's mouth. - -“It is equally as essential to me,” he said dryly. “You appear to fill -the bill; but there is always the possibility of a fly in the ointment; -complications--er--unpleasant complications, perhaps, you know, -that might have arisen since you left San Francisco, and that -might--er--complicate matters.” - -The young man relapsed into a recumbent position upon the sand, his -hands clasped under his head again, and in his turn appeared to be -absorbed in the beauty of the night. - -“Moon-madness!” he murmured pityingly. - -“A myth!” said the tall man promptly. “Would you mind sketching in -roughly the details of your interesting career since you left the haunts -of the aristocracy?” - -“I don't see any reason why I should.” The young man yawned. - -“Do you see any reason why you shouldn't?” inquired the other -composedly. - -“None,” said the young man, “except that the steamer sails at daybreak, -and I should never forgive myself if you were left behind.” - -“Nor forgive yourself, perhaps, if you failed to sail on her as a -first-class passenger,” said the tall man quietly. - -“What?” ejaculated the young man sharply. - -The other shrugged his shoulders. - -“It depends on the story,” he said. - -“I--I don't understand.” The young man frowned. “There's a chance for me -to get aboard the mail boat?” - -“It depends on the story,” said the other again. - -“Moon-mad!” murmured the young man once more, after a moment's silence. -“But it's cheap at the price, for it's not much of a story. Beginning -where you left off in my biography, I ducked when the crash came in San -Francisco, and having arrived in hell, as you so delicately put it, I -started out to explore. Mr. Dante had it right--there's no use stopping -in the suburbs. I lived a while in his last circle. It's too bad he -never knew the 'Frisco water-front; it would have fired his imagination! -I'm not sure, though, but Honolulu's got a little on 'Frisco, at that! -Luck was out. I was flat on my back when I got a chance to work my way -out to Honolulu. One place was as good as another by then.” - -The young man lit a cigarette, and stared at the glowing tip -reminiscently with his gray eyes. - -“You said something about gambling,” he went on; “but you didn't say -enough. It's a disease, a fever that sets your blood on fire, and makes -your life kind of delirious, I guess--if you get it chronic. I guess I -was born with it. I remember when I was a kid I--but I forgot, pardon -me, the mail boat sails at daybreak.” - -“Go as far as you like,” said the tall man, picking at his teeth with -the quill toothpick. - -The young man shook his head. - -“Honolulu is the next stopping place,” he said. “On the way out I picked -up a few odd dollars from my fellow-members of the crew, and----” - -“Tck!” It was the quill toothpick. - -The young man's eyes narrowed, and his jaw set challengingly. - -“Whatever else I've done,” he stated in a significant monotone, “I've -never played crooked. It was on the level.” - -“Of course,” agreed the tall man hastily. - -“I sat in with the only stakes I had,” said the young man, still -monotonously. “A bit of tobacco, a rather good knife that I've got yet, -and a belt that some one took a fancy to as being worth half a dollar.” - -“Certainly! Of course!” reiterated the tall man in haste. - -The quill toothpick was silent. - -“A pal of mine, one of the stokers, said he knew of a good place to play -in Honolulu where there was a square deal,” continued the young man; -“so, a night or so after we reached there, we got shore leave and -started off. Perhaps you know that part of Honolulu. I don't. I didn't -see much of it. I know there's some queer dumps, and queer doings, and -the scum of every nationality under the sun to run up against. And I -know it was a queer place my mate steered me into. It was faro. The -box was run by an old Chinaman who looked as though he were trying to -impersonate one of his ancestors, he was so old. My mate and I formed -the English-speaking community. There were a Jap or two, and a couple of -pleasant-looking cutthroats who cursed in Spanish, and a Chink lying on -a bunk rolling his pill. Oh, yes, the place stunk! Every once in a while -the door opened and some other Godforsaken piece of refuse drifted in. -By midnight we had a full house of pretty bad stuff. - -“It ended in a row, of course. Some fool of a tout came in chaperoning -a party of three men, who were out to see the sights; they were -passengers, I found out later, from one of the ships in port. I don't -know what started the rumpus; some private feud, I guess. The first -thing I knew one of the Spaniards had a knife out and had jumped for the -tout. It was a free-for-all in a minute. I saw the tout go down, and he -didn't look good, and the place suddenly struck me as a mighty unhealthy -place to be found in on that account. The stoker and I started to fight -our way through the jam to the door. There was a row infernal. I guess -you could have heard it a mile away. Anyway, before we could break from -the clinches, as it were, the police were fighting their way in just as -eagerly as we were fighting our way out. - -“I didn't like the sight of that tout lying on the floor, or the thought -of what might happen in the police court the next morning if I were one -of the crowd to adorn the dock. And things weren't going very well. The -police were streaming in through the doorway. And then I caught sight of -something I hadn't seen before because it had previously been hidden by -a big Chinese screen--one of those iron-shuttered windows they seem so -fond of down there. Things weren't very rosy just at that moment because -about the worst hell-cat scramble on record was being made a little -worse by some cheerful maniac starting a bit of revolver practice, but I -remember that I couldn't help laughing to save my soul. In the mêlée one -of the folding wings of the screen had suddenly doubled up, and, -besides the window, I saw hiding behind there for dear life, his -face pasty-white with terror, a very courageous gentleman--one of the -rubbernecks who had come in with the tout. He was too scared, I imagine, -even to have the thought of tackling such formidable things as iron -shutters enter his head. I yelled to the stoker to get them open, and -tried to form a sort of rear guard for him while he did it. Then I heard -them creak on their hinges, and heard him shout. I made a dash for it, -but I wasn't quite quick enough. One of the policemen grabbed me, but -I was playing in luck then. I got in a fortunate swing and he went down -for the count. I remember toppling the screen and the man behind it -over on the floor as I jumped sideways for the window; and I remember a -glimpse of his terrorized face, his eyes staring at me, his mouth wide -open, as I took a headlong dive over the window sill. The stoker picked -me up, and we started on the run. - -“The police were scrambling through the window after us. I didn't need -to be told that there wouldn't be a happy time ahead if I were caught. -Apart from that tout who, though I had nothing to do with it, gave the -affair a very serious aspect, I was good for the limit on the statute -books for resisting arrest in the first place, and for knocking out an -officer in the second. But the stoker knew his way about. We gave -the police the slip, and a little later on we landed up in a sailors' -boarding-house run by a one-eyed cousin of Satan, known as Lascar Joe. -We lay there hidden while the tout got better, and the Spanish hidalgo -got sent up for a long term for murderous assault. Finally Lascar Joe -slipped the stoker aboard some ship; and a week or so later he slipped -me, the transfer being made in the night, aboard a frowsy tramp, bound -for New Zealand.” - -The young man paused, evidently inviting comment. - -“Go on,” prompted the man with the quill toothpick softly. - -“There isn't very much more,” said the young man. He laughed shortly. -“As far as I know I'm the sole survivor from that tramp. She never got -to New Zealand; and that's how I got here to Samoa. She went down in -a hurricane. I was washed ashore on one of this group of islands about -forty or fifty miles from here. I don't know much about the details; I -was past knowing anything when the bit of wreckage on which I had lashed -myself days before came to port. There weren't any--I was going to say -white people on the island, but I'm wrong about that. The Samoans are -about the whitest people on God's green earth. I found that out. There -were only natives on that island. I lived with them for about two -months, and I got to be pretty friendly with them, especially the old -fellow who originally picked me up half drowned and unconscious on the -beach, and who took me into the bosom of his family. Then the missionary -boat came along, and I came back with it to Apia here.” - -The young man laughed again suddenly, a jarring note in his mirth. - -“I don't suppose you've heard that original remark about the world -being such a small place after all! I figured that back here in Apia a -shipwrecked and destitute white man would get the glad hand and at least -a chance to earn his stake. Maybe he would ordinarily; but I didn't. I -hadn't said anything to the missionary about that Honolulu escapade, and -I was keeping it dark when I got here and started to tell the shipwreck -end of my story over again. Queer, isn't it? Lined up in about the first -audience I had was the gentleman with the pasty face that I had toppled -over with the screen in the old Chink's faro dump. He was one of the big -guns here, and had been away on a pleasure trip, and Honolulu had been -on his itinerary. That settled it. The missionary chap spoke up a bit -for me, I'll give him credit for that, though I had a hunch he was going -to use that play as an opening wedge in an effort to reform me later on. -But I had my fingers crossed. The whites here turned their backs on me, -and I turned my back on the missionary. That's about all there was to -it. That was about two weeks ago, and for those two weeks I've lived in -another of Mr. Dante's delightful circles.” - -He sat suddenly upright, a clenched fist flung outward. - -“Not a cent! Not a damned sou-marquee! Nothing but this torn shirt, and -what's left of these cotton pants! Hell!” - -He lay back on the sand quite as suddenly again, and fell to laughing -softly. - -“Tck!” It was the quill toothpick. - -“But at that,” said the young man, “I'm not sure you could call me -a cynic, though the more I see of my own breed as compared with the -so-called heathen the less I think of--my own breed! I still had a card -up my sleeve. I had a letter of introduction to a real gentleman and -landed proprietor here. His name was Nanu, and he gave me his house to -live in, and made me free of his taro and his breadfruit and all his -worldly possessions; and it was the old native who took care of me on -the other island that gave me the letter. It was a queer sort of letter, -too--but never mind that now. - -“Splendid isolation! That's me for the last two weeks as a cross between -a pariah and a mangy cur! What amazes me most is myself. The gentleman -of the Chinese screen is still in the land of the living and walking -blithely around. Funny, isn't it? That's one reason I was crazy to get -away--before anything happened to him.” The tanned fist closed fiercely -over a handful of sand, then opened and allowed the grains to trickle -slowly through the fingers, and its owner laughed softly again. “I've -lived through hell here in those two weeks. I guess we're only built to -stand so much. I was about at the end of my rope when the mail steamer -put in yesterday. I hope I haven't idealized my sojourn here in a way -that would cause you to minimize my necessity for getting away, no -matter to where or by what means! Nanu and I went out to the ship in his -outrigger. Perhaps I would have had better luck if I had run into any -other than the particular mate I did. I don't know. I offered to work my -passage. Perhaps my fame had already gone abroad--or aboard. He invited -me to make another excursion into Dante-land. But when he turned his -back on me I slipped below, and tucked myself in behind some of the -copra sacks they were loading. Once the steamer was away I was away -with her, and I was willing to take what was coming. But I didn't get a -chance. I guess the mate was sharper than I gave him credit for. After -about four hours of heat and stink down there below decks that I had to -grit my teeth to stand, he hauled me out as though he knew I had been -there all the time. I was thrown off the steamer. - -“But I wasn't through. Steamers do not call here every day. I wonder -if you'll know what I mean when I say I was beginning to be afraid of -myself and what might happen if I had to stick it out much longer? That -mangy cur I spoke of had me lashed to the mast from a social standpoint. -I tried it again--to-night. Nanu fixed it for me with one of the crew to -hang that rope over the side, and--well, I believe you said you had seen -what happened. I believe you said, too, that a chance still existed of -my sailing with the mail boat, depending upon my story.” He laughed a -little raucously. “I hope it's been interesting enough to bail me out; -anyway, that's all of it.” - -The tall man sat for a moment in silence. - -“Yes,” he said at last; “I am quite satisfied. Dressed as a gentleman, -with money in your pockets, and such other details as go with the rôle, -you would never be associated with that affair in Honolulu. As a matter -of fact your share in it was not so serious that the police would dog -you all over the world on account of it. In other words, and what really -interests me, is that you are not what is commonly designated as a -'wanted' man. Yes, I may say I am thoroughly satisfied.” - -The young man yawned and stretched himself. - -“I'm delighted to hear it. I haven't any packing to do. Shall we stroll -back to the ship?” - -“I hope so.” The quill toothpick was busy again. “The decision -rests with you. I am not a philanthropist. I am about to offer you a -situation--to fill which I have been searching a good many years to find -some one who had the necessary qualifications. I am satisfied you are -that man. You do not know me; you do not know my name, and though you -have already asked what it is, I shall still withhold that information -until your decision has been given. If you agree, I will here and now -sign a contract with you to which we will both affix our bona fide -signatures; if you refuse, we will shake hands and part as friends and -strangers who have been--shall we use your expression?--moon-mad under -the influence of the wonders of a tropic night.” - -“Something tells me,” said the young man softly, “that the situation is -not an ordinary one.” - -“And you are right,” replied the other quietly. “It is not only not -ordinary, but is, I think I may safely say, absolutely unique and -without its counterpart. I might mention in passing that I am not in -particularly good health, and the sea voyage I was ordered to take -explains my presence here. I am the sole owner of one of the largest, -if not the largest, business enterprises in America; certainly its -turn-over, at least, is beyond question the biggest on the American -continent. I have establishments in every city of any size in both the -United States and Canada--and even in Mexico. The situation I offer you -is that of my confidential representative. No connection whatever will -be known to exist between us; your title will be that of a gentleman of -leisure--but your duties will be more arduous. I regret to say that in -many cases I fear my local managers are not--er--making accurate returns -to me, and they are very hard to check up. I would require you to travel -from place to place as a sort of, say, secret inspector of branches, -and furnish me with the inside information from the lack of which my -business at present, I am afraid, is suffering severely.” - -“And that business?” The young man had raised himself to his elbow on -the sand. - -“The one that is nearest to your heart,” said the tall man calmly. -“Gambling.” - -The young man leaned slowly forward, staring at the other. - -“I wonder if I quite get you?” he said. - -“I am sure you do.” The tall man smiled. “My business is a chain of -select and exclusive gambling houses where only high play is indulged -in, and whose clientele is the richest in the land.” - -The young man rose to his feet, walked a few steps away along the beach, -and came back again. - -“You're devilishly complimentary!” he flung out, with a short laugh. “As -I understand it, then, the price I am to pay for getting away from here -is the pawning of my soul?” - -“Have you anything else to pawn?” inquired the other--and the quill -toothpick punctuated the remark: “Tck!” - -“No,” said the young man, with a twisted smile. “And I'm not sure I've -got that left! I am beginning to have a suspicion that it was in your -'branch' at San Francisco that I lost my money.” - -“You did,” said the other coolly. “That is how I came to know you. -Though not personally in evidence in the 'house' itself, San Francisco -is my home, and my information as to what goes on there at least is -fairly accurate.” - -The young man resumed his pacing up and down the sand. - -“And I might add,” said the tall man after a moment, “that from a point -of ethics I see little difference in the moral status between one who -comes to gamble and one who furnishes the other with the opportunity to -do so. You are perhaps hesitating to take the hurdle on that account?” - -“Moral status!” exclaimed the young man sharply. He halted abruptly -before the other. “No--at least I am not a hypocrite! What right have I -to quarrel with moral status?” - -“Very well, then,” said the other; “I will go farther. I will give you -everything in life that you desire. You will live as a gentleman of -wealth surrounded by every luxury that money can procure, for that is -your rôle. You may gamble to your heart's content, ten, twenty, fifty -thousand a night--in my houses. You will travel the length and breadth -of America. I will pay every expense. There is nothing that you may not -have, nothing that you may not do.” - -The young man was silent for a full minute then, with his hands dug in -his pockets, he fell to whistling under his breath very softly--but very -deliberately. - -An almost sinister smile spread over the tall man's lips as he listened. - -“If I am not mistaken,” he observed dryly, “that is the aria from -Faust.” - -“Yes,” said the young man--and stared the other in the eye. “It is the -aria from Faust.” - -The tall man nodded--but now his lips were straight. - -“I accept the rôle of Mephistopheles, then,” he said softly. “Doctor -Faustus, you know, signed the bond.” - -The young man squatted on the sand again. His face was curiously white; -only the ugly welt, dull red, across his cheeks, like the mark of some -strange branding-iron, held color. - -“Then, draw it!” he said shortly. “And be damned to you!” - -The tall man took a notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket. He -wrote rapidly, tore out the leaf, and on a second leaf made a copy of -the first. This, too, he tore out. - -“I will read it,” he said. “You will observe that no names are -mentioned; that I have still reserved the privilege of keeping my -identity in abeyance until the document is signed. This is what I have -written: _For good and valid consideration the second signatory to -this contract hereby enters unreservedly into the employ of the first -signatory for a period which shall include the lifetime of one or -other of the undersigned, or until such time as this agreement may be -dissolved either by mutual consent or at the will of the first signatory -alone. And the first signatory to this contract agrees to maintain -the second signatory in a station in life commensurate with that of a -gentleman of wealth irrespective of expense, and further to pay to the -second signatory as a stated salary the sum of one thousand dollars a -month._” He looked up. “Shall I sign?” - -“Body and soul,” murmured the young man. He appeared to be fascinated -with the restless movement of the quill toothpick in the other's -mouth. “Have you another toothpick you could let me have?” he inquired -casually. - -The tall man mechanically thrust his fingers into his vest pocket; and -then, as though but suddenly struck with the irrelevancy, and perhaps -facetiousness, of the request, frowned as he found himself handing over -the article in question. - -“Shall I sign?” His tone was sterner. “It is understood that the -signatures are to be bona fide and----” - -“Yes, sign it. It is quite understood.” The young man spoke without -looking up. He seemed to be engrossed in carefully slitting the point of -the quill toothpick he had acquired with his knife. - -The other signed both sheets from the notebook. - -The young man accepted the two slips of paper, but refused the proffered -fountain pen. In the moonlight he read the other's signature: Gilbert -Larmon. His lips tightened a little. It was a big name in San Francisco, -a name of power. Few dreamed perhaps where the sinews of that power came -from! He drew from his pocket a small bottle, uncorked it, dipped in -the quill toothpick, and with his improvised pen wrote with a rasping, -spluttering noise beneath the other's signature on each of the two slips -of paper. One of these slips he returned to the other--but beneath the -tall man's signature there was no mark of any kind whatever. - -Through narrowing eyes the tall man had been watching, and now his face -darkened ominously, and there was something of deadly coolness in his -voice as he spoke. - -“What tomfoolery is this?” he demanded evenly. - -“No; it's quite all right,” said the young man placidly. “Just a whim -of mine. I can't seem to get that Doctor Faustus thing out of my head. -According to the story, I think, he signed in a drop of blood--and I -thought I'd carry a sort of analogy along a bit. That stuff's all right. -I got it from my old native friend on that island I was telling you -about. It's what my letter of introduction to Nanu was written with. -And--well, at least, I guess it stands for the drop of blood, all right! -Take it down there to the shore and dip that part of the paper in the -salt water.” - -The tall man made no answer. For a moment he remained staring with -grim-set features at the other, then he got up, walked sharply to the -water's edge, and, bending down, moistened the lower portion of the -paper. He held it up to the moonlight. Heavy black letters were slowly -taking form just beneath his own signature. Presently he walked back up -the beach to the young man, and held out his hand. - -“Let us get back to the ship--John Bruce,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER ONE--ALADDIN'S LAMP - -|JOHN BRUCE, stretched at full length on a luxurious divan in the most -sumptuous apartment of the Bayne-Miloy, New York's newest and most -pretentious hostelry, rose suddenly to his feet and switched off the -lights. The same impulse carried him in a few strides to the window. The -night was still, and the moon rode high and full. It was the same moon -that, three months ago, he had stared at from the flat of his back -on the beach at Apia. A smile, curiously tight, and yet curiously -whimsical, touched his lips. If it had been “moon-madness” that had -fallen upon the gambler king and himself that night, it had been a -madness that was strangely free in its development from hallucination! -That diagnosis no longer held. It would be much more apposite to lay it -bluntly to the door of--Mephistopheles! From the moment he had boarded -the mail steamer he had lived as a man possessed of unlimited wealth, -as a man with unlimited funds always in his possession or at his instant -command. - -He whistled softly. It was, though, if not moon-madness, perhaps the -moon, serene and full up there as it had been that other night, which he -had been watching from the divan a few moments before, that had sent his -mind scurrying backward over those intervening months. And yet, perhaps -not; for there would come often enough, as now, moments of mind groping, -yes, even the sense of hallucination, when he was not quite sure but -that a certain bubble, floating at one moment in dazzlingly iridescent -beauty before his eyes, would dissolve the next into blank nothingness, -and---- Well, what would it be then? Another beach at some Apia, until -another Mephistopheles, in some other guise, came to play up against his -rôle of Doctor Faustus again? - -He looked sharply behind him around the darkened room, whose darkness -did not hide its luxury. His shoulder brushed the heavy silken portière -at his side; his fingers touched a roll of banknotes in his pocket, -a generous roll, whose individual units were of denominations more -generous still. These were realities! - -Mephistopheles at play! He had left Larmon at Suva, Fiji. Thereafter, -their ways and their lives lay apart--outwardly. Actually, even here -in New York with the continent between them, for Larmon had resumed -his life in which he played the rôle of a benevolent and retired man of -wealth in San Francisco, they were in constant and extremely intimate -touch with each other. - -A modern Mephistopheles! Two men only in the world knew Gilbert Larmon -for what he was! One other besides himself! And that other was a man -named Maldeck, Peter Maldeck. But only one man knew him, John Bruce, in -his new rôle, and that was Gilbert Larmon. Maldeck was the manager of -the entire ring of gambling houses, and likewise the clearing house -through which the profits flowed into Larmon's coffers; but to Maldeck, -he, John Bruce, was exactly what he appeared to be to the world at -large, and to the local managers of the gambling houses in particular--a -millionaire plunger to whom gambling was as the breath of life. The -“inspector of branches” dealt with Gilbert Larmon alone, and dealt -confidentially and secretively over Maldeck's head--even that invisible -writing fluid supplied by the old Samoan Islander playing its part when -found necessary, for it had been agreed between Larmon and himself that -even the most innocent appearing document received from him, John Bruce, -should be subjected to the salt water test; and he had, indeed, already -used it in several of the especially confidential reports that he had -sent Larmon on some of the branches. - -He shrugged his shoulders. The whole scheme of his changed existence -had all been artfully simple--and superbly efficient. He was under no -necessity to explain the source of his wealth except in his native city, -San Francisco, where he was known--and San Francisco was outside -his jurisdiction. With both Larmon and Maldeck making that their -headquarters, other supervision of the local “branch” was superfluous; -elsewhere, his wealth was inherited--that was all. So, skipping San -Francisco, he had come leisurely eastward, gambling for a week or -two weeks, as the case might be, in the various cities, following as -guidance apparently but the whim of his supposedly roué inclinations, -and he had lost a lot of money--which would eventually find its way -back to its original source in the pockets of Gilbert Larmon, via the -clearing house conducted by Peter Maldeck. It was extremely simple--but, -equally, extremely systematic. The habitues of every branch were -carefully catalogued. He had only--and casually--to make the -acquaintance of one of these in each city, and, in turn, quite -inevitably, would follow an introduction to the local “house”; and, once -introduced, the entrée, then or on any subsequent visit to that city, -was an established fact. - -John Bruce laughed suddenly, softly, out into the night. It had been -a good bargain that he had made with Mephistopheles! Wealth, luxury, -everything he desired in life was his. On the trail behind him in the -cities he had already visited he had nightly lost or won huge sums of -money until he had become known as the millionaire plunger. It was quite -true that, in as much as the money, whether lost or won, but passed from -his right- to his left-hand pocket--the pockets being represented by -one Gilbert Larmon--the gambler craving within him was but ill -served, almost in a sense mocked; but that phase of it had sunk into -insignificance. The whole idea was a gigantic gamble--a gamble with -life. The whole fabric was of texture most precarious. It exhilarated -him. Excitement, adventure, yes, even peril, beckoned alluringly and -always from around the corner just ahead. He stood against the police; -he stood a very excellent chance of being discovered some morning minus -his life if the men he was set to watch, and who now fawned upon him and -treated him with awe and an unholy admiration, should get an inkling of -his real identity and his real purpose in their houses! - -He yawned, and as though glorying in his own strength flexed his great -shoulders, and stretched his arms to their full length above his head. -God, it was life! It made of him a superman. He had no human ties to -bind him; no restraint to know; no desire that could not be satiated. -The past was wiped away. It was like some reincarnation in which he -stood supreme above his fellow men, and they bowed to their god. And he -was their god. And if he but nodded approval they would lie, and cheat, -and steal, and commit murder in their greed of worship, they whose souls -were in pawn to their god! - -He turned suddenly from the window, switched on the lights, drew from -his pocket a great sum of money in banknotes, and stood staring at it. -There were thousands in his hand. Thousands and thousands! Money! The -one universally-orthodox god! For but one of these pieces of paper in -his hand he could command what he would, play upon human passions at his -whim, and like puppets on a stage of his own setting move the followers -of the Great Creed, that were numbered in their millions, at his will! -It was only over the few outcasts, the unbelievers, that he held no -sway. But he could afford to ignore the minority! Was he not indeed a -god? - -And it had cost him nothing. Only the pawning of his soul; and, like -Faustus, the day of settlement was afar off. Only the signing of a bond -that postulated a denial of what he had already beforehand held in light -esteem--a code of canting morals. It was well such things were out of -the way! Life stretched the fuller, the rosier, the more red-blooded -before him on that account. He was well content. The future lured him. -Nor was it money alone. There was the spice of adventure, the battle -of wits, hardly inaugurated yet, between himself and those whose -underground methods were the _raison d'être_ of his own magically -enhanced circumstances. - -John Bruce replaced the money in his pocket abruptly, and frowned. That -was something, from still another standpoint, which he could not afford -to lose sight of. He had to justify his job. Gilbert Larmon had stated -that he was not a philanthropist, and it was written in the bond that -Larmon could terminate the agreement at will. Yes, and that was -queer, too! What kind of a man was Larmon? He knew Larmon, as Larmon -superficially subjected himself to inspection and speculation; but -he was fully aware that he did not know Larmon the man. There seemed -something almost sinister in its inconsistency that Larmon should at one -and the same time reserve the right to terminate that bond at will while -his very signature upon it furnished a weapon which, if he, John Bruce, -chose to use it, placed the other at his mercy. What kind of a man was -Larmon? No fool, no weakling--that was certain. And yet at a word he, -John Bruce, could tear the other from the pseudorighteous pedestal upon -which he posed, strip the other naked of the garments that clothed his -criminal activities, and destroy utterly the carefully reared structure -of respectability that Larmon had built up around himself. It might be -very true that he, John Bruce, would never use such a weapon, even under -provocation; but Larmon could not be sure of that. How then did Larmon -reconcile his reservation to terminate the contract at will and yet -furnish his co-signatory with the means of black-mailing him into a -continuance of it? What kind of a man was Larmon? What would he be like -with his back to the wall? What _other_ reservation had been in Larmon's -mind when he had drawn that bond? - -And then a queer and bitter smile came to John Bruce's lips. The god -of money! Was he so sure that he was the god and not the worshiper? Was -that it? Was that what Larmon counted upon?--that only a fool would risk -the sacrifice of the Aladdin's lamp that had been thrust into his -hands, and that only a fool but would devote body and soul to Larmon's -interests under the circumstances! - -The smile grew whimsical. It was complimentary in a sense. It was based -on the premise that he, John Bruce, was not a fool. He shrugged his -shoulders. Well, therein Larmon was right. It would not be his, John -Bruce's, fault if anything short of death terminated the bond which had -originated that tropic night on the moon-lit beach in Samoa three months -ago! - -He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. It was still early for -play; but it was not so early that his arrival in the New York “branch,” - where he had been a constant visitor for the last four nights, could -possibly arouse any suspicion, and one's opportunities for inside -observation were very much better when the play was desultory and but -few present than in the crowded rooms of the later hours. - -“If I were in England now,” said John Bruce, addressing the chandelier, -as he put on a light coat over his evening clothes, “I couldn't get away -with this without a man to valet me--and at times, though he might be -useful, he might be awkward. Damned awkward! But in America you do, or -you don't, as you please--and I don't!” - - - - -CHAPTER TWO--THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER - -|JOHN BRUCE left the hotel and entered a taxi. A little later, in -that once most fashionable section of New York, in the neighborhood of -Gramercy Square, he was admitted to a stately mansion by a white-haired -negro butler, who bowed obsequiously. - -Thereafter, for a little while, John Bruce wandered leisurely from room -to room in the magnificently appointed house, where in the rich carpets -the sound of footsteps was lost, where bronzes and paintings, exquisite -in their art, charmed the eye, where soft-toned draperies and portières -were eloquent of refinement and good taste; he paused for a moment at -the threshold of the supper room, whose table was a profusion of every -delicacy to tempt the palate, where wines of a vintage that was almost -priceless were to be had at no greater cost than the effort required -to lift a beckoning finger to the smiling ebony face of old Jake, the -attendant. And here John Bruce extended a five-dollar bill, but shook -his head as the said Jake hastened toward him. Later, perhaps, he might -revisit the room--when a few hours' play had dimmed the recollection of -his recent dinner, and his appetite was again sharpened. - -In the card rooms there were, as yet, scarcely any “guests.” He chatted -pleasantly with the “dealers”--John Bruce, the millionaire plunger, -was _persona grata_, almost effusively so, everywhere in the house. -Lavergne, the manager, as Parisian as he was immaculate from the tips of -his patent-leathers to the tips of his waxed mustache, joined him; and -for ten minutes, until the other was called away, John Bruce proceeded -to nourish the already extremely healthy germ of intimacy that, from the -first meeting, he had planted between them. - -With the manager's million apologies for the unpardonable act of tearing -himself away still sounding in his ears, John Bruce placidly resumed -his wanderings. The New York “branch,” which being interpreted meant -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, the exquisite little manager, was heavily -underscored on Gilbert Larmon's black-list! - -The faint, musical whir of the little ivory ball from the roulette table -caught John Bruce's attention, and he strolled in that direction. Here -a “guest” was already at play. The croupier smiled as John Bruce -approached the table. John Bruce smiled pleasantly in return, and sat -down. After a moment, he began to make small five-dollar bets on the -“red.” His fellow-player was plunging heavily--and losing. Also, the man -was slightly under the influence of liquor. The croupier's voice droned -through half a dozen plays. John Bruce continued to make five-dollar -bets. The little by-play interested him. He knew the signs. - -His fellow-player descended to the supper room for another drink, it -being against the rules of the house to serve anything in the gambling -rooms. The croupier laughed as he glanced at the retreating figure and -then at another five-dollar bet that John Bruce pushed upon the “red.” - -“He'll rob you of your reputation, Mr. Bruce, if you don't look out!” - the croupier smiled quizzically. “Are you finding a thrill in playing -the minimum for a change?” - -“Just feeling my way.” John Bruce returned the smile. “It's a bit early -yet, isn't it?” - -The other player returned. He continued to bet heavily. He made another -excursion below stairs. Other “guests” drifted into the room, and the -play became more general. - -John Bruce increased his stakes slightly, quite indifferent naturally as -to whether he lost or won--since he could neither lose nor win. He was -sitting beside the player he had originally joined at the table, and -suddenly his interest in the other became still more enlivened. The man, -after a series of disastrous plays, was palpably broke, for he snatched -off a large diamond ring from his finger and held it out to the -croupier. - -“Give me--hic!--somethin' on that,” he hiccoughed. “Might as well make a -clean-up, eh?” - -The croupier took the ring, examined it critically for an instant, and -handed it back. - -“I'm sorry,” he said; “but you know the rules of the house. I couldn't -advance anything on it if it were worth a million. But the stone's -valuable, all right. You'd better take a trip to Persia.” - -The man replaced the ring with some difficulty upon his finger, and -stared owlishly at the croupier. - -“T' hell with your--hic!--trip to Persia!” he said thickly. “Don't like -Persia! Been--hic!--there before! Guess I'll go home!” - -The man negotiated his way to the door; the game went on. John Bruce -began to increase his stakes materially. A trip to Persia! What, -exactly, did that mean? It both piqued his curiosity and stirred his -suspicions. He smiled as he placed a heavy stake upon the table. It -would probably be a much more expensive trip to this fanciful Persia -than to the Persia of reality, for it seemed that one must go broke -first! Well, he would go broke--though it would require some little -finesse for John Bruce, the millionaire plunger, to attain that envious -situation without exciting suspicion. He was very keenly interested in -this personally conducted tour, obviously inaugurated by that exquisite -little man, Monsieur Paul de Lavergne! - -John Bruce to his inward chagrin--won. He began to play now with a -zest, eagerness and excitement which, heretofore, the juggling of -Mephistopheles' money had deprived him of. Outwardly, however, the calm -impassiveness that, in the few evenings he had been in the house, had -already won him the reputation of being par excellence a cool and nervy -plunger, remained unchanged. - -He continued to win for a while; and then suddenly he began to lose. -This was much better! He lost steadily now. He staked with lavish hand, -playing numerous long chances for the limit at every voyage of the -clicking little ivory ball. Finally, the last of his visible assets were -on the table, and he leaned forward to watch the fall of the ball. He -was already fingering the magnificent jeweled watch-fob that dangled -from the pocket of his evening clothes. - -“Zero!” announced the croupier. - -The “zero” had been one of his selections. The “zero” paid 35 for 1. - -A subdued ripple of excitement went up from around the table. The room -was filling up. The still-early comers, mostly spectators for the time -being, lured to the roulette table at the whisper that the millionaire -plunger was out to-night to break the bank, were whetting their own -appetites in the play of Mr. John Bruce, who had obviously just escaped -being broke himself by a very narrow margin. - -John Bruce smiled. He was in funds again--more so than pleased him! - -“It's a 'zero' night, Mr. Croupier,” observed John Bruce pleasantly. -“Roll her again!” - -But now luck was with John Bruce. The “zero” and his other combinations -were as shy and elusive as fawns. At the expiration of another half hour -the net result of John Bruce's play consisted in his having transferred -from his own keeping into the keeping of the New York branch thirty -thousand dollars of Mephistopheles' money. He was to all appearances -flagrantly broke as far as funds in his immediate possession were -concerned. - -“I guess,” said John Bruce, with a whimsical smile, “that I didn't bring -enough with me. I don't know where I can get any more to-night, and--oh, -here!” He laughed with easy grace, as he suddenly tossed his jeweled -watch-fob to the croupier. “One more fling anyhow--I've still unbounded -faith in 'zero'! Let me have a thousand on that. It's worth about two.” - -The croupier, as on the previous occasion, examined the article, but, as -before, shook his head. - -“I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bruce, but it's strictly against the rules of -the house,” he said apologetically. “I can fix it for you easily enough -though, if you care to take a trip to Persia.” - -“A trip to Persia?” inquired John Bruce in a puzzled way. “I think I -heard you suggest that before this evening. What's the idea?” - -Some of those around the table were smiling. - -“It's all right,” volunteered a player opposite, with a laugh. “Only -look out for the conductor!” - -“Shoot!” said John Bruce nonchalantly. “That's good enough! You can book -my passage, Mr. Croupier.” - -The croupier called an attendant, spoke to him, and the man left the -room. - -“It will take a few minutes, Mr. Bruce--while you are getting your hat -and coat. The doorman will let you know,” said the croupier, and with a -bow to John Bruce resumed the interrupted game. - -John Bruce strolled from the room, and descended to the lower floor. He -entered the supper room, and while old Jake plied him with delicacies he -saw the doorman emerge from the telephone booth out in the hall, hurry -away, and presently return, talking earnestly with Monsieur Henri de -Lavergne. The manager, in turn, entered the booth. - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne came into the supper room after a moment. - -“In just a few minutes, Mr. Bruce--there will be a slight delay,” he -said effusively. “Too bad to keep you waiting.” - -“Not at all!” responded John Bruce. He held a wine glass up to the -light. “This is very excellent, Monsieur de Lavergne.” - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne accepted the compliment with a gratified bow. - -“Mr. Bruce is very kind to say so,” he said--and launched into an -elaborate apology that Mr. Bruce should be put to any inconvenience -to obtain the financial accommodation asked for. The security that Mr. -Bruce offered was unquestioned. It was not that. It was the rule of the -house. Mr. Bruce would understand. - -Mr. Bruce understood perfectly. - -“Quite so!” he said cordially. - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne excused himself, and left the room. - -“A fishy, clever little crook,” confided John Bruce to himself. “I -wonder what's the game?” - -He continued to sip his wine in apparent indifference to the passing -minutes, nor was his indifference altogether assumed. His mind was quite -otherwise occupied. It was rather neat, that--a trip to Persia. The -expression in itself held a lure which had probably not been overlooked -as an asset. It suggested Bagdad, and the Arabian Nights, and a Caliph -and a Grand Vizier who stalked about in disguise. On the other hand, the -inebriated gentleman had evidently had his fill of it on one occasion, -and would have no more of it. And the other gentleman who had, as it -were, indorsed the proceeding, had, at the same time, taken the occasion -to throw out a warning to beware of the conductor. - -John Bruce smiled pleasantly into his wine glass. Not very difficult to -fathom, perhaps, after all! It was probably some shrewd old reprobate -with usurious rates in cahoots with the sleek Monsieur Henri de -Lavergne, who made a side-split on the said rates in return for the -exclusive privilege accorded the other of acting as leech to the guests -of the house when in extremity. - -It had been perhaps twenty minutes since he had left the roulette table. -He looked at his watch now as he saw the doorman coming toward the -supper room with his hat and coat. The night was still early. It was a -quarter to eleven. - -He went out into the hall. - -“Yassuh,” said the gray-haired and obsequious old darky, as he assisted -John Bruce into his coat, “if yo'all will just come with me, Mistuh -Bruce, yo'all will be 'commodated right prompt.” - -John Bruce followed his guide to the doorstep. - -The darky pointed to a closed motor car at the curb by the corner, a few -houses away. - -“Yo'all just say 'Persia' to the shuffer, Mistuh Bruce, and-------” - -“All right!” John Bruce smiled his interruption, and went down the steps -to the sidewalk. - -John Bruce approached the waiting car leisurely, scrutinizing it the -while; and as he approached, it seemed to take on more and more the -aspect of a venerable and decrepit ark. The body of the car was entirely -without light; the glass front, if there were one, behind the man whom -he discerned sitting in the chauffeur's seat, was evidently closely -curtained; and so, too, he now discovered as he drew nearer, were the -windows and doors of the car as well. - -“The parlor looks a little ominous,” said John - -Bruce softly to himself. “I wonder how far it is to the spider's dining -room?” - -He halted as he reached the vehicle. - -“I'm bound for Persia, I believe,” he suggested pleasantly to the -chauffeur. - -The chauffeur leaned out, and John Bruce was conscious that he was -undergoing a critical inspection. In turn he looked at the chauffeur, -but there was very little light. The car seemed to have chosen a spot -as little disturbed by the rays of the street lamps as possible, and -he gained but a vague impression of a red, weather-beaten face, clean -shaved, with shaggy brows under grizzled hair, the whole topped by an -equally weather-beaten felt hat of nondescript shape and color. - -The inspection, on the chauffeur's part at least, appeared to be -satisfactory. - -“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Step in, sir, please.” - -The door swung open--just how, John Bruce could not have explained. -He stepped briskly into the car--only to draw back instinctively as he -found it already occupied. But the door had closed behind him. It was -inky black in the interior now with the door shut. The car was jolting -into motion. - -“Pardon me!” said John Bruce a little grimly, and sat down on the back -seat. - -A woman! He had just been able to make out a woman's form as he had -stepped in. It was clever--damned clever! Of both the exquisite Monsieur -Henri de Lavergne and the money-lending spider at the other end of this -pleasant little jaunt into unexplored Persia! A woman in it--a luring, -painted, fair and winsome damsel, no doubt--to make the usurious pill -of illegal interest a little sweeter! Oh, yes, he quite understood now -that warning to beware of the conductor! - -“I did not anticipate such charming company,” said John Bruce -facetiously. “Have we far to go?” - -There was no answer. - -Something like a shadow, deeper than the surrounding blackness, seemed -to pass before John Bruce's eyes, and then he sat bolt upright, startled -and amazed. In front of him, let down from the roof of the car, was a -small table covered with black velvet, and suspended some twelve inches -above the table, throwing the glow downward in a round spot of light -over the velvet surface, was a shaded electric lamp. A small white hand, -bare of any ornament, palm upward, lay upon the velvet table-top under -the play of the light. - -A voice spoke now softly from beside him: - -“You have something to pawn?” - -John Bruce stared. He still could not see her face. “Er--yes,” he said. -He frowned in perplexity. “When we get to Persia, alias the pawn-shop.” - -“This is the pawn-shop,” she answered. “Let me see what you have, -please.” - -“Well, I'm da----” John Bruce checked himself. - -There was a delicacy about that white hand resting there under the light -that rebuked him. “Er--pardon me,” said John Bruce. - -He felt for his jeweled watch-fob, unfastened it, and laid it in the -extended palm. He laughed a little to himself. On with the game! The -lure was here, all right; the stage setting was masterly--and now the -piper would be paid on a basis, probably, that would relegate Shylock -himself to the kindergarten class of money lenders! - -And then, suddenly, it seemed to John Bruce as though his blood whipping -through his veins was afire. A face in profile, bending forward to -examine the diamonds and the setting of the fob-pendant, came under the -light. He gazed at it fascinated. It was the most beautiful face he had -ever seen. His eyes drank in the rich masses of brown, silken hair, -the perfect throat, the chin and lips that, while modelled in sweet -womanliness, were still eloquent of self-reliance and strength. He had -thought to see a pretty face, a little brazen perhaps, and artfully -powdered and rouged; what he saw was a vision of loveliness that seemed -to personify the unsullied, God-given freshness and purity of youth. - -He spoke involuntarily; no power of his could have kept back the words. - -“My God, you are wonderful!” he exclaimed in a low voice. - -He saw the color swiftly tinge the throat a coral pink, and mount -upwards; but she did not look at him. Her eyes! He wanted to see her -eyes--to look into them! But she did not turn her head. - -“You probably paid two thousand dollars for this,” she said quietly, -“and----” - -“Nineteen hundred,” corrected John Bruce mechanically. - -“I will allow you seventeen hundred on it, then,” she said, still -quietly. “The interest will be at seven per cent. Do you wish to accept -the offer?” - -Seventeen hundred! Seven per cent! It was in consonance with the vision! -His mind was topsy-turvy. - -He did not understand. - -“It is very liberal,” said John Bruce, trying to control his voice. “Of -course, I accept.” - -The shapely head nodded. - -He watched her spellbound. The watch-fob had vanished, and in its place -now under the little conical shaft of light she was swiftly counting -out a pile of crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes. To these she added a -stamped and numbered ticket. - -“You may redeem the pledge at any time by making application to the same -person to whom you originally applied for a loan to-night,” she said, as -she handed him the money. “Please count it.” - -Her head was in shadow now. He could no longer even see her profile. She -was sitting back in her corner of the car. - -“I--I am quite satisfied,” said John Bruce a little helplessly. - -“Please count it,” she insisted. - -With a shrug of protest, John Bruce obeyed her. It was not at all the -money that concerned him, nor the touch of it that was quickening his -pulse. - -“It is quite correct,” he said, putting money and ticket in his pocket. -He turned toward her. “And now----” - -His words ended in a little gasp. The light was out. In the darkness -that shadow passed again before his eyes, and he was conscious that the -table had vanished--also that the car had stopped. - -The door opened. - -“If you please, sir!” It was the chauffeur, holding the door open. - -John Bruce hesitated. - -“I--er--look here!” he said. “I----” - -“If you please, sir!” There was something of significant finality in the -man's patient and respectful tones. - -John Bruce smiled wryly. - -“Well, at least, I may say good-night,” he said, as he backed out of the -car. - -“Certainly, sir--good-night, sir,” said the chauffeur calmly--and closed -the door, and touched his hat, and climbed back to his seat. - -John Bruce glared at the man. - -“Well, I'm damned!” said John Bruce fervently. - - - - -CHAPTER THREE--SANCTUARY - - -|THE car started off. It turned the corner. John Bruce looked around -him. He was standing on precisely the same spot from which he had -entered the car. He had been driven around the block, that was all! - -He caught his breath. Was it real? That wondrous face which, almost as -though at the touch of some magician's wand, had risen before him out of -the blackness! His blood afire was leaping through his veins again. That -face! - -He ran to the corner and peered down the street. The car was perhaps -a hundred yards away--and suddenly John Bruce started to run again, -following the car. Madness! His lips had set grim and hard. Who was she -that prowled the night in that bizarre traveling pawn-shop? Where did -she live? Was it actually the Arabian Nights back again? He laughed at -himself--not mirthfully. But still he ran on. - -The car was outdistancing him. Fool! For a woman's face! Even though it -were a divine symphony of beauty! Fool? Love-smitten idiot? Not at -all! It was his job! Nice sound to that word in conjunction with that -haunting memory of loveliness--job! - -The traveling pawn-shop turned into Fourth Avenue, and headed downtown. -John Bruce caught the sound of a street car gong, spurted and swung -breathlessly to the platform of a car going in the same direction. - -Of course, it was his job! The exquisite Monsieur Henri de Lavergne was -mixed up in this. - -“Hell!” - -The street car conductor stared at him. John Bruce scowled. He swore -again--but this time under his breath. It brought a sudden wild, -unreasonable rage and rebellion, the thought that there should be -anything, even of the remotest nature, between the glorious vision in -that car and the mincing, silken-tongued manager of Larmon's gambling -hell. But there was, for all that, wasn't there? How else had she come -there? It was the usual thing, wasn't it? And--beware of the conductor! -The warning now appeared to be very apt! And how well he had profited by -it! A fool chasing a siren's beauty! - -His face grew very white. - -“John Bruce,” he whispered to himself, “if I could get at you I'd pound -your face to pulp for that!” - -He leaned out from the platform. The traveling pawn-shop had increased -its speed and was steadily leaving the street car behind. He looked back -in the opposite direction. The street was almost entirely deserted as -far as traffic went. The only vehicle in sight was a taxi bowling along -a block in the rear. He laughed out again harshly. The conductor eyed -him suspiciously. - -John Bruce dropped off the car, and planted himself in the path of the -on-coming taxi. Call it his job, then, if it pleased him! He owed it to -Larmon to get to the bottom of this. How extremely logical he was! The -transaction in the traveling pawn-shop had been so fair-minded as almost -to exonerate Monsieur Henri de Lavergne on the face of it, and if it had -not been for a certain vision therein, and a fire in his own veins, -and a fury at the thought that even her acquaintance with the gambling -manager was profanity, he could have heartily applauded Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne for a unique and original---- - -The taxi bellowed at him, hoarsely indignant. - -John Bruce stepped neatly to one side--and jumped on the footboard. - -“Here, you! What the hell!” shouted the chauffeur. “You----” - -“Push your foot on it a little,” said John Bruce calmly. “And don't lose -sight of that closed car ahead.” - -“Lose sight of nothin'!” yelled the chauffeur. “I've got a fare, -an'----” - -“I hear him,” said John Bruce composedly. He edged in beside the -chauffeur, and one of the crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes passed -into the latter's possession. “Keep that car in sight, and don't make it -hopelessly obvious that you are following it. I'll attend to your fare.” - -He screwed around in his seat. An elderly, gray-whiskered gentleman, a -patently irate gentleman, was pounding furiously on the glass panel. - -“We should be turnin' down this street we're just passin',” grinned the -chauffeur. - -John Bruce lowered the panel. - -“What's the meaning of this?” thundered the fare. - -“I'm very sorry, sir,” said John Bruce respectfully. - -“A little detective business.” He coughed. It was really quite true. -His voice became confidential. “The occupants of that car ahead got away -from me. I--I want to arrest one of them. I'm very sorry to put you to -any inconvenience, but it couldn't be helped. There was no other way -than to commandeer your taxi. It will be only for a matter of a few -minutes.” - -“It's preposterous!” spluttered the fare. “Outrageous! I--I'll----” - -“Yes, sir,” said John Bruce. “But there was nothing else I could do. You -can report it to headquarters, of course.” - -He closed the panel. - -“Fly-cop--not!” said the chauffeur, with his tongue in his cheek. “Any -fly-cop that ever got his mitt on a whole fifty-dollar bill all at one -time couldn't be pried lose from it with a crowbar!” - -“It lets you out, doesn't it?” inquired John Bruce pleasantly. “Now -let's see you earn it.” - -“I'll earn it!” said the chauffeur with unction. “You leave it to me, -boss!” - -The quarry, in the shape of the traveling pawn shop, directed its way -into the heart of the East Side. Presently it turned into a hiving, -narrow street, where hawkers with their push-carts in the light of -flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a thriving business. The -two cars went more slowly now. There was very little room. The -taxi almost upset a fish vendor's wheeled emporium. The vendor was -eloquent--fervently so. But the chauffeur's eyes, after an impersonal -and indifferent glance at the other, returned to the car ahead. The taxi -continued on its way, trailing fifty yards in the rear of the traveling -pawn-shop. - -At the end of the block the car ahead turned the corner. As the taxi, -in turn, rounded the corner, John Bruce saw that the traveling pawn-shop -was drawn up before a small building that was nested in between two -tenements. The blood quickened in his pulse. The girl had alighted, and -was entering the small building. - -“Hit it up a little to the next corner, turn it, and let me off there,” - directed John Bruce. - -“I get you!” said the chauffeur. - -The taxi swept past the car at the curb. Another minute and it had swung -the next corner, and was slowing down. John Bruce jumped to the ground -before the taxi stopped. - -“Good-night!” he called to the chauffeur. - -He waved his hand debonairly at the scowling, whiskered visage that was -watching him from the interior of the cab, and hurriedly retraced his -way back around the corner. - -The traveling pawn-shop had turned and was driving away. John Bruce -moderated his pace, and sauntered on along the street. He smiled half -grimly, half contentedly to himself. The “trip to Persia” had led him -a little farther afield than Monsieur Henri de Lavergne had perhaps -counted on--or than he, John Bruce, himself had, either! But he knew now -where the most glorious woman he had ever seen in his life lived, or, at -least, was to be found again. No, it wasn't the _moon!_ To him, she was -exactly that. And he had not seen her for the last time, either! That -was what he was here for, though he wasn't so mad as to risk, or, -rather, invite an affront to begin with by so bald an act as to go to -the front door, say, and ring the bell--which would be tantamount to -informing her that he had--er--played the detective from the moment -he had left her in the car. To-morrow, perhaps, or the next day, or -whenever fate saw fit to be in a kindly mood, a meeting that possessed -all the hall-marks of being quite inadvertent offered him high hopes. -Later, if fate still were kind, he would tell her that he had followed -her, and what she would be thoroughly justified in misconstruing now, -she might then accept as the tribute to her that he meant it to be--when -she knew him better. - -John Bruce was whistling softly to himself. - -He was passing the house now, his scrutiny none the less exhaustive -because it was apparently casual. It was a curious little two-story -place tucked away between the two flanking tenements, the further one of -which alone separated the house from the corner he was approaching. Not -a light showed from the front of the house. Yes, it was quite a curious -place! Although curtains were on the lower front windows, indicating -that it was purely a dwelling, the windows themselves were of abnormal -size, as though, originally perhaps, the ground floor had once been a -shop of some kind. - -John Bruce turned the corner, and from a comparatively deserted street -found himself among the vendors' push-carts and the spluttering gasoline -torches again. He skirted the side of the tenement that made the corner, -discovered the fact that a lane cut in from the street and ran past the -rear of the tenement, which he mentally noted must likewise run past the -rear of the little house that was now so vitally interesting to him--and -halted on the opposite side of the lane to survey his surroundings. Here -a dirty and uninviting café attracted his attention, which, if its dingy -sign were to be believed, was run by one Palasco Ratti, a gentleman of -parts in the choice of wines which he offered to his patrons. John Bruce -surveyed Palasco Ratti's potential clientele--the street was full of it; -the shawled women, the dark-visaged, ear-ringed men. He smiled a little -to himself. No--probably not the half-naked children who sprawled in the -gutter and crawled amongst the push-carts' wheels! How was it that _she_ -should ever have come to live in a neighborhood to which the designation -“foreign,” as far as she was concerned, must certainly apply in -particularly full measure? It was strange that she---- - -John Bruce's mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. Half humorously, -half grimly his eyes were riveted on the push-cart at the curb directly -opposite to him, the proprietor of which dealt in that brand of -confection so much in favor on the East Side--a great slab of candy from -which, as occasion required, he cut slices with a large carving knife. -A brown and grimy fist belonging to a tot of a girl of perhaps eight or -nine years of age, who had crept in under the pushcart, was stealthily -feeling its way upward behind the vendor's back, its objective being, -obviously, a generous piece of candy that reposed on the edge of the -push-cart. There was a certain fascination in watching developments. It -was quite immoral, of course, but his sympathies were with the child. -It was a gamble whether the grimy little hand would close on the coveted -prize and disappear again victorious, or whether the vendor would turn -in time to frustrate the raid. - -The tot's hand crept nearer and nearer its goal. - -No one, save himself of the many about, appeared to notice the little -cameo of primal instinct that was on exhibition before them. The -small and dirty fingers touched the candy, closed on it, and -were withdrawn--but were withdrawn too quickly. The child, at the -psychological moment under stress of excitement, eagerness and probably -a wildly thumping heart, had failed in finesse. Perhaps the paper -that covered the surface of the push-cart and on which the wares were -displayed rattled; perhaps the sudden movement in itself attracted the -vendor's attention. The man whirled and made a vicious dive for the -child as she darted out from between the wheels. And then she screamed. -The man had hit her a brutal clout across the head. - -John Bruce straightened suddenly, a dull red creeping from his set -jaw to his cheeks. Still clutching the candy in her hand the child was -running blindly and in terror straight toward him. The man struck again, -and the child staggered, and, reeling, sought sanctuary between John -Bruce's legs. A bearded, snarling face in pursuit loomed up before -him--and John Bruce struck, struck as he had once struck before on a -white moon-flooded deck when a man, a brute beast, had gone down before -him--and the vendor, screaming shrilly, lay kicking in pain on the -sidewalk. - -It had happened quickly. Not one, probably, of those on the street -had caught the details of the little scene. And now the tiny thief had -wriggled through his legs, and with the magnificent irresponsibility -of childhood had darted away and was lost to sight. It had happened -quickly--but not so quickly as the gathering together of an angry, -surging crowd around John Bruce. - -Some one in the crowd shrieked out above the clamor of voices: - -“He kill-a Pietro! Kill-a da dude!” - -It was a fire-brand. - -John Bruce backed away a little--up against the door of Signor Pascalo -Ratti's wine shop. A glance showed him that, with the blow he had -struck, his light overcoat had become loosened, and that he was -flaunting an immaculate and gleaming shirt-front in the faces of the -crowd. And between their Pietro with a broken jaw and an intruder far -too well dressed to please their fancy, the psychology of the crowd -became the psychology of a mob. - -The fire-brand took. - -“Kill-a da dude!” It was echoed in chorus--and then a rush. - -It flung John Bruce heavily against the wine shop door, and the door -crashed inward--and for a moment he was down, and the crowd, like a -snarling wolf pack, was upon him. And then the massive shoulders heaved, -and he shook them off and was on his feet; and all that was primal, -elemental in the man was dominant, the mad glorying in strife upon him, -and he struck right and left with blows before which, again and again, a -man went down. - -But the rush still bore him backward, and the doorway was black and -jammed with reenforcements constantly pouring in. Tables crashed to the -floor, chairs were overturned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a -white-mustached Italian leap upon the counter and alternately wave his -arms and wring his hands together frantically. - -“For the mercy of God!” the man screamed--and then his voice added to -the din in a flood of impassioned Italian. - -It was Signor Pascalo Ratti, probably. - -John Bruce was panting now, his breath coming in short, hard gasps. It -was not easy to keep them in front of him, to keep his back free. He -caught the glint of knife blades now. - -He was borne back foot by foot, the space widening as he retreated from -the door, giving room for more to come upon him at the same time. A -knife blade lunged at him. He evaded it--but another glittering in -the ceiling light at the same instant, flashing a murderous arc in its -downward plunge, caught him, and, before he could turn, sank home. - -A yell of triumph went up. He felt no pain. Only a sudden sickening of -his brain, a sudden weakness that robbed his limbs of strength, and he -reeled and staggered, fighting blindly now. - -And then his brain cleared. He flung a quick glance over his shoulder. -Yes, there was one chance. Only one! And in another minute, with another -knife thrust, it would be too late. He whirled suddenly and raced down -the length of the café. In the moment's grace earned through surprise at -his sudden action, he gained a door he had seen there, and threw himself -upon it. It was not fastened, though there was a key in the lock. He -whipped out the key, plunged through, locked the door on the outside -with the fraction of a second to spare before they came battering upon -it--and stumbled and fell headlong out into the open. - -It was as though he were lashing his brain into action and virility. It -kept wobbling and fogging. Didn't the damned thing understand that his -life, was at stake! He lurched to his feet. He was in a lane. - -In front of him, like great looming shadows, shadows that wobbled too, -he saw the shapes of two tenements, and like an inset between them, a -small house with a light gleaming in the lower window. - -That was where the vision lived. Only there was a fence between. -Sanctuary! He lunged toward the fence. He had not meant to--to make a -call to-night--she--she might have misunderstood. But in a second now -_they_ would come sweeping around into the lane after him from the -street. - -He clawed his way to the top of the fence, and because his strength was -almost gone fell from the top of the fence to the ground on the other -side. - -And now he crawled, crawled with what frantic haste he could, because he -heard the uproar from the street. And he laughed. The kid was -probably munching her hunk of candy now. Queer things--kids! Got her -candy--happy---- - -He reached up to the sill of an open window, clawed his way upward, -as he had clawed his way up the fence, straddled the sill unsteadily, -clutched at nothingness to save himself, and toppled inward to the floor -of the room. - -A yell from the head of the lane, a cry from the other end of the room, -spurred him into final effort. He gained his feet, and swept his hand, -wet with blood, across his eyes. That was the vision there running -toward him, wasn't it?--the wonderful, glorious vision! - -“Pardon me!” said John Bruce in a sing-song voice, and with a desperate -effort reached up and pulled down the window shade. He tried to smile -“Queer--queer things--kids--aren't they? She--she just ducked out from -under.” - -The girl was staring at him wildly, her hands tightly clasped to her -bosom. - -“Pardon me!” whispered John Bruce thickly. He couldn't see her any more, -just a multitude of objects whirling like a kaleidoscope before his -eyes. “She--she got the candy,” said John Bruce, attempting to smile -again--and pitched unconscious to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR--A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES - -|DEAD! The girl was on her knees beside John Bruce. Dead--he did not -move! It was the man who had pawned his watch-fob hardly half an hour -before! What did it mean? What did those angry shouts, that scurrying -of many feet out there in the lane mean? Hurriedly, her face as deadly -white as the face upturned to her from the floor, she tore open the once -immaculate shirt-front, that was now limp and wet and ugly with a great -crimson stain, and laid bare the wound. - -The sounds from without were receding, the scurrying footsteps were -keeping on along the lane. A quiver ran through the form on the floor. -Dead! No, he was not dead--not--not yet. - -A little cry escaped from her tightly closed lips, and for an instant -she covered her eyes with her hands. The wound was terrible--it -frightened her. It frightened her the more because, intuitively, she -knew that it was beyond any inexperienced aid that she could give. But -she must act, and act quickly. - -She turned and ran into the adjoining room to the telephone, but even as -she reached out to lift the receiver from the hook she hesitated. Doctor -Crang! A little shudder of aversion swept over her--and then resolutely, -even pleading with central to hurry, she asked for the connection. It -was not a matter of choice, or aversion, or any other consideration in -the world save a question of minutes. The life of that man in there on -the floor hung by a thread. Doctor Crang was nearby enough to respond -almost instantly, and there was no one else she knew of who she could -hope would reach the man in time. And--she stared frantically at the -instrument now--was even he unavailable? Why didn't he answer? Why -didn't---- - -A voice reached her. She recognized it. - -“Doctor Crang, this is Claire Veniza,” she said, and it did not seem as -though she could speak fast enough. “Come at once--oh, at once--please! -There's a man here frightfully wounded. There isn't a second to lose, -so----” - -“My dear Claire,” interrupted the voice suavely, “instead of losing one -you can save several by telling me what kind of a wound it is, and where -the man is wounded.” - -“It's a knife wound, a stab, I think,” she answered; “and it's in his -side. He is unconscious, and----” - -The receiver at the other end had been replaced on its hook. - -She turned from the telephone, and swiftly, hurrying, but in cool -self-control now, she obtained some cloths and a basin of warm water, -and returned to John Bruce's side. She could not do much, she realized -that--only make what effort she could to staunch the appalling flow of -blood from the wound; that, and place a cushion under the man's head, -for she could not lift him to the couch. - -The minutes passed; and then, thinking she heard a footstep at the front -door, she glanced in that direction, half in relief, and yet, too, in -curious apprehension. She listened. No, there was no one there yet. She -had been mistaken. - -Suddenly she caught her breath in a little gasp, as though startled. -Doctor Crang was clever; but faith in Doctor Crang professionally was -one thing, and faith in him in other respects was quite another. Why -hadn't she thought of it before? It wasn't too late yet, was it? - -She began to search hastily through John Bruce's pockets. Doctor Crang -would almost certainly suggest removing the man from the sitting room -down here and getting him upstairs to a bedroom, and then he would -undress his patient, and--and it was perhaps as well to anticipate -Doctor Crang! This man here should have quite a sum of money on his -person. She had given it to him herself, and--yes, here it was! - -The crisp new fifty-dollar bills, the stamped and numbered ticket that -identified the watch-fob he had pawned, were in her hand. She ran across -the room, opened a little safe in the corner, placed the money and -ticket inside, locked the safe again, and returned to John Bruce's side -once more. - -And suddenly her eyes filled. There was no tremor, no movement in the -man's form now; she could not even feel his heartbeat. Yes, she wanted -Doctor Crang now, passionately, wildly. John Bruce--that was the man's -name. She knew that much. But she had left him miles away--and he was -here now--and she did not understand. How had he got here, why had he -come here, climbing in through that window to fall at her feet like one -dead? - -The front door opened without premonitory ring of bell, and closed -again. A footstep came quickly forward through the outer room--and -paused on the threshold. - -Claire Veniza rose to her feet, and her eyes went swiftly, sharply, -to the figure standing there--a man of perhaps thirty years of age, -of powerful build, and yet whose frame seemed now woefully loose, -disjointed and without virility. Her eyes traveled to the man's clothing -that was dirty, spotted, and in dire need of sponging, to the necktie -that hung awry, to the face that, but for its unhealthy, pasty-yellow -complexion, would have been almost strikingly handsome, to the jet-black -eyes that somehow at the moment seemed to lack fire and life. And with a -little despairing shrug of her shoulders, Claire Veniza turned away her -head, and pointed to the form of John Bruce on the floor. - -“I--I am afraid it is very serious, Doctor Crang,” she faltered. - -“That's all right, Claire,” he said complacently. “That's all right, my -dear. You can leave it with confidence to Sydney Angus Crang, M.D.” - -She drew a little away as he stepped forward, her face hardening into -tight little lines. Hidden, her hands clasped anxiously together. It--it -was what she had feared. Doctor Sydney Angus Crang, gold medalist from -one of the greatest American universities, brilliant far beyond his -fellows, with additional degrees from London, from Vienna, from Heaven -alone knew where else, was just about entering upon, or emerging from, -a groveling debauch with that Thing to which he had pawned his manhood, -his intellect and his soul, that Thing of gray places, of horror, of -forgetfulness, of bliss, of torture--cocaine. - -Halfway from the threshold to where John Bruce lay, Doctor Crang halted -abruptly. - -“Hello!” he exclaimed, and glanced with suddenly darkening face from -Claire Veniza to the form of John Bruce, and back to Claire Veniza -again. - -“Oh, _will_ you hurry!” she implored. “Can't you see that the wound----” - -“I am more interested in the man than in the wound,” said Doctor Crang, -and there was a hint of menace in his voice. “Quite a gentleman of -parts! I had expected--let me see what I had expected--well, say, one of -the common knife-sticking breed that curses this neighborhood.” - -Claire Veniza stamped her foot. - -“Oh, hurry!” she burst out wildly. “Don't stand there talking while the -man is dying! Do something!” - -Doctor Crang advanced to John Bruce's side, set down the little handbag -he was carrying, and began to examine the wound. - -“Yes, quite a gentleman of parts!” he repeated. His lips had thinned. -“How did he get here?” - -“I do not know,” she answered. “He came in through that window there and -fell on the floor.” - -“How peculiar!” observed Doctor Crang. “A _gentleman_ down here in this -locality, who is, yes, I will state it as a professional fact, in a very -critical state, climbs in through Miss Claire Veniza's window, and----” - -The telephone in the other room rang. Claire Veniza ran to it. Doctor -Crang's fingers nestled on John Bruce's pulse; he made no other movement -save to cock his head in a listening attitude in the girl's direction; -he made no effort either to examine further or to dress the wound. - -Claire Veniza's voice came distinctly: - -“Yes... No, I do not think he will return to-night”--she was -hesitating--“he--he met with an--an accident-----” - -Doctor Crang had sprung from the other room and had snatched the -receiver from the girl's hand. A wave of insensate fury swept his face -now. He pushed her roughly from the instrument, and clapped his hand -over the transmitter. - -“That's one lie you've told me!” he said hoarsely. “I'll attend to the -rest of this now.” He withdrew his hand from the transmitter. “Yes, -hello!” His voice was cool, even suave. “What is it?... Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne speaking--yes... Mister--who?... Mister John Bruce--yes.” He -listened for a moment, his lips twitching, his eyes narrowed on Claire -Veniza, who had retreated a few steps away. “No, not to-night,” he said, -speaking again into the transmitter. “Yes, a slight accident.... Yes.., -Good-by.” - -Doctor Sydney Angus Crang hung up the receiver, and with a placid smile -at variance with the glitter that suddenly brought life into his dulled -eyes, advanced toward the girl. She stepped backward quickly into the -other room, retreating as far as the motionless form that lay upon the -floor. Doctor Crang followed her. - -And then Claire Veniza, her face grown stony, her small hands clenched, -found her voice again. - -“Aren't you going to help him? Aren't you going to do something? Is he -to die there before your eyes?” she cried. - -Doctor Crang shrugged his shoulders. - -“What can I do?” he inquired with velvet softness. “I am helpless. How -can I bring the dead back to life?” - -“Dead!” All color had fled her face; she bent and looked searchingly at -John Bruce. - -“Oh, no; not yet,” said Doctor Crang easily. “But very nearly so.” - -“And you will do nothing!” She was facing him again. “Then--then I will -try and get some one else.” - -She stepped forward abruptly. - -Doctor Crang barred her way. - -“I don't think you will, Claire, my dear!” His voice was monotonous; the -placid smile was vanishing. “You see, having spoken to that dear little -doll of a man, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, I'm very much interested in -hearing your side of the story.” - -“Story!” the girl echoed wildly. “Story--while that man's life is lost! -Are you mad--or a murderer--or----” - -“Another lover,” said Doctor Crang, and threw back his head and laughed. - -She shrank away; her hands tight against her bosom. She glanced around -her. If she could only reach the telephone and lock the connecting door! -No! She did not dare leave him _alone_ with the wounded man. - -“What--what are you going to do?” she whispered. - -“Nothing--till I hear the story,” he answered. - -“If--if he dies”--her voice rang steadily again--“I'll have you charged -with murder.” - -“What nonsense!” said Doctor Crang imperturbably. “Did I stab the -gentleman?” He took from his pocket a little case, produced a hypodermic -syringe, and pushed back his sleeve. “A doctor is not a magician. If he -finds a patient beyond reach of aid what can he be expected to do? My -dear Claire, where are your brains to-night--you who are usually so -amazingly clever?” - -“You are mad--insane with drug!” she cried out piteously. - -He shook his head, and coolly inserted the needle of the hypodermic in -his arm. - -“Not yet,” he said. “I am only implacable. Shall we get on with the -story? Monsieur de Lavergne says he sent a gentleman by the name of John -Bruce out in your father's car a little while ago for the purpose of -obtaining a loan in order that the said John Bruce might return to the -gambling joint and continue to play. But Mr. Bruce did not return, -and the doll, for some reason being anxious, telephones here to make -inquiries. Of course”--there was a savage laugh in his voice--“it is -only a suspicion, but could this gentleman on the floor here by any -chance be Mr. John Bruce?” - -“Yes,” she said faintly. “He is John Bruce.” - -“Thanks!” said Doctor Crang sarcastically. He very carefully replaced -his hypodermic in his pocket. “Now another little matter. I happen to -know that your father is spending the evening uptown, so I wonder who -was in the car with Mr. John Bruce.” - -She stared at him with flashing eyes. - -“I was!” she answered passionately. “I don't know what you are driving -at! I never did it before, but father was away, and Monsieur de Lavergne -was terribly insistent. He said it was for a very special guest. -I--I didn't, of course, tell Monsieur de Lavergne that father couldn't -go. I only said that I was afraid it would not be convenient to make any -loan to-night. But he wouldn't listen to a refusal, and so I went--but -Monsieur de Lavergne had no idea that it was any one but father in the -car.” - -Doctor Crang's lips parted wickedly. - -“Naturally!” he snarled. “I quite understand that you took good care of -that! Who drove you?” - -“Hawkins.” - -“Drunk as usual, I suppose! Brain too fuddled to ask questions!” - -“That's not true!” she cried out sharply. “Hawkins hasn't touched a drop -for a year.” - -“All right!” snapped Doctor Crang. “Have it that way, then! Being in his -dotage, he makes a good blind, even sober. And so you went for a little -ride with Mr. John Bruce to-night?” - -Claire Veniza was wringing her hands as she glanced in an agony of -apprehension at the wounded man on the floor. - -“Yes,” she said; “but--but won't you----” - -“And where did you first meet Mr. John Bruce, and how long ago?” he -jerked out. - -Claire Veniza's great brown eyes widened. - -“Why, I never saw him in my life until to-night!” she exclaimed. “And he -wasn't in the car ten minutes. Hawkins drove back to the corner just as -he always does with father, and Mr. Bruce got out. Then Hawkins drove me -home and went uptown to get father. I--I wish they were here now!” - -Doctor Crang was gritting his teeth together. A slight unnatural color -was tinging his cheeks. He moved a little closer to the girl. - -“I'm glad to hear you never saw Mr. Bruce before,” he said cunningly. -“You must have traveled _fast_ then--metaphorically speaking. Love at -first sight, eh? A cooing exchange of confidences--or was it all on one -side? You told him who you were, and where you lived, and----” - -“I did nothing of the kind!” Claire Veniza interrupted angrily. “I did -not tell him anything!” - -“Just strictly business then, of course!” Doctor Crang moved a step -still nearer to the girl. “In that case he must have pawned something, -and as Lavergne sends nothing but high-priced articles to your father, -we shall probably find quite a sum of money in Mr. Bruce's pockets. -Eh--Claire?” - -She bit her lips. She still did not quite understand--only that she -bitterly regretted now, somehow, that she had removed the money from -John Bruce's person; only that the drug-crazed brain of the man in front -of her was digging, had dug, a trap into which she was falling. What -answer was she to make? What was she to---- - -With a sudden cry she shrank back--but too late to save herself. A face -alight with passion was close to hers now; hands that clamped like a -steel vise, and that hurt, were upon her shoulder and throat. - -“You lie!” Doctor Crang shouted hoarsely. “You've lied from the minute -I came into this room. John Bruce--hell! I know now why you have always -refused to have anything to do with me. That's why!” He loosened one -hand and pointed to the figure on the floor. “How long has this been -going on? How long have you been meeting him? To-night is nothing, -though you worked it well. Hawkins to take you for a little joy ride -with your lover while father's away. Damned clever! You left him on that -corner--and he's here wounded! How did he get wounded? You never saw him -before! You never heard of him! You told him nothing about yourself! He -didn't know where you lived--he could only find the private entrance! -Just knows enough about you to climb in through your back window like a -skewered dog! But, of course, your story is true, because in his pockets -will be the money you gave him for what he pawned! Shall we look and see -how much it was?” - -She tore herself free and caught at her throat, gasping for breath. - -“You--you beast!” she choked. “No; you needn't look! I took it from him, -and put it in the safe over there before _you_ came--to keep it away -from you.” - -Doctor Crang swept a hand across his eyes and through his hair with a -savage, jerky movement, and then he laughed immoderately. - -“What a little liar you are! Well, then, two can play at the same game. -I lied to you about your lover there. I said there was nothing could -save him. Yes, yes, Claire, my dear, I lied.” He knelt suddenly, and -suddenly intent and professional studied John Bruce's face, and felt -again for the pulse beat at John Bruce's wrist. “Pretty near the limit,” - he stated coolly. “Internal bleeding.” He threw back his shoulders in -a strangely egotistical way. “Not many men could do anything; but I, -Sydney Angus Crang, could! Ha, ha! In ten minutes he could be on the -road to recovery--but ten minutes, otherwise, is exactly the length of -time he has to live.” - -An instant Claire Veniza stared at him. Her mind reeled with chaos, with -terror and dismay. - -“Then do something!” she implored wildly. “If you can save him, do it! -You must! You shall!” - -“Why should I?” he demanded. His teeth were clamped hard together. “Why -should I save your lover? No--damn him!” - -She drew away from him, and, suddenly, on her knees, buried her face in -her hands and burst into sobs. - -“This--this is terrible--terrible!” she cried out. “Has that frightful -stuff transformed you into an absolute fiend? Are you no longer even -human?” Flushed, a curious look of hunger in his eyes, he gazed at her. - -“I'm devilishly human in some respects!” His voice rose, out of control. -“I want you! I have wanted you from the day I saw you.” - -She shivered. Her hands felt suddenly icy as she pressed them against -her face. - -“Thank God then,” she breathed, “for this, at least--that you will never -get me!” - -“Won't I?” His voice rose higher, trembling with passion. “Won't I? By -God, I will! The one thing in life I will have some way or another! You -understand? I will! And do you think I would let _him_ stand in the way? -You drive me mad, Claire, with those wonderful eyes of yours, with that -hair, those lips, that throat----” - -“Stop!” She was on her feet, and in an instant had reached him, and -with her hands upon his shoulders was shaking him fiercely with all her -strength. “I hated you, despised you, loathed you before, but with that -man dying here, you murderer, I----” - -Her voice trailed off, strangled, choked. He had caught her in his -arms, his lips were upon hers. She struggled like a tigress. And as they -lurched about the room he laughed in mad abandon. She wrenched herself -free at last, and slipped and fell upon the floor. - -“Do you believe me now!” he panted. “I will have you! Neither this man -nor any other will live to get you. His life is a snap of my fingers--so -is any other life. It's you I want, and you I will have. And I'll tame -you! Then I'll show you what love is.” - -She was moaning now a little to herself. She crept to John Bruce and -stared into his face. Dying! They were letting this man die. She tried -to readjust the cloths upon the wound. She heard Doctor Crang laugh at -her again. It seemed as though her soul were sinking into some great -bottomless abyss that was black with horror. She did not know this -John Bruce. She had told Doctor Crang so. It was useless to repeat it, -useless to argue with a drug-steeped brain. There was only one thing -that was absolute and final, and that was that a man's life was ebbing -away, and a fiend, an inhuman fiend who could save him, but whom -pleading would not touch, stood callously by, not wholly indifferent, -rather gloating over what took the form of triumph in his diseased mind. -And then suddenly she seemed so tired and weary. And she tried to pray -to God. And tears came, and on her knees she turned and flung out her -arms imploringly to the unkempt figure that stood over her, and who -smiled as no other man she had ever seen had smiled before. - -“For the pity of God, for anything you have ever known in your life that -was pure and sacred,” she said brokenly, “save this man.” - -He looked at her for a moment, still with that sardonic smile upon his -lips, and then, swift in its transition, his expression changed and -cunning was in his eyes. - -“What would you give?” he purred. - -“Give?” She did not look up. She felt a sudden surge of relief. It -debased the man the more, for it was evidently money now; but her father -would supply that. She had only to ask for it. “What do you want?” she -asked eagerly. - -“Yourself,” said Doctor Crang. - -She looked up now, quickly, startled; read the lurking triumph in his -eyes, and with a sudden cry of fear turned away her head. - -“My--myself!” Her lips scarcely moved. - -“Yes, my dear! Yourself--Claire!” Doctor - -Crang shrugged his shoulders. “Edinburgh, London, Vienna, Paris, degrees -from everywhere--ha, ha!--am I a high-priced man? Well, then, why don't -you dismiss me? You called me in! That is my price--or shall we call it -fee? Promise to marry me, Claire, and I'll save that man.” - -Her face had lost all vestige of color. She stood and looked at him, but -it did not seem as though she any longer had control over her limbs. -She did not seem able to move them. They were numbed; her brain was -mercifully numbed--there was only a sense of impending horror, without -that horror taking concrete form. A voice came to her as though from -some great distance: - -“Don't take too long to make up your mind. There isn't much time. It's -about touch and go with him now.” - -The words, the tone, the voice roused her. Realization, understanding -swept upon her. A faintness came. She closed her eyes, swayed -unsteadily, but recovered herself. Something made her look at the -upturned face on the floor. She did not know this man. He was nothing -to her. Why was he pleading with her to pawn herself for him? What right -had he to ask for worse than death from her that he might live? Her soul -turned sick within her. If she refused, this man would die. Death! It -was a very little thing compared with days and months and years linked, -fettered, bound to a drug fiend, a coward, a foul thing, a potential -murderer, a man only in the sense of physical form, who had abused every -other God-given attribute until it had rotted away! Her hands pressed -to her temples fiercely, in torment. Was this man to live or die? In her -hands was balanced a human life. It seemed as though she must scream -out in her anguish of soul; and then it seemed as though she must fling -herself upon the drug-crazed being who had forced this torture upon her, -fling herself upon him to batter and pommel with her fists at his face -that smiled in hideous contentment at her. What was she to do? The -choice was hers. To let this man here die, or to accept a living -death for herself--no, worse than that--something that was abominable, -revolting, that profaned.... She drew her breath in sharply. She was -staring at the man on the floor. His eyelids fluttered and opened. Gray -eyes were fixed upon her, eyes that did not seem to see for there was a -vacant stare in them--and then suddenly recognition crept into them and -they lighted up, full of a strange, glad wonder. He made an effort to -speak, an effort, more feeble still, to reach out his hand to her--and -then the eyes had closed and he was unconscious again. - -She turned slowly and faced Doctor Crang. - -“You do not know what you are doing.” She formed the words with a great -effort. - -“Oh, yes, I do!” he answered with mocking deliberation. “I know that if -I can't get you one way, I can another--and the way doesn't matter.” - -“God forgive you, then,” she said in a dead voice, “for I never can or -will! I--I agree.” - -He took a step toward her. - -“You'll marry me?” His face was fired with passion. - -She retreated a step. - -“Yes,” she said. - -He reached out for her with savage eagerness. - -“Claire!” he cried. “Claire!” - -She pushed him back with both hands. - -“Not yet!” she said, and tried to steady her voice. “There is another -side to the bargain. The price is this man's life. If he lives I will -marry you, and in that case, as you well know, I can say nothing of what -you have done to-night; but if he dies, I am not only free, but I will -do my utmost to make you criminally responsible for his death.” - -“Ah!” Doctor Crang stared at her. His hands, still reaching out to touch -her, trembled; his face was hectic; his eyes were alight again with -feverish hunger--and then suddenly the man seemed transformed into -another being. He was on his knees beside John Bruce, and had opened his -handbag in an instant, and in another he had forced something from a -vial between John Bruce's lips; then an instrument was in his hands. The -man of a moment before was gone; one Sydney Angus Crang, of many -degrees, professional, deft, immersed in his work, had taken the other's -place. “More water! An extra basin!” he ordered curtly. - -Claire Veniza obeyed him in a mechanical way. Her brain was numbed, -exhausted, possessed of a great weariness. She watched him for a little -while. He flung another order at her. - -“Make that couch up into a bed,” he directed. “He can't be moved even -upstairs to-night.” - -Again she obeyed him; finally she helped him to lift John Bruce to the -couch. - -She sat down in a chair and waited--she did not know what for. Doctor -Crang had drawn another chair to the couch and sat there watching his -patient. John Bruce, as far as she could tell, showed no sign of life. - -Then Doctor Crang's voice seemed to float out of nothingness: - -“He will live, Claire, my dear! By God, I'd like to have done that piece -of work in a clinic! Some of 'em would sit up! D'ye hear, Claire, he'll -live!” - -She was conscious that he was studying her; she did not look at him, nor -did she answer. - -An eternity seemed to pass. She heard a motor stop outside in front of -the house. That would be her father and Hawkins. - -The front door opened and closed, footsteps entered the room--and -suddenly seemed to quicken and hurry forward. She rose from her chair. - -“What's this? What's the matter? What's happened?” a tall, white-haired -man cried out. - -It was Doctor Crang who answered. - -“Oh--this, Mr. Veniza?” He waved his hand indifferently toward the -couch. “Nothing of any importance.” He shrugged his shoulders in cool -imperturbability, and smiled into the grave, serious face of Paul -Veniza. “The really important thing is that Claire has promised to be my -wife.” - -For an instant no one moved or spoke--only Doctor Crang still smiled. -And then the silence was broken by a curious half laugh, half curse that -was full of menace. - -“You lie!” Hawkins, the round, red-faced chauffeur, had stepped from -behind Paul Veniza, and now faced Doctor Crang. “You lie! You damned -coke-eater! I'd kill you first!” - -“Drunk--again!” drawled Doctor Crang contemptuously. “And what have you -to do with it?” - -“Steady, Hawkins!” counselled Paul Veniza quietly. He turned to Claire -Veniza. “Claire,” he asked, “is--is this true?” - -She nodded--and suddenly, blindly, started toward the door. - -“It is true,” she said. - -“Claire!” Paul Veniza stepped after her. “Claire, - -“Not to-night, father,” she said in a low voice. “Please let me go.” - -He stood aside, allowing her to pass, his face grave and anxious--and -then he turned again to Doctor Crang. - -“She is naturally very upset over what has happened here,” said Doctor -Crang easily--and suddenly reaching out grasped Hawkins' arm, and pulled -the old man forward to the couch. “Here, you!” he jerked out. “You've -got so much to say for yourself--take a look at this fellow!” - -The old chauffeur bent over the couch. - -“My God!” he cried out in a startled way. “It's the man we--I--drove -to-night!” - -“Quite so!” observed Doctor Crang. He smiled at Paul Veniza again. -“Apart from the fact that the fellow came in through that window with a -knife stab in his side that's pretty nearly done for him, Hawkins knows -as much about it as either Claire or I do. He's in bad shape. Extremely -serious. I will stay with him to-night. He cannot be moved.” He nodded -suggestively toward the door. “Hawkins can tell you as much as I can. -It's got to be quiet in here. As for Claire”--he seemed suddenly to be -greatly disturbed and occupied with the condition of the wounded man on -the couch--“that will have to wait until morning. This man's condition -is critical. I can't put you out of your own room, but-----” Again he -nodded toward the door. - -For a moment Paul Veniza hesitated--but Doctor Crang's back was already -turned, and he was bending over the wounded man, apparently oblivious to -every other consideration. He motioned to Hawkins, and the two left the -room. - -Doctor Crang looked around over his shoulder as the door closed. A -malicious grin spread over his face. He rubbed his hands together. Then -he sat down in his chair again, and began to prepare a solution for his -hypodermic syringe. - -“Yes, yes,” said Doctor Crang softly, addressing the unconscious form of -John Bruce, “you'll live, all right, my friend, I'll see to that, though -the odds are still against you. You're too--ha, ha!--valuable to die! -You played in luck when you drew Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., as your -attending physician!” - -And then Doctor Sydney Angus Crang made a little grimace as he punctured -the flesh of his arm with the needle of the hypodermic syringe and -injected into himself another dose of cocaine. - -“Yes,” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang very softly, his eyes lighting, -“too valuable, much too valuable--to die!” - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE--HAWKINS - -|IN the outer room, the door closed behind them, Paul Veniza and -Hawkins stared into each other's eyes. Hawkins' face had lost its ruddy, -weatherbeaten color, and there was a strained, perplexed anxiety in his -expression. - -“D'ye hear what she said?” he mumbled. “D'ye hear what he said? Going -to be married! My little girl, my innocent little girl, and--and that -dope-feeding devil! I--I don't understand, Paul. What's it mean?” - -Paul Veniza laid his hand on the other's shoulder, as much to seek, it -seemed, as to offer sympathy. He shook his head. - -“I don't know,” he said blankly. - -Hawkins' watery blue eyes under their shaggy brows traveled miserably in -the direction of the staircase. - -“I--I ain't got the right,” he choked. “You go up and talk to her, -Paul.” - -Paul Veniza ran his fingers in a troubled way through his white hair; -then, nodding his head, he turned abruptly and began to mount the -stairs. - -Hawkins watched until the other had disappeared from sight, watched -until he heard a door open and close softly above; then he swung sharply -around, and with his old, drooping shoulders suddenly squared, strode -toward the door that shut him off from Doctor Crang and the man he had -recognized as his passenger in the traveling pawn-shop earlier that -night. But at the door itself he hesitated, and after a moment drew -back, and the shoulders drooped again, and he fell to twisting his hands -together in nervous indecision as he retreated to the center of the -room. - -And he stood there again, where Paul Veniza had left him, and stared -with the hurt of a dumb animal in his eyes at the top of the staircase. - -“It's all my fault,” the old man whispered, and fell to twisting his -hands together once more. “But--but I thought she'd be safe with me.” - -For a long time he seemed to ponder his own words, and gradually they -seemed to bring an added burden upon him, and heavily now he drew his -hand across his eyes. - -“Why ain't I dead?” he whispered. “I ain't never been no good to -her. Twenty years, it is--twenty years. Just old Hawkins--shabby old -Hawkins--that she loves 'cause she's sorry for him.” - -Hawkins' eyes roved about the room. - -“I remember the night I brought her here.” He was still whispering to -himself. “In there, it was, I took her.” He jerked his hand toward the -inner room. “This here room was the pawn-shop then. God, all those years -ago--and--and I ain't never bought her back again, and she ain't known -no father but Paul, and----” His voice trailed off and died away. - -He sank his chin in his hands. - -Occasionally he heard the murmur of voices from above, occasionally the -sound of movement through the closed door that separated him from Doctor -Crang; but he did not move or speak again until Paul Veniza came down -the stairs and stood before him. - -Hawkins searched the other's face. - -“It--it ain't true, is it, what she said?” he questioned almost -fiercely. “She didn't really mean it, did she, Paul?” - -Paul Veniza turned his head away. - -“Yes, she meant it,” he answered in a low voice. “I don't understand. -She wouldn't give me any explanation.” - -Hawkins clenched his fists suddenly. - -“But didn't you tell her what kind of a man Crang is? Good God, Paul, -didn't you tell her what he is?” - -“She knows it without my telling her,” Paul Veniza said in a dull tone. -“But I told her again; I told her it was impossible, incredible. Her -only answer was that it was inevitable.” - -“But she doesn't love him! She can't love him!” Hawkins burst out. -“There's never been anything between them before.” - -“No, she doesn't love him. Of course, she doesn't!” Paul Veniza said, as -though speaking to himself. He looked at Hawkins suddenly under knitted -brows. “And she says she never saw that other man in her life before -until he stepped into the car. She says she only went out to-night -because they were so urgent about it up at the house, and that she felt -everything would be perfectly safe with you driving the car. I can't -make anything out of it!” - -Hawkins drew the sleeve of his coat across his brow. It was cool in the -room, but little beads of moisture were standing out on his forehead. - -“I ain't brought her nothing but harm all my life,” he said brokenly. -“I----” - -“Don't take it that way, old friend!” Paul Veniza's hands sought the -other's shoulders. “I don't see how you are to blame for this. Claire -said that other man treated her with all courtesy, and left the car -after you had gone around the block; and she doesn't know how he -afterwards came here wounded any more than we do--and anyway, it can't -have anything to do with her marrying Doctor Crang.” - -“What's she doing now?” demanded Hawkins abruptly. “She's up there -crying her heart out, ain't she?” - -Paul Veniza did not answer. - -Hawkins straightened up. A sudden dignity came to the shabby old figure. - -“What hold has that devil got on my little girl?” he cried out -sharply. “I'll make him pay for it, so help me God! My little girl, my -little------” - -“S-sh!” Paul Veniza caught hurriedly at Hawkins' arm. “Be careful, old -friend!” he warned. “Not so loud! She might hear you.” - -Hawkins cast a timorous, startled glance in the direction of the stairs. -He seemed to shrink again, into a stature as shabby as his clothing. His -lips twitched; he twisted his hands together. - -“Yes,” he mumbled; “yes, she--she might hear me.” He stared around the -room; and then, as though blindly, his hands groping out in front of -him, he started for the street door. “I'm going home,” said Hawkins. -“I'm going home to think this out.” - -Paul Veniza's voice choked a little. - -“Your hat, old friend,” he said, picking up the old man's hat from the -table and following the other to the door. - -“Yes, my hat,” said Hawkins--and pulling it far down over his eyes, -crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the driver's seat of the old, -closed car that stood at the curb. - -He started the car mechanically. He did not look back. He stared -straight ahead of him except when, at the corner, his eyes lifted and -held for a moment on the lighted windows and the swinging doors of a -saloon--and the car went perceptibly slower. Then his hands tightened -fiercely in their hold upon the wheel until the white of the knuckles -showed, and the car passed the saloon and turned the next corner and -went on. - -Halfway down the next block it almost came to a halt again when opposite -a dark and dingy driveway that led in between, and to the rear of, -two poverty-stricken frame houses. Hawkins stared at this uninviting -prospect, and made as though to turn the car into the driveway; then, -shaking his head heavily, he continued on along the street. - -“I can't go in there and sit by myself all alone,” said Hawkins -hoarsely. “I--I'd go mad. It's--it's like as though they'd told me -to-night that she'd died--same as they told me about her mother the -night I went to Paul's.” - -The car moved slowly onward. It turned the next corner--and the next. It -almost completed the circuit of the block. Hawkins now was wetting his -lips with the tip of his tongue. His hands on the wheel were trembling. -The car had stopped. Hawkins was staring again at the lighted windows -and the swinging doors of the saloon. - -He sat for a long time motionless; then he climbed down from his seat. - -“Just one,” Hawkins whispered to himself. “Just one. I--I'd go mad if I -didn't.” - -Hawkins pushed the swinging doors open, and sidled up to the bar. - -“Hello, Hawkins!” grinned the barkeeper. “Been out of town? I ain't seen -you the whole afternoon!” - -“You mind your own business!” said Hawkins surlily. - -“Sure!” nodded the barkeeper cheerily. “Same as usual?” He slid a -square-faced bottle and a glass toward the old man. - -Hawkins helped himself and drank moodily. He set his empty glass back -on the bar, jerked down his shabby vest and straightened up, his eyes -resolutely fixed on the door. Then he felt in his pocket for his pipe -and tobacco. His eyes shifted from the door to his pipe. He filled it -slowly. - -“Give me another,” said Hawkins presently--without looking at the -barkeeper. - -Again the old man drank, and jerked down his vest, and squared his thin -shoulders. He lighted his pipe, tamping the bowl carefully with his -forefinger. His eyes sought the swinging doors once more. - -“I'm going home,” said Hawkins defiantly to himself. “I've got to think -this out.” He dug into his vest pocket for money, and produced a few -small bills. He stared at these for a moment, hesitated, started to -replace them in his pocket, hesitated again, and the tip of his tongue -circled his lips; then he pushed the money across the bar. “Take the -drinks out of that, and--and give me a bottle,” he said. “I--I don't -like to be without anything in the house, and I got to go home.” - -“You said something!” said the barkeeper. “Have one on the house before -you go?” - -“No; I won't.” - -“No,” said Hawkins with stern determination. - -Hawkins crowded the bottle into the side pocket of his coat, passed out -through the swinging doors, and resumed his seat on the car. And again -the car started forward. But it went faster now. Hawkins' face was -flushed; he seemed nervously and excitedly in haste. At the driveway -he turned in, garaged his car in an old shed at the rear of one of the -houses, locked the shed with a padlock, and, by way of the back door, -entered the house that was in front of the shed. - -It was quite dark inside, but Hawkins had been an inmate of the somewhat -seedy rooming-house too many years either to expect that a light should -be burning at that hour, or, for that matter, to require any light. -He groped his way up a flight of creaking stairs, opened the door of a -room, and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and -struck a match. A gas-jet wheezed asthmatically, and finally flung a -thin and sullen yellow glow about the place. It disclosed a cot bed, a -small strip of carpet long since worn bare of nap, a washstand, an old -trunk, a battered table, and two chairs. - -Hawkins, with some difficulty, extricated the bottle from his pocket, -and lifted the lid of his trunk. He thrust the bottle inside, and in the -act of closing the lid upon it--hesitated. - -“I--I ain't myself to-night, I ain't,” said Hawkins tremulously. “It's -shook me, it has--bad. Just one--so help me God!--just one.” - -Hawkins sat down at the table with the bottle in front of him. - -And while Hawkins sat there it grew very late. - -At intervals Hawkins talked to himself. At times he stared owlishly -from a half-emptied bottle to the black square of window pane above the -trunk--and once he shook his fist in that direction. - -“Crang--eh--damn you!” he gritted out. “You think you got her, do you? -Some dirty, cunning trick you've played her! But you don't know old -Hawkins. Ha, ha! You think he's only a drunken bum!” - -Hawkins, as it grew later still, became unsteady in his seat. Gradually -his head sank down upon the table. - -“I--hie!--gotta think this--out,” said Hawkins earnestly--and fell -asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX--THE ALIBI - -|JOHN BRUCE opened his eyes dreamily, unseeingly; and then his eyelids -fluttered and closed again. There was an exquisite sense of languor -upon him, of cool, comfortable repose; a curious absence of all -material things. It seemed as though he were in some suspended state of -animation. - -It was very strange. It wasn't life--not life as he had ever known it. -Perhaps it was death. He did not understand. - -He tried to think. He was conscious that his mind for some long -indeterminate period had been occupied with the repetition of queer, -vague, broken snatches of things, fantastic things born of illusions, -brain fancies, cobwebby, intangible, which had no meaning, and were -without beginning or end. There was a white beach, very white, and a -full round moon, and the moon winked knowingly while he whittled with a -huge jack-knife at a quill toothpick. And then there was a great chasm -of blackness which separated the beach from some other place that seemed -to have nothing to identify it except this black chasm which was the -passageway to it; and here a man's face, a face that was sinister in -its expression, and both repulsive and unhealthy in its color, was -constantly bending over him, and the man's head was always in the same -posture--cocked a little to one side, as though listening intently -and straining to hear something. And then, in the same place, but less -frequently, there was another face--and this seemed to bring with it -always a shaft of warm, bright sunlight that dispelled the abominable -gloom, and before which the first face vanished--a beautiful, the -wondrously beautiful, face of a girl, one that he had seen somewhere -before, that was haunting in its familiarity and for which it seemed -he had always known a great yearning, but which plagued him miserably -because there seemed to be some unseen barrier between them, and because -he could not recognize her, and she could not speak and tell him who she -was. - -John Bruce opened his eyes again. Dimly, faintly, his mind seemed to be -grasping coherent realities. He began to remember fragments of the past, -but it was very hard to piece those fragments together into a concrete -whole. That white beach--yes, he remembered that. And the quill -toothpick. Only the huge jack-knife was absurd! It was at Apia with -Larmon. But he was in a room somewhere now, and lying on a cot of some -sort. And it was night. How had he come here? - -He moved a little, and suddenly felt a twinge of pain in his side. His -hand groped under the covering, and his fingers came into contact with -bandages that were wrapped tightly around his body. - -And then in a flash memory returned. He remembered the fight in Ratti's -wine shop, the knife stab, and how he had dragged himself along the lane -and climbed in through _her_ window. His eyes now in a startled way were -searching his surroundings. Perhaps this was the room! He could not -be quite sure, but there seemed to be something familiar about it. The -light was very low, like a gas-jet turned down, and he could not make -out where it came from, nor could he see any window through which he -might have climbed in. - -He frowned in a troubled way. It was true that, as he had climbed in -that night, he had not been in a condition to take much note of the -room, but yet it did seem to be the same place. The frown vanished. What -did it matter? He knew now beyond any question whose face it was that -had come to him so often in that shaft of sunlight. Yes, it _did_ -matter! He must have been unconscious, perhaps for only a few hours, -perhaps for days, but if this was the same place, then she was _here_, -not as a figment of the brain, not as one created out of his own -longing, but here in her actual person, a living, breathing reality. It -was the girl of the traveling pawn-shop, and---- - -John Bruce found himself listening with sudden intentness. Was he -drifting back into unconsciousness again, into that realm of unreal -things, where the mind, fevered and broken, wove out of its sick -imagination queer, meaningless fancies? It was strange that unreal -things should seem so real! Wasn't that an animal of some sort -scratching at the wall of the house outside? - -He lifted his head slightly from the pillow--and held it there. A voice -from within the room reached him in an angry, rasping whisper: - -“Damn you, Birdie, why don't you pull the house down and have done with -it? You clumsy hog! Do you want the police on us? Can't you climb three -feet without waking up the whole of New York?” - -John Bruce's lips drew together until they formed a tight, straight -line. This was strange! Very strange! It wasn't a vagary of his brain -this time. His brain was as clear now as it had ever been in his life. -The voice came from beyond the head of his cot. He had seen no one in -the room, but that was natural enough since from the position in which -he was lying his line of vision was decidedly restricted; what seemed -incomprehensible though, taken in conjunction with the words he had -just heard, was that his own presence there appeared to be completely -ignored. - -He twisted his head around cautiously, and found that the head of the -cot was surrounded by a screen. He nodded to himself a little grimly. -That accounted for it! There was a scraping sound now, and heavy, -labored breathing. - -John Bruce silently and stealthily stretched out his arm. He could just -reach the screen. It was made of some soft, silken material, and his -fingers found no difficulty in drawing this back a little from the edge -of that portion of the upright framework which was directly in front of -him. - -He scarcely breathed now. Perhaps he was in so weak a state that his -mind faltered if crowded, for there was so much to see that he could -not seem to grasp it all as a single picture. He gazed fascinated. The -details came slowly--one by one. It _was_ the room where he had crawled -in through the window and had fallen senseless to the floor--whenever -that had been! That was the window there. And, curiously enough, another -man was crawling in through it now! And there was whispering. And two -other men were already standing in the room, but he could not see their -faces because their backs were turned to him. Then one of the two swung -around in the direction of the window, bringing his face into view. John -Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, it must be that! His mind was -off wandering once more, painting and picturing for itself its fanciful -unrealities, bringing back again the character it had created, the man -with the sinister face whose pallor was unhealthy and repulsive. - -And then he opened his eyes and looked again, and the face was still -there--and it was real. And now the man spoke: - -“Come on, get busy, Birdie! If you take as long to crack the box as you -have taken to climb in through a low window, maybe we'll be invited to -breakfast with the family! You act just like a swell cracksman--not! But -here's the combination--so try and play up to the part!” - -The man addressed was heavy of build, with a pockmarked and forbidding -countenance. He was panting from his exertions, as, inside the room now, -he leaned against the sill. - -“That's all right, Doc!” he grunted. “That's all right! But how about -his nibs over there behind the screen? Ain't he ever comin' out of his -nap?” - -The man addressed as “Doc” rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and -produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. - -“There's the safe over there, Birdie,” he drawled, as he pricked his arm -with the needle and pushed home the plunger. “Get busy!” - -The big man shuffled his feet. - -“I know you know your business, Doc,” he said uneasily; “but I guess -me an' Pete here 'd feel more comfortable if you'd have put that shot of -coke into the guy I'm speakin' about instead of into yourself. Ain't I -right, Pete?” - -The third man was lounging against the wall, his back still turned to -John Bruce. - -“Sure,” he said; “but I guess you can leave it to Doc. A guy that's -been pawin' the air for two days ain't likely to butt in much all of a -sudden.” - -The man with the hypodermic, in the act of replacing the syringe in his -pocket, drew it out again. - -“Coming from you, Birdie,” he murmured caustically, “that's a -surprisingly bright idea. I've been here for the last three hours -listening to his interesting addresses from the rostrum of delirium, and -I should say he was quite safe. Still, to oblige you, Birdie, and make -you feel more comfortable, we'll act on your suggestion.” - -John Bruce's teeth gritted together. How weak he was! His arm ached from -even the slight strain of extending it beyond his head to the screen. - -And then he smiled grimly. But it wasn't a case of strength now, was it? -He was obviously quite helpless in that respect. This man they called -Doc believed him to be still unconscious, and--he drew his arm silently -back, tucked it again under the sheet and blanket that covered him, -and closed his eyes--and even if he could resist, which he couldn't, a -hypodermic injection of morphine, or cocaine, or whatever it was that -the supreme crook of the trio indulged in, could not _instantly_ take -effect. There ought to be time enough to watch at least---- - -John Bruce lay perfectly still. He heard a footstep come quickly around -the screen; he sensed the presence of some one bending over him; then -the coverings were pulled down and his arm was bared. He steeled himself -against the instinctive impulse to wince at the sharp prick of the -needle which he knew was coming--and felt instead a cold and curiously -merciless rage sweep over him as the act was performed. Then the -footstep retreated--and John Bruce quietly twisted his head around on -the pillow, reached out his arm, and his fingers drew the silk panel of -the screen slightly away from the edge of the framework again. - -He could see the safe they had referred to now. It was over at the far -side of the room against the wall, and the three men were standing in -front of it. Presently it was opened. The man called Doc knelt down in -front of it and began to examine its contents. He swung around to his -companions after a moment with a large pile of banknotes in his hands. -From this pile he counted out and handed a small portion to each of the -other two men--and coolly stuffed the bulk of the money into his own -pockets. - -The scene went blurry then for a moment before John Bruce's eyes, and -he lifted his free hand and brushed it across his forehead. He was so -beastly weak, anyhow, and the infernal dope was getting in its work -too fast! He fought with all his mental strength against the impulse -to relax and close his eyes. What was it they were doing now? It looked -like some foolish masquerade. The two companions of the man with the -sinister, pasty face were tying handkerchiefs over their faces and -drawing revolvers from their pockets; and then the big man began to -close the door of the safe. - -The Doc's voice came sharply: - -“Look out you don't lock it, you fool!” - -Once more John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. His brain must -be playing him tricks again. A din infernal rose suddenly in the room. -While the big man lounged nonchalantly against the safe, the other two -were scuffling all over the floor and throwing chairs about. And then -from somewhere upstairs, on the floor there too, John Bruce thought he -caught the sound of hurried movements. - -Then for an instant the scuffling in the room ceased, and the -pasty-faced man's voice came in a peremptory whisper: - -“The minute any one shows at the door you swing that safe open as though -you'd been working at it all the time, Birdie, and pretend to shove -everything in sight into your pockets. And you, Joe, you've got me -cornered and covered here--see? And you hold the doorway with your gun -too; and then both of you back away and make your getaway through the -window.” The scuffling began again. John Bruce watched the scene, a -sense of drowsiness and apathy creeping upon him. He tried to rouse -himself. He ought to do something. That vicious-faced little crook who -had haunted him with unwelcome visitations, and who at this precise -moment had the bulk of the money from the safe in his own pockets, was -in the act of planting a somewhat crude, but probably none the less -effective, alibi, and---- - -John Bruce heard a door flung open, and then a sudden, startled cry, -first in a woman's and then in a man's voice. But he could not see any -door from the position in which he lay. He turned over with a great -effort, facing the other way, and reached out with his fingers for the -panel of the screen that overlapped the head of the cot. And then John -Bruce lay motionless, the blood pounding fiercely at his temples. - -He was conscious that a tall, white-haired man in scanty attire was -there, because the doorway framed two figures; but he _saw_ only a -beautiful face, pitifully white, only the slim form of a girl whose -great brown eyes were very wide with fear, and who held her dressing -gown tightly clutched around her throat. It was the girl of the -traveling pawn-shop, it was the girl of his dreams in the shaft of -sunlight, it was the girl he had followed here--only--only the picture -seemed to be fading away. It was very strange! It was most curious! She -always seemed to leave that way. This was Larmon now instead, wasn't it? -Larmon... and a jack-knife... and a quill toothpick... and.... - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN--THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING PAWN-SHOP - -|JOHN BRUCE abstractedly twirled the tassel of the old and faded -dressing gown which he wore, the temporary possession of which he -owed to Paul Veniza, his host. From the chair in which he sat his eyes -ventured stolen glances at the nape of a dainty neck, and at a great -coiled mass of silken brown hair that shone like burnished copper in the -afternoon sunlight, as Claire Veniza, her back turned toward him, busied -herself about the room. He could walk now across the floor--and a -great deal further, he was sure, if they would only let him. He had not -pressed that point; it might be taking an unfair advantage of an already -over-generous hospitality, but he was not at all anxious to speed his -departure from--well, from where he was at that precise moment. - -And now as he looked at Claire Veniza, his thoughts went back to the -night he had stepped, at old Hawkins' invitation, into the traveling -pawn-shop. That was not so very long ago--two weeks of grave illness, -and then the past week of convalescence--but it seemed to span a great -and almost limitless stretch of time, and to mark a new and entirely -different era in his life; an era that perplexed and troubled and -intrigued him with conditions and surroundings and disturbing elements -that he did not comprehend--but at the same time made the blood in his -veins to course with wild abandon, and the future to hold out glad and -beckoning hands. - -He loved, with a great, overwhelming, masterful love, the girl who stood -there just across the room all unconscious of the worship that he knew -was in his eyes, and which he neither tried nor wished to curb. Of his -own love he was sure. He had loved her from the moment he had first seen -her, and in his heart he knew he held fate kind to have given him the -wound that in its turn had brought the week of convalescence just past. -And yet--and yet---- Here dismay came, and his brain seemed to stumble. -Sometimes he dared to hope; sometimes he was plunged into the depths of -misery and despair. Little things, a touch of the hand as she had nursed -him that had seemed like some God-given tender caress, a glance when -she had thought he had not seen and which he had allowed his heart to -interpret to its advantage with perhaps no other justification than -its own yearning and desire, had buoyed him up; and then, at times, -a strange, almost bitter aloofness, it seemed, in her attitude toward -him--and this had checked, had always checked, the words that were ever -on his lips. - -A faint flush dyed his cheeks. But even so, and for all his boasted -love, did he not in his own soul wrong her sometimes? The questions -_would_ come. What was the meaning of the strange environment in which -she lived? Why should she have driven to a gambling hell late at night, -and quite as though it were the usual thing, to transact business alone -in that car with---- - -God! His hands clenched fiercely. He remembered that night, and how the -same thought had come then, mocking him, jeering him, making sport of -him. He was a cad, a pitiful, vile-minded cad! Thank God that he was at -least still man enough to be ashamed of his own thoughts, even if they -came in spite of him! - -Perhaps it was the strange, unusual characters that surrounded her, that -came and went in this curious place here, that fostered such thoughts; -perhaps he was not strong enough yet to grapple with all these confusing -things. He smiled a little grimly. The robbery of the safe, for -instance--and that reptile whom he now knew to be his own attending -physician, Doctor Crang! He had said nothing about his knowledge of the -robbery--yet. As nearly as he could judge it had occurred two or three -days prior to the time when his actual convalescence had set in, and as -a material witness to the crime he was not at all sure that in law his -testimony would be of much value. They must certainly have found him in -an unconscious state immediately afterward--and Doctor Crang would -as indubitably attack his testimony as being nothing more than the -hallucination of a sick brain. - -The luck of the devil had been with Crang! Why had he, John Bruce, gone -drifting off into unconsciousness just at the psychological moment when, -if the plan had been carried out as arranged and the other two had made -their fake escape, Crang would have been left in the room with Claire -and Paul Veniza--with the money in his pockets! He would have had Doctor -Crang cold then! It was quite different now. He was not quite sure what -he meant to do, except that he fully proposed to have a reckoning with -Doctor Crang. But that reckoning, something, he could not quite define -what, had prompted him to postpone until he had become physically a -little stronger! - -And then there was another curious thing about it all, which too had -influenced him in keeping silent. Hawkins, Paul Veniza, Claire and -Doctor Crang had each, severally and collectively, been here in this -room many times since the robbery, and not once in his presence had the -affair ever been mentioned! And--oh, what did it matter! He shrugged his -shoulders as though to rid himself of some depressing physical weight. -What did anything matter on this wonderful sunlit afternoon--save Claire -there in her white, cool dress, that seemed somehow to typify her own -glorious youth and freshness. - -How dainty and sweet and alluring she looked! His eyes were no longer -contented with stolen glances; they held now masterfully, defiant of any -self-restraint, upon the slim figure that was all grace from the trim -little ankles to the poise of the shapely head. He felt the blood -quicken his pulse. Stronger than he had ever known it before, straining -to burst all barriers, demanding expression as a right that would not be -denied, his love rose dominant within him, and---- - -The tassel he had been twirling dropped from his hand. She had -turned suddenly; and across the room her eyes met his, calm, deep and -unperturbed at first, but wide the next instant with a startled shyness, -and the color sweeping upward from her throat crimsoned her face, and in -confusion she turned away her head. - -John Bruce was on his feet. He stumbled a little as he took a step -forward. His heart was pounding, flinging a red tide into the pallor of -his cheeks that illness had claimed as one of its tolls. - -“I--I did not mean to tell you like that,” he said huskily. “But I have -wanted to tell you for so long. It seems as though I have always wanted -to tell you. Claire--I love you.” - -She did not answer. - -He was beside her now--only her head was lowered and averted and he -could not look into her face. Her fingers were plucking tremulously at a -fold of her dress. He caught her hand between both his own. - -“Claire--Claire, I love you!” he whispered. - -She disengaged her hand gently; and, still refusing to let him see her -face, shook her head slowly. - -“I--I-----” Her voice was very low. “Oh, don't you know?” - -“I know I love you,” he answered passionately. “I know that nothing else -but that matters.” - -Again she shook her head. - -“I thought perhaps he would have told you. I--I am going to marry Doctor -Crang.” - -John Bruce stepped back involuntarily; and for a moment incredulity and -helpless amazement held sway in his expression--then his lips tightened -in a hurt, half angry way. - -“Is that fair to me, Claire--to give me an answer like that?” he said in -a low tone. “I know it isn't true, of course; it couldn't be--but--but -it isn't much of a joke either, is it?” - -“It is true,” she said monotonously. - -He leaned suddenly forward, and taking her face between his hands, made -her lift her head and look at him. The brown eyes were swimming with -tears. The red swept her face in a great wave, and, receding, left it -deathly pale--and in a frenzy of confusion she wrenched herself free -from him and retreated a step. - -“My God!” said John Bruce hoarsely. “You--and Doctor Crang! I don't -understand! It is monstrous! You can't love that----” He checked -himself, biting at his lips. “You can't love Doctor Crang. It is -impossible! You dare not stand there and tell me that you do. Answer me, -Claire--answer me!” - -She seemed to have regained her self-control--or perhaps it was the one -defense she knew. The little figure was drawn up, her head held back. - -“You have no right to ask me that,” she said steadily. - -“Right!” John Bruce echoed almost fiercely. His soul itself seemed -suddenly to be in passionate turmoil; it seemed to juggle two figures -before his consciousness, contrasting one with the other in most hideous -fashion--this woman here whom he loved, who struggled to hold herself -bravely, who stood for all that was pure, for all that he reverenced in -a woman; and that sallow, evil-faced degenerate, a drug fiend so lost to -the shame of his vice that he pricked himself with his miserable needle -quite as unconcernedly in public as one would smoke a cigarette--and -worse--a crook--a thief! Was it a coward's act to tell this girl _what_ -the man was whom she proposed to marry? Was it contemptible to pull a -rival such as that down from the pedestal which in some fiendish way he -must have erected for himself? Surely she did not know the man for what -he actually was! She could not know! “Right!” he cried out. “Yes, I have -the right--both for your sake and for my own. I have the right my love -gives me. Do you know how I came here that first night?” - -“Yes,” she said with an effort. “You told me. You were in a fight in -Ratti's place, and were wounded.” - -He laughed out harshly. - -“And I told you the truth--as far as it went,” he said. “But do you know -how I came to be in this locality after leaving you in that motor car? I -followed you. I loved you from the moment I saw you that night. It seems -as though I have always loved you--as I always shall love you. That is -what gives me the right to speak. And I mean to speak. If it were an -honorable man to whom you were to be married it would be quite another -matter; but you cannot know what you are doing, you do not know this man -as he really is, or what he----” - -“Please! Please stop!” she cried out brokenly. “Nothing you could say -would tell me anything I do not already know.” - -“I am not so sure!” said John Bruce grimly. “Suppose I told you he was a -criminal?” - -“He is a criminal.” Her voice was without inflection. - -“Suppose then he were sent to jail--to serve a sentence?” - -“I would marry him when he came out,” she said. “Oh, please do not -say any more! I know far more about him than you do; but--but that has -nothing to do with it.” - -For an instant, motionless, John Bruce stared at Claire; then his hands -swept out and caught her wrists in a tight grip and held her prisoner. - -“Claire!” His voice choked. “What does this mean? You do not love him; -you say you know he is even a criminal--and yet you are going to marry -him! What hold has he got on you? What is it? What damnable trap has he -got you in? I am going to know, Claire! I will know! And whatever it is, -whatever the cause of it, I'll crush it, strangle it, sweep it out of -your dear life at any cost! Tell me, Claire!” - -Her face had gone white; she struggled a little to release herself. - -“You--you do not know what you are saying. You----” Her voice broke in a -half sob. - -“Claire, look at me!” He was pleading now with his soul in his eyes and -voice. “Claire, I----” - -“Oh, please let me go!” she cried out frantically. “You cannot say -anything that will make any difference. I--it only makes it harder.” - The tears were brimming in her eyes again. “Oh, please let me -go--there's--there's some one coming.” - -John Bruce's hands dropped to his sides. The door, already half open, -was pushed wide, and Hawkins, the old chauffeur, stood on the threshold. -And as John Bruce looked in that direction, he was suddenly and -strangely conscious that somehow for the moment the old man dominated -his attention even to the exclusion of Claire. There was something of -curious self-effacement, of humbleness in the bent, stoop-shouldered -figure there, who twisted a shapeless hat awkwardly in his hands; but -also something of trouble and deep anxiety in the faded blue eyes as -they fixed on the girl, and yet without meeting her eyes in return, held -upon her as she walked slowly now toward the door. - -“Dear old Hawkins,” she said softly, and laid her hand for an instant on -the other's arm as she passed by him, “you and Mr. Bruce will be able -to entertain each other, won't you? I--I'm going upstairs for a little -while.” - -And the old man made no answer; but, turning on the threshold, he -watched her, his attitude, it seemed to John Bruce, one of almost -pathetic wistfulness, as Claire disappeared from view. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHT--ALLIES - -|CLAIRE'S footsteps, ascending the stairs, died away. John Bruce -returned to his chair. His eyes were still on the old chauffeur. - -Hawkins was no longer twisting his shapeless hat nervously in his -fingers; instead, he held it now in one clenched hand, while with the -other he closed the door behind him as he stepped forward across the -threshold, and with squared shoulders advanced toward John Bruce. And -then, quite as suddenly again, as though alarmed at his own temerity, -the old man paused, and the question on his lips, aggressively enough -framed, became irresolute in tone. - -“What--what's the matter with Claire?” he stammered. “What's this mean?” - -It was a moment before John Bruce answered, while he eyed the other from -head to foot. Hawkins was not the least interesting by any means of the -queer characters that came and went and centered around this one-time -pawn-shop of Paul Veniza; but Hawkins, of them all, was the one he -was least able, from what he had seen of the man, to fathom. And yet, -somehow, he liked Hawkins. - -“That's exactly what I want to know,” he said a little brusquely. -“And”--he eyed Hawkins once more with cool appraisal--“I think you are -the man best able to supply the information.” - -Hawkins began to fumble with his hat again. - -“I--I--why do you say that?” he faltered, a sudden note of what seemed -almost trepidation in his voice. - -John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. - -“Possibly it is just a hunch,” he said calmly. “But you were the one who -was driving that old bus on a certain night--you remember? And you seem -to hang around here about as you please. Therefore you must stand in on -a fairly intimate basis with the family circle. I'd like to know what -hold a rotten crook like Doctor Crang has got on Claire Veniza that she -should be willing to marry him, when she doesn't love him. I'd like to -know why a girl like Claire Veniza drives alone at night to a gambling -hell to----” - -“That's enough!” Hawkins' voice rose abruptly, peremptorily. He advanced -again threateningly oft John Bruce. “Don't you dare to say one word -against my--against--against her. I'll choke the life out of you, if you -do! Who are you, anyway? You are asking a lot of questions. How did you -get here in the first place? You answer that! I've always meant to ask -you. You answer that--and leave Claire out of it!” - -John Bruce whistled softly. - -“I can't very well do that,” he said quietly, “because it was Claire who -brought me here.” - -“Claire brought you!” The old blue eyes grew very hard and very steady. -“That's a lie! She never saw you after you got out at the corner that -night until you came in through the window here. She didn't tell you -where she lived. She didn't invite you here. She's not that kind, and, -sick though you may be, I'll not keep my hands off you, if----” - -“Steady, Hawkins--steady!” said John Bruce, his voice as quiet as -before. “We seem to possess a common bond. You seem to be pretty fond -of Claire. Well, so am I. That ought to make us allies.” He held out his -hand suddenly to the old man. “I had just asked Claire to marry me when -you came to the door.” - -Hawkins stared from the outstretched hand into John Bruce's eyes, and -back again at the outstretched hand. Bewilderment, hesitation, a curious -excitement was in his face. - -“You asked Claire to marry you?” He swallowed hard. “You--you want to -marry Claire? I--why?” - -“Why?” John Bruce echoed helplessly. “Good Lord, Hawkins, you _are_ a -queer one! Barring beasts like Crang, why does a man ordinarily ask a -woman to marry him? Because he loves her. Well, I love Claire. I loved -her from the moment I saw her. I followed her, or, rather, that old bus -of yours, here that night. And that is how, after that fight at Ratti's -when I got out the back door and into the lane, I crawled over here for -sanctuary. I said Claire brought me here. You understand now, don't you? -That's how she brought me here--because I loved her that night. But it -is because of Crang”--his voice grew hard--“that I am telling you this. -I love her now--and a great deal too much, whether she could ever care -for me or not, to see her in the clutches of a crook, and her -life wrecked by a degenerate cur. And somehow”--his hand was still -extended--“I thought you seemed to think enough of her to feel the same -way about this marriage--for I imagine you must know about it. Well, -Hawkins, where do you stand? There's something rotten here. Are you for -Claire, or the dope-eater?” - -“Oh, my God!” Hawkins whispered huskily. And then almost blindly he -snatched at John Bruce's hand and wrung it hard. “I--I believe you're -straight,” he choked. “I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. I -wouldn't ask anything more in the world for her than a man's honest -love. And she ain't going to marry that devil! You understand?” His -voice was rising in a curious cracked shrillness. “She ain't! Not while -old Hawkins is alive!” - -John Bruce drew his brows together in a puzzled way. - -“I pass you up, Hawkins,” he said slowly. “I can't make you out. But if -you mean what you say, and if you trust me----” - -“I'm going to trust you!” There was eagerness, excitement, a tremble in -the old man's voice. “I've got to trust you after what you've said. I -ain't slept for nights on account of this. It looks like God sent you. -You wait! Wait just a second, and I'll show you how much I trust you.” - -John Bruce straightened up in his chair. Was the old man simply erratic, -or perhaps a little irresponsible--or what? Hawkins had pattered across -the floor, had cautiously opened the door, and was now peering with -equal caution into the outer room. Apparently satisfied at last, he -closed the door noiselessly, and started back across the room. And -then John Bruce knew suddenly an indefinable remorse at having somehow -misjudged the shabby old chauffeur, whose figure seemed to totter now a -little as it advanced toward him. Hawkins' face was full of misery, and -the old blue eyes were brimming with tears. - -“It--it ain't easy”--Hawkins' voice quavered--“to say--what I got to -say. There ain't no one on earth but Paul Veniza knows it; but you've -got a right to know after what you've said. And I've got to tell you for -Claire's sake too, because it seems to me there ain't nobody going to -help me save her the way you are. She--she's my little girl. I--I'm -Claire's father.” John Bruce stared numbly at the other. He could find -no words; he could only stare. - -“Yes, look at me!” burst out the old man finally, and into his voice -there came an infinite bitterness. “Look at my clothes! I'm just what I -look like! I ain't no good--and that's what has kept my little girl and -me apart from the day she was born. Yes, look at me! I don't blame you!” - -John Bruce was on his feet. His hand reached out and rested on the old -man's shoulder. - -“That isn't the way to trust me, Hawkins,” he said gently. “What do your -clothes matter? What do your looks matter? What does anything in the -world matter alongside of so wonderful a thing as that which you have -just told me? Straighten those shoulders, Hawkins; throw back that -head of yours. Her father! Why, you're the richest man in New York, and -you've reason to be the proudest!” - -John Bruce was smiling with both lips and eyes into the other's face. He -felt a tremor pass through the old man's frame; he saw a momentary flash -of joy and pride light up the wrinkled, weather-beaten face--and then -Hawkins turned his head away. - -“God bless you,” said Hawkins brokenly; “but you don't know. She's all -I've got; she's the only kith and kin I've got in all the world, and -oh, my God, how these old arms have ached just to take her and hold her -tight, and--and----” He lifted his head suddenly, met John Bruce's eyes, -and a flush dyed his cheeks. “She's my little girl; but I lie when I say -I love her. It's drink I love. That's my shame, John Bruce--you've got -it all now. I pawned my soul, and I pawned my little girl for drink.” - -“Hawkins,” said John Bruce huskily, “I think you're a bigger man than -you've any idea you are.” - -“D'ye mean that?” Hawkins spoke eagerly--only to shake his head -miserably the next instant. “You don't understand,” he said. “I as -good as killed her mother with drink. She died when Claire was born. I -brought Claire here, and Paul Veniza and his wife took her in. And Paul -Veniza was right about it. He made me promise she wasn't to know I was -her father until--until she would have a man and not a drunken sot to -look after her. That's twenty years ago. I've tried.. God knows I've -tried, but it's beaten me ever since. Paul's wife died when Claire was -sixteen, and Claire's run the house for Paul--and--and I'm Hawkins--just -Hawkins--the old cab driver that's dropping in the harness. Just Hawkins -that shuffers the traveling pawn-shop now that Paul's quit the regular -shop. That's what I am--just old Hawkins, who's always swearing to God -he's going to leave the booze alone.” - -John Bruce did not speak for a moment. He returned to his chair and sat -down. Somehow he wanted to think; somehow he felt that he had not quite -grasped the full significance of what he had just heard. He looked at -Hawkins. Hawkins had sunk into a chair by the table, and his face was -buried in his hands. - -And then John Bruce smiled. - -“Look here, Hawkins,” he said briskly, “let's talk about something else -for a minute. Tell me about Paul Veniza and this traveling pawn-shop. -It's a bit out of the ordinary, to say the least.” - -Hawkins raised his head, and his thoughts for the moment diverted into -other channels, his face brightened, and he scratched at the scanty -fringe of hair behind his ear. - -“It ain't bad, is it?” he said with interest. “I'm kind of proud of it -too, 'cause I guess mabbe, when all's said and done, it was my idea. You -see, when Paul's wife died, Paul went all to pieces. He ain't well now, -for that matter--nowhere near as well as he looks. I'm kind of scared -about Paul. He keeps getting sick turns once every so often. But when -the wife died he was just clean broken up. She'd been his right hand -from the start in his business here, and--I dunno--it just seemed to -affect him that way. He didn't want to go on any more without her. And -as far as money was concerned he didn't have to. Paul ain't rich, but -he's mighty comfortably off. Anyway, he took the three balls down from -over the door, and he took the signs off the windows, and in comes -the carpenters to change things around here, and there ain't any more -pawn-shop.” - -Hawkins for the first time smiled broadly. - -“But it didn't work out,” said Hawkins. “Paul's got a bigger business -and a more profitable one to-day than he ever had before in his life. -You see, he had been at it a good many years, and he had what you might -call a private connection--swells up on the Avenue, mostly ladies, but -gents too, who needed money sometimes without having it printed in the -papers, and they wouldn't let Paul alone. Paul ain't got a hair in his -head that ain't honest and fair and square and above-board--and they -were the ones that knew it better than anybody else. See?” - -“Yes,” said John Bruce. “Go on, Hawkins,” he prompted. - -“Well,” said Hawkins, “I used to drive an old hansom cab in those days, -and I used to drive Paul out on those private calls to the swell houses. -And then when Mrs. Paul died and Paul closed up the shop here he kind of -drew himself into his shell all round, and mostly he wouldn't go out any -more, though the swells kept telephoning and telephoning him. He'd only -go to just a few people that he'd done business with since almost -the beginning. He said he didn't want to go around ringing people's -doorbells, and being ushered into boudoirs or anywhere else, and he was -settling down to shun everybody and everything. It wasn't good for Paul. -And then a sort of crazy notion struck me, and I chewed it over and over -in my mind, and finally I put it up to Paul. In the mood he was in, it -just caught his fancy; and so I bought a second-hand closed car, and -fitted it up like you saw, and learned to drive it--and that's how there -came to be the traveling pawn-shop. - -“After that, there wasn't anything to it. It caught everybody else's -fancy as well as Paul's, and it began to get him out of himself. The old -bus, as you called it, was running all the time. Lots of the swells -who really didn't want to pawn anything took a ride and did a bit of -business just for the sake of the experience, and the regular customers -just went nutty over it, they were that pleased. - -“And then some one who stood in with that swell gambling joint where -we picked you up must have tipped the manager off about it, and he -saw where he could do a good stroke of business--make it a kind of -advertisement, you know, besides doing away with any lending by the -house itself, and he put up a proposition to Paul where Paul was to -get all the business at regular rates, and a bit of a salary besides on -account of the all-night hours he'd have to keep sometimes. Paul said -he'd do it, and turned the salary over to me; and they doped out that -pass word about a trip to Persia to make it sound mysterious and help -out the advertising end, and--well, I guess that's all.” - -John Bruce was twirling the tassel of his dressing gown again -abstractedly; but now he stopped as Hawkins rose abruptly and came -toward him. - -“No--it ain't all,” said Hawkins, a curious note almost of challenge -in his voice. “You said something about Claire going to that gambling -joint. It was the first time she had ever been there. That night Paul -was out when they telephoned. You must be one of their big customers, -'cause they wouldn't listen to anything but a trip to Persia right on -the spot. They were so set on it that Claire said it would be all right. -She sent for me. At first I wasn't for it at all, but she said it seemed -to be of such importance, and that there wasn't anything else to do. -Claire knows a bit of jewelry or a stone as well as Paul does, and I -knew Claire could take care of herself; and besides, although she didn't -know it, it--it was her own old father driving the car there with her.” - -“Thank you, Hawkins,” said John Bruce simply; and after a moment: “It -doesn't make the love I said I had for her show up very creditably to -me, does it--that I should have had any questions?” - -Hawkins shook his head. - -“I didn't mean it that way,” he said earnestly. “It would have been a -wonder if you hadn't. Anyway, you had a right to know, and it was only -fair to Claire.” - - - - -CHAPTER NINE--THE CONSPIRATORS - -|JOHN BRUCE fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown and produced a -cigarette; but he was a long time in lighting it. - -“Hawkins,” he demanded abruptly, “is Paul Veniza in the house now?” - -“He's upstairs, I think,” Hawkins answered. “Do you want him?” - -“Yes--in a moment,” said John Bruce slowly. “I've been thinking a good -deal while you were talking. I can only see things one way; and that -is that the time has come when you should take your place as Claire's -father.” - -The old man drew back, startled. - -“Tell Claire?” he whispered. Then he shook his head miserably. “No, no! -I--I haven't earned the right. I--I can't break my word to Paul.” - -“I do not ask you to break your word to Paul. I want you to earn the -right--now.” - -Hawkins was still shaking his head. - -“Earn it now--after all these years! How can I?” - -“By promising that you won't drink any more,” said John Bruce quietly. - -Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - -“Promise!” he said in a shamed way. “I've been promising that for twenty -years. Paul wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe myself. I went and -got drunker than I've been in all my life the night that dog said he was -going to marry Claire, and Claire said it was true, and wouldn't listen -to anything Paul could say to her against it.” - -“I would believe you,” said John Bruce gravely. - -For an instant Hawkins' face glowed, while tears came into the old blue -eyes--and then he turned hurriedly and walked to the window, his back to -John Bruce. - -“It's no use,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “You don't know me. -Nobody that knows me would take my word for that--least of all Paul.” - -“I know this,” said John Bruce steadily, “that you have never been -really put to the test. The test is here now. You'd stop, and stop -forever, wouldn't you, if it meant Claire's happiness, her future, -her salvation from the horror and degradation and misery and utter -hopelessness that a life with a man who is lost to every sense of -decency must bring her? I would believe you if you promised under those -conditions. It seems to me to be the only chance there is left to save -her. It is true she believes Paul is her father and accepts him as -such, and neither his influence nor his arguments will move her from her -determination to marry Crang; but I think there is a chance if she is -told your story, if she is brought to her own father through this very -thing. I think if you are in each other's arms at last after all these -years from just that cause it might succeed where everything else -failed. But this much is sure. It has a chance of success, and you owe -Claire that chance. Will you take it, Hawkins? Will you promise?” - -There was no answer from the window, only the shaking of the old man's -shoulders. - -“Hawkins,” said John Bruce softly, “wouldn't it be very wonderful if you -saved her, and saved yourself; and wonderful, too, to know the joy of -your own daughter's love?” - -The old man turned suddenly from the window, his arms stretched out -before him as though in intense yearning; and there was something almost -of nobility in the gray head held high on the bent shoulders, something -of greatness in the old wrinkled face that seemed to exalt the worn and -shabby clothes hanging so formlessly about him. - -“My little girl,” he said brokenly. - -“Your promise, Hawkins,” said John Bruce in a low voice. “Will you -promise?” - -“Yes,” breathed the old man fiercely. “_Yes_--so help me, God! But”--he -faltered suddenly--“but Paul-----” - -“Ask Paul to come down here,” said John Bruce. “I have something to say -to both of you--more than I have already said to you. I will answer for -Paul.” - -The old cab driver obeyed mechanically. He crossed the room and went -out. John Bruce heard him mounting the stairs. Presently he returned, -followed by the tall, straight, white-haired figure of Paul Veniza. - -Hawkins closed the door behind them. - -Paul Veniza turned sharply at the sound, and glanced gravely from one to -the other. His eyebrows went up as he looked at John Bruce. John Bruce's -face was set. - -“What is the matter?” inquired Paul Veniza anxiously. - -“I want you to listen first to a little story,” said John Bruce -seriously--and in a few words he told Paul Veniza, as he had told -Hawkins, of his love for Claire and the events of the night that had -brought him there a wounded man. “And this afternoon,” John Bruce ended, -“I asked Claire to marry me, and she told me she was going to marry -Doctor Crang.” - -Paul Veniza had listened with growing anxiety, casting troubled and -uncertain glances the while at Hawkins. - -“Yes,” he said in a low voice. - -John Bruce spoke abruptly: - -“Hawkins has promised he will never drink again.” - -Paul Veniza, with a sudden start, stared at Hawkins, and then a sort of -kindly tolerance dawned in his face. - -“My poor friend!” said Paul Veniza as though he were comforting a -wayward child, and went over and laid his hand affectionately on -Hawkins' arm. - -“I have told Hawkins,” went on John Bruce, “that I love Claire, that I -asked her to marry me; and Hawkins in turn has told me he is Claire's -father, and how he brought her to you and Mrs. Veniza when she was a -baby, and of the pledge he made you then. It is because I love Claire -too that I feel I can speak now. You once told Hawkins how he could -redeem his daughter. He wants to redeem her now. He has promised never -to drink again.” - -Paul Veniza's face had whitened a little. Half in a startled, half in a -troubled way, he looked once more at John Bruce and then at Hawkins. - -“My poor friend!” he said again. - -John Bruce's hand on the arm of his chair clenched suddenly. - -“You may perhaps feel that he should not have told me of his -relationship to Claire; but it was this damnable situation with Crang -that forced the issue.” - -Paul Veniza left Hawkins' side and began to pace the room in an agitated -way. - -“No!” he said heavily. “I do not blame Hawkins. We--we neither of us -know what to do. It is a terrible, an awful thing. Crang is like some -loathsome creature to her, and yet in some way that I cannot discover -he has got her into his power. I have tried everything, used every -argument I can with her, pleaded with her--and it has been useless.” - He raised his arms suddenly above his head, partly it seemed in -supplication, partly in menace. “Oh, God!” he cried out. “I, too, love -her, for she has really been my daughter through all these years. But I -do not quite understand.” He turned to Hawkins. “Even if you kept your -promise now, my friend, what connection has that with Doctor Crang? -Could that in any way prevent this marriage?” - -It was John Bruce who answered. - -“It is the last ditch,” he said evenly; “the one way you have not -tried--to tell her her own and her father's story. I do not say it will -succeed. But it is the great crisis in her life. It is the one thing -in the world that ought to sway her, win her. Her father! After twenty -years--her father!” - -Paul Veniza's hands, trembling, ruffled through his white hair. Hawkins' -fingers fumbled, now with the buttons on his vest, now with the brim of -his hat which He had picked up aimlessly from the table; and his eyes, -lifting from the floor, glanced timorously, almost furtively, at Paul -Veniza, and sought the floor again. - -John Bruce got up from his chair and stepped toward them. - -“I want to tell you something,” he said sharply, “that ought to put an -end to any hesitation on your parts at _any_ plan, no matter what, that -offers even the slightest chance of stopping this marriage. Listen! -Devil though you both believe this Crang to be, you do not either of you -even know the man for what he is. While I was lying there”--he flung out -his hand impulsively toward the couch--“the safe here in this room was -opened and robbed one night. You know that. But you do not know that it -was done by Doctor Crang and his confederates. You know what happened. -But you do not know that while the 'burglars' pretended to hold Crang -at bay with a revolver and then made their 'escape,' Crang, with most -of the proceeds of that robbery in his own pockets, was laughing up his -sleeve at you.” - -Hawkins' jaw had dropped as he stared at John Bruce. - -“Crang did it! You--you say Crang committed that robbery?” stammered -Paul Veniza. “But you were unconscious! Still you--you seem to know that -the safe was robbed!” - -“Apparently I do!” John Bruce laughed shortly. “Crang too thought I -was unconscious, but to make sure he jabbed me with his needle. It -took effect just at the right time--for Crang--just as you and Claire -appeared in the doorway. And”--his brows knitted together--“it seems a -little strange that none of you have ever mentioned it in my presence; -that not a word has ever been said to me about it.” - -Paul Veniza coughed nervously. - -“You were sick,” he said; “too sick, we thought, for any excitement.” - -Hawkins suddenly leaned forward; his wrinkled face was earnest. - -“That is not true!” he said bluntly. “It might have been at first, -but it wasn't after you got better. It was mostly your money that was -stolen. Claire put it there the night you came here, and----” - -“Hawkins!” Paul Veniza called out sharply in reproof. - -“But he knows now it's gone,” said the old cabman a little helplessly. -He blundered on: “Paul felt he was responsible for your money, and he -was afraid you might not want to take it if you knew he had to make it -up out of his own pocket, and----” - -John Bruce took a step forward, and laid his hand on Paul Veniza's -shoulder. He stood silently, looking at the other. - -“It is nothing!” said Paul Veniza, abashed. - -“Perhaps not!” said John Bruce. “But”--he turned abruptly away, his lips -tight--“it just made me think for a minute. In the life I've led men -like you are rare.” - -“We were speaking of Doctor Crang,” said Paul Veniza a little awkwardly. -“If you know that Doctor Crang is the thief, then that is the way out of -our trouble. Instead of marrying Claire, he will be sent to prison.” - -John Bruce shook his head. - -“You said yourself I was unconscious at the time. You certainly must -have found me that way, and Crang would make you testify that for days I -had been raving in delirium. I do not think you could convict him on my -testimony.” - -“But even so,” said Paul Veniza, “there is Claire. If she knew that -Crang was a criminal, she----” - -“She does know,” said John Bruce tersely. - -“Claire knows!” ejaculated Paul Veniza in surprise. “You--you told her, -then?” - -“No,” John Bruce answered. “I said to her: 'Suppose I were to tell you -that the man is a criminal?' She answered: 'He is a criminal.' I said -then: 'Suppose he were sent to jail--to serve a sentence?' She answered: -'I would marry him when he came out.'” - -“My God!” mumbled the old cabman miserably. - -“I tell you this,” said John Bruce through set teeth, and speaking -directly to Paul Veniza, “because it seems to me to be the final proof -that mere argument with Claire is useless, and that something more is -necessary. I do not ask you to release Hawkins from his pledge; I ask -you to believe his promise this time because back of it he knows it may -save Claire from what would mean worse than death to her. I believe him; -I will vouch for him. Do you agree, Paul Veniza?” - -For an instant the white-haired pawnbroker seemed lost in thought; then -he nodded his head gravely. - -“In the last few days,” he said slowly, “I have felt that it was no -longer my province to masquerade as her father. I know that my influence -is powerless. As you have said, it is the crisis, a very terrible -crisis, in her life.” He turned toward Hawkins, and held out his hand. -“My old friend”--his voice broke--“I pray Heaven to aid you--to aid us -all.” - -Hawkins' blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. - -“You believe me, too, Paul, this time!” he said in a choking voice. -“Listen, Paul! I promise! So help me, God--I promise!” - -A lump had somehow risen in John Bruce's throat. He turned away, and for -a moment there was silence in the room. And then he heard Paul Veniza -speak: - -“She is dear to us all. Let us call her--unless, my old friend, you -would rather be alone.” - -“No, no!” Hawkins cried hurriedly. “I--I want you both; but--but -not now, don't call her now.” He swept his hands over his shabby, -ill-fitting clothes. “I--not like this. I----” - -“Yes,” said Paul Veniza gently, “I understand--and you are right. This -evening then--at eight o'clock. You will come back here, my old friend, -at eight o'clock. And do you remember, it was in this very room, twenty -years ago, that----” He did not complete his sentence; the hot tears -were streaming unashamed down his cheeks. - -John Bruce was staring out of the window, the panes of which seemed -curiously blurred. - -“Come,” he heard Paul Veniza say. - -And then, as the two men reached the door, John Bruce looked around. -Hawkins had turned on the threshold. Something seemed to have -transfigured the old cab driver's face. It was illumined. There seemed -something of infinite pathos in the head held high, in the drooped -shoulders resolutely squared. - -“My little girl!” said Hawkins tenderly. “To-night at eight o'clock--my -little girl!” - - - - -CHAPTER TEN--AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT - -|BEFORE the rickety washstand and in front of the cracked glass that -served as a mirror and was suspended from a nail driven into the wall, -Hawkins was shaving himself. Perhaps the light from the wheezing -gas-jet was over-bad that evening, or perhaps it was only in playful -and facetious mood with the mirror acting the rôle of co-conspirator; -Hawkins' chin smarted and was raw; little specks of red showed here and -there through the repeated coats of lather which he kept scraping off -with his razor. But Hawkins appeared willing to sacrifice even the skin -itself to obtain the standard of smoothness which he had evidently set -before himself as his goal. And so over and over again he applied the -lather, and hoed it off, and tested the result by rubbing thumb and -forefinger critically over his face. He made no grimace, nor did he show -any irritation at the none-too-keen blade that played havoc with more -than the lather, nor did he wince at what must at times have been -anything but a painless operation. Hawkins' round, weatherbeaten face -and old watery blue eyes smiled into the mirror. - -On the washstand beside him lay a large, ungainly silver watch, its case -worn smooth with years of service. It had a hunting-case, and it was -open. Hawkins glanced at it. It was twenty minutes to eight. - -“I got to hurry,” said Hawkins happily. “Just twenty minutes--after -twenty years.” - -Hawkins laid aside the razor, and washed and scrubbed at his face until -it shone; then he went to his trunk and opened it. From underneath the -tray he lifted out an old black suit. Perhaps again it was the gas-jet -in either baleful or facetious mood, for, as he put on the suit, the -cloth in spots seemed to possess, here a rusty, and there a greenish, -tinge, and elsewhere to be woefully shiny. Also, but of this the gas-jet -could not have been held guilty, the coat and trousers, and indeed the -waistcoat, were undeniably most sadly wrinkled. - -And now there seemed to be something peculiarly congruous as between the -feeble gas-jet, the cracked mirror, the wobbly washstand, the threadbare -strip of carpet that lay beside the iron bed, and the old bent-shouldered -figure with wrinkled face in wrinkled finery that stood there knotting -with anxious, awkward fingers a large, frayed, black cravat about his -neck; there seemed to be something strikingly in keeping between the man -and his surroundings, a sort of common intimacy, as it were, with the -twilight of an existence that, indeed, had never known the full sunlight -of high noon. - -It was ten minutes to eight. - -Hawkins put the silver watch in his pocket, extinguished the spluttering -gas-jet, that hissed at him as though in protest at the scant ceremony -with which it was treated, and went down the stairs. He stepped briskly -out on the street. - -“Claire!” said Hawkins radiantly. “My little Claire! I'm her daddy, and -she's going to know it. I'm going to get her to call me that--daddy!” - -Hawkins walked on halfway along the block, erect, with a quick, firm -step, his head high, smiling into every face he met--and turning to -smile again, conscious that people as they passed had turned to look -back at him. And then very gradually Hawkins' pace slackened, and into -his face and eyes there came a dawning anxiety, and the smile was gone. - -“I'm kind of forgetting,” said Hawkins presently to himself, “that it -ain't just that I'm getting my little girl. I--I'm kind of forgetting -her 'rouble. There--there's Crang.” - -The old man's face was furrowed now deep with storm and care; he walked -still more slowly. He began to mutter to himself. At the corner of the -street he raised an old gnarled fist and shook it, clenched, above his -head, unconscious and oblivious now that people still turned and looked -at him. - -And then a little way ahead of him along the street that he must go to -reach the one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza, his eyes caught the patch -of light that filtered out to the sidewalk from under the swinging doors -of the familiar saloon, and from the windows in a more brilliant flood. - -Hawkins drew in a long breath. - -“No, no!” he whispered fiercely. “I will never go in there again--so -help me, God! If I did--and--and she knew it was her daddy, it would -just break her heart like--like Crang 'll break it.” - -He went on, but his footsteps seemed to drag the more now as he -approached the saloon. His hand as he raised it trembled; and as he -brushed it across his brow it came away wet with sweat. - -The saloon was just a yard away from him now. - -There was a strange, feverish glitter in the blue eyes. His face was -chalky white. - -“So help me, God!” Hawkins mumbled hoarsely. - -It was five minutes of eight. - -Hawkins had halted in front of the swinging doors. - - - - -CHAPTER ELEVEN--THE RENDEZVOUS - -|PAUL VENIZA, pacing restlessly about the room, glanced surreptitiously -at his watch, and then glanced anxiously at John Bruce. - -John Bruce in turn stole a look at Claire. His lips tightened a little. -Since she had been told nothing, she was quite unconscious, of course, -that it mattered at all because it was already long after eight o'clock; -that Hawkins in particular, or any one else in general, was expected to -join the little evening circle here in what he, John Bruce, had by now -almost come to call his room. His forehead gathered in a frown. What was -it that was keeping Hawkins? - -Claire's face was full in the light, and as she sat there at the table, -busy with some sewing, it seemed to John Bruce that, due perhaps to the -perspective of what he now knew, he detected a weariness in her eyes and -in sharp lines around her mouth, that he had not noticed before. It -was Crang, of course; but perhaps he too--what he had said to her that -afternoon--his love--had not made it any easier for her. - -Paul Veniza continued his restless pacing about the room. - -“Father, do sit down!” said Claire suddenly. “What makes you so nervous -to-night? Is anything the matter?” - -“The matter? No! No, no; of course not!” said Paul Veniza hurriedly. - -“But I'm sure there is,” said Claire, with a positive' little nod of her -head. “With both of you, for that matter. Mr. Bruce has done nothing but -fidget with the tassel of that dressing gown for the last half hour.” - -John Bruce let the tassel fall as though it had suddenly burned his -fingers. - -“I? Not at all!” he denied stoutly. - -“Oh, dear!” sighed Claire, with mock plaintiveness. “What bores you two -men are, then! I wish I could send out--what do you call it?--a thought -wave, and inspire some one, and most of all Hawkins, to come over here -this evening. He, at least, is never deadly dull.” - -Neither of the two men spoke. - -“You don't know Hawkins, do you, Mr. Bruce?” Claire went on. She was -smiling now as she looked at John Bruce. “I mean really know him, of -course. He's a dear, quaint, lovable soul, and I'm so fond of him.” - -“I'm sure he is,” said John Bruce heartily. “Even from the little I've -seen of him I'd trust him with--well, you know”--John Bruce coughed as -his words stumbled--“I mean, I'd take his word for anything.” - -“Of course, you would!” asserted Claire. “You couldn't think of doing -anything else--nobody could. He's just as honest as--as--well, as father -there, and I don't know any one more honest.” She smiled at Paul Veniza, -and then her face grew very earnest. “I'm going to tell you something -about Hawkins, and something that even you never knew, father. Ever -since I was old enough to remember any one, I remember Hawkins. And when -I got old enough to understand at all, though I could never get him to -talk about it, I knew his life wasn't a very happy one, and perhaps I -loved him all the more for that reason. Hawkins used to drink a great -deal. Everybody knew it. I--I never felt I had the right to speak to him -about it, though it made me feel terribly, until--until mother died.” - -Claire had dropped her sewing in her lap, and now she picked it up again -and fumbled with it nervously. - -“I spoke to him then,” she said in a low voice. “I told him how much you -needed him, father; and how glad and happy it would make me. And--and I -remember so well his words: 'I promise, Claire. I promise, so help me, -God, that I will never drink another drop.'” Claire looked up, her face -aglow “And I know, no matter what anybody says, that from that day to -this, he never has.” - -Paul Veniza, motionless now in the center of the room, was staring at -her in a sort of numbed fascination. - -John Bruce was staring at the door. He had heard, he thought, a step in -the outer room. - -The door opened. Hawkins stood there. He plucked at his frayed, black -cravat, which was awry. He lurched against the jamb, and in groping -unsteadily for support his hat fell from his other hand and rolled -across the floor. - -Hawkins reeled into the room. - -“Good--hic!--good-evenin',” said Hawkins thickly. - -Claire alone moved. She rose to her feet, but as though her weight were -too heavy for her limbs. Her lips quivered. - -“Oh, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully--and burst into tears, and ran -from the room. - -It seemed to John Bruce that for a moment the room swirled around before -his eyes; and then over him swept an uncontrollable desire to get his -hands upon this maudlin, lurching creature. Rage, disgust, a bitter -resentment, a mad hunger for reprisal possessed him; Claire's future, -her faith which she had but a moment gone so proudly vaunted, were -all shattered, swept to the winds, by this seedy, dissolute wreck. Her -father! No, her shame! Thank God she did not know! - -“You drunken beast!” he gritted in merciless fury, and stepped suddenly -forward. - -But halfway across the room he halted as though turned to stone. Hawkins -wasn't lurching any more. Hawkins had turned and closed the door; and -Hawkins now, with his face white and drawn, a look in his old blue eyes -that mingled agony and an utter hopelessness, sank into a chair and -buried his face in his hands. - -It was Paul Veniza who moved now. He went and stood behind the old -cabman. - -Hawkins looked up. - -“You are sober. What does this mean?” Paul Veniza asked heavily. - -Hawkins shook his head. - -“I couldn't do it,” he said in a broken voice. “And--and I've settled -it once for all now. I got to thinking as I came along to-night, and -I found out that it wasn't any good for me to swear I wasn't going to -touch anything any more. I'm afraid of myself. I--I came near going into -the saloon. It--it taught me something, that did; because the only way -I could get by was to promise myself I'd go back there after I'd been -here.” - -Hawkins paused. A flush dyed his cheeks. He turned around and looked at -Paul Veniza again, and then at John Bruce. - -“You don't understand--neither of you understand. Once I promised Claire -that I'd stop, and--and until just now she believed me. And I've -hurt her. But I ain't broken her heart. It was only old Hawkins, just -Hawkins, who promised her then; it would have been her _father_ who -promised her to-night, and--and it ain't any good, I'd have broken that -promise, I know it now--and she ain't ever going to share that shame.” - -Hawkins brushed his hands across his eyes. - -“And then,” he went on, A sudden fierceness in his voice, “suppose she'd -had that on top of Crang, 'cause it ain't sure that knowing who I am -would have saved her from him! Oh, my God, she'd better be dead! I'd -rather see her dead. You're wrong, John Bruce! It wasn't the way. You -meant right, and God bless you; but it wasn't the way. I saw it all so -clearly after--after I'd got past that saloon; and--and then it was all -right for me to promise myself that I'd go back. It wouldn't hurt her -none then.” - -John Bruce cleared his throat. - -“I don't quite understand what you mean by that, Hawkins,” he said a -little huskily. - -Hawkins rose slowly to his feet. - -“I dressed all up for this,” said Hawkins, with a wan smile; “but -something's snapped here--inside here.” His hand felt a little aimlessly -over his heart. “I know now that I ain't ever going to be worthy; and I -know now that she ain't ever to know that I--that I--I'm her old daddy. -And so I--I've fixed it just now like you saw so there ain't no going -back on it. But I ain't throwing my little girl down. It ain't Claire -that's got to be made change her mind--_it's Crang_.” He raised a -clenched fist. “And Crang's going to change it! I can swear to _that_ -and know I'll keep it, so--so help me, God! And when she's rid of him, -she ain't going to have no shame and sorrow from me. That's what I -meant.” - -“Yes,” said John Bruce mechanically. - -“I'm going now,” said Hawkins in a low voice. “Around by the other way,” - said Paul Veniza softly. “And I'll go with you, old friend.” - -For a moment Hawkins hesitated, and then he nodded his head. - -No one spoke. Paul Veniza's arm was around Hawkins' shoulders as they -left the room. The door closed behind them. John Bruce sat down on the -edge of his bed. - - - - -CHAPTER TWELVE--THE FIGHT - -|FOR a long time John Bruce stared at the closed door; first a little -helplessly because the bottom seemed quite to have dropped out of -things, and then with set face as the old cabman's words came back to -him: “Crang--not Claire.” And at this, a sort of merciless joy crept -into his eyes, and he nodded his head in savage satisfaction. Yes, -Hawkins had been right in that respect, and--well, it would be easier to -deal with Crang! - -And then suddenly John Bruce's face softened. Hawkins! He remembered -the fury with which the old man had inspired him as the other had reeled -into the room, and Clare, hurt and miserable, had risen from her chair. -But he remembered Hawkins in a different way now. It was Hawkins, not -Claire, who had been hurt. The shabby old figure standing there had paid -a price, and as he believed for Claire's sake, that had put beyond his -reach forever what must have meant, what did mean, all that he cherished -most in life. - -John Bruce smiled a little wistfully. Somehow he envied Hawkins, so -pitifully unstable and so weak--his strength! - -He shook his head in a puzzled way. His thoughts led him on. What a -strange, almost incomprehensible, little world it was into which fate, -if one wished to call it fate, had flung him! It was an alien world to -him. His own life of the past rose up in contrast with it--> not of his -own volition, but because the comparison seemed to insist on thrusting -itself upon him. - -He had never before met men like Hawkins and Paul Veniza. He had met -drunkards and pawnbrokers. Very many of them! He had lived his life, -or, rather, impoverished it with a spendthrift hand, among just such -classes--but he was conscious that it would never have been the poorer -for an intimacy with either Hawkins or Paul Veniza. - -John Bruce raised his head abruptly. The front door had opened. A moment -later a footstep sounded in the outer room, and then upon the stairs. -That would be Paul Veniza returning of course, though he hadn't been -gone very long; or was it that he, John Bruce, had been sitting -here staring at that closed door for a far longer period than he had -imagined? - -He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the interruption from his mind, -and again the wistful smile flickered on his lips. - -So that was why nothing had been said in his hearing about the robbery! -Queer people--with their traveling pawn-shop, which was bizarre; and -their standards of honesty, and their unaffected hospitality which -verged on the bizarre too, because their genuineness and simplicity were -so unostentatious--and so rare. And somehow, suddenly, as he sat -there with his chin cupped now in his hands, he was not proud of this -contrast--himself on the one hand, a drunkard and a pawnbroker on the -other! - -And then John Bruce raised his head again, sharply this time, almost in -a startled way. Was that a cry--in a woman's voice? It was muffled -by the closed door, and it was perhaps therefore his imagination; but -it---- - -He was on his feet. It had come again. No door could have shut it out -from his ears. It was from Claire upstairs, and the cry seemed most -curiously to mingle terror and a passionate anger. He ran across the -room and threw the door open. It was strange! It would be Paul Veniza -in a new rôle, if the gentle, white-haired old pawnbroker could inspire -terror in any one! - -A rasping, jeering oath--in a man's voice this time--reached him. -John Bruce, a sudden fury whipping his blood into lire, found himself -stumbling up the stairs. It wasn't Veniza! His mind seemed to convert -that phrase into a sing-song refrain: “It wasn't Veniza! It wasn't -Veniza!” - -Claire's voice came to him distinctly now, and there was the same terror -in it, the same passionate anger that he had distinguished in her cry: - -“Keep away from me! I loathe you! It is men like you that prompt a woman -to murder! But--but instead, I have prayed God with all my soul to let -me die before----” Her voice ended in a sharp cry, a scuffle of feet. - -It was Crang in there! John Bruce, now almost at the top of the -stairs, was unconscious that he was panting heavily from his exertions, -unconscious of everything save a new refrain that had taken possession -of his mind: “It was Crang in there! It was Crang in there!” - -It was the door just at the right of the landing. - -Crang's voice came from there; and the voice was high, like the squeal -of an enraged animal: - -“You're mine! I've got a right to those red lips, you vixen, and I'm -going to have them! A man's got the right to take the girl he's going to -marry in his arms! Do you think I'm going to be held off forever? You're -mine, and----” - -The words were lost again in a cry from Claire, and in the sound of a -struggle--a falling chair, the scuffle once more of feet. - -John Bruce flung himself across the hall and against the door, It -yielded without resistance, and the impetus of his own rush carried him, -staggering, far into the room. Two forms were circling there under the -gas light as though in the throes of some mad dance--only the face -of the woman was deathly white, and her small clenched fists beat -frantically at the face of the man whose arms were around her. John -Bruce sprang forward. He laughed aloud, unnaturally. His brain, his -mind, was whirling; but something soft was grasped in his two encircling -hands, and that was why he laughed--because his soul laughed. His -fingers pressed tighter. It was Crang's throat that was soft under his -fingers. - -Suddenly the room swirled around him. A giddiness seemed to seize -upon him--and that soft thing in his grip slipped from his fingers and -escaped him. He brushed his hand across his eyes. It would pass, of -course. It was strange that he should go giddy like that, and that his -limbs should be trembling as though with the ague! Again he brushed his -hand across his eyes. It would pass off. He could see better now. Claire -had somehow fallen to the floor; but she was rising to her knees now, -using the side of the bed for support, and---- - -Her voice rang wildly through the room. - -“Look out! Oh, look out!” she cried. - -To John Bruce it seemed as though something leaped at him out of -space--and struck. The blow, aimed at his side, which was still -bandaged, went home. It brought an agony that racked and tore and -twisted at every nerve in his body. It wrung a moan from his lips, it -brought the sweat beads bursting out upon his forehead--but it cleared -his brain. - -Yes, it was Doctor Crang--but disreputable in appearance as he had never -before seen the man. Crang's clothes were filthy and unkempt, as though -the man had fallen somewhere in the mire and was either unconscious -or callous of the fact; his hair draggled in a matted way over his -forehead, and though his face worked with passion, and the passion -brought a curious hectic rose-color to supplant the customary lifeless -gray of his cheeks, the eyes were most strangely glazed and fixed. - -And again John Bruce laughed--and with a vicious guard swept aside a -second blow aimed at his side, and his left fist, from a full arm swing, -crashed to the point of Doctor Crang's jaw. But the next instant they -had closed, their arms locked around each other's waists, their chins -dug hard into each other's shoulders. And they rocked there, and swayed, -and lurched, a curious impotence in their ferocity--and toppled to the -floor. - -John Bruce's grip tightened as Doctor Crang fought madly now to tear -himself free--and they rolled over and over in the direction of the -door. Hot and cold waves swept over John Bruce. He was weak, pitifully -weak, barely a convalescent. But he was content to call it an equal -fight. He asked for no other odds than Crang himself had offered. The -man for once had over-steeped himself with dope, and was near the point -of collapse. He had read that in the other's eyes, as surely as though -he had been told. And so John Bruce, between his gasping breaths, still -laughed, and rolled over and over--always toward the door. - -From somewhere Claire's voice reached John Bruce, imploringly, in -terror. Of course! That was why he was trying to get to the door, to -get out of her room--through respect for her--to get somewhere where he -could finish this fight between one man who could scarcely stand upon -his feet through weakness, and another whose drug-shattered body was -approaching that state of coma which he, John Bruce, had been made to -suffer on the night the robbery had been committed. And by the same -needle! He remembered that! Weak in body, his mind was very clear. And -so he rolled over and over, always toward the door, because Crang was -heedless of the direction they were taking, and he, John Bruce, was -probably not strong enough in any other way to force the other out of -the room where they could finish this. - -They rolled to the threshold--and out into the hall. John Bruce loosened -his hold suddenly, staggered to his feet, and leaned heavily for an -instant against the jamb of the door. But it was only for an instant. -Crang was the quicker upon his feet. Like a beast there was slaver -on the other's lips, his hands clawed the air, his face was contorted -hideously like the face of one demented, one from whom reason had flown, -and with whom maniacal passion alone remained--and from the banister -railing opposite the door Crang launched himself forward upon John Bruce -again. - -“She's mine!” he screamed. “I've been watching you two! I'll teach you! -She's mine--mine! I'll finish you for this!” - -John Bruce side-stepped the rush, and Crang pitched with his head -against the door jamb, but recovering, whirled again, and rushed again. -The man began to curse steadily now in a low, abominable monotone. It -seemed to John Bruce that he ought to use his fist as a cork and thrust -it into the other's mouth to bottle up the vile flow of epithets that -included Claire, and coupled his name with Claire's. Claire might hear! -The man was raving, insane with jealousy. John Bruce struck. His fist -found its mark on Crang's lips, and found it again; but somehow his arm -seemed to possess but little strength, and to sag back at the elbow from -each impact. He writhed suddenly as Crang reached him with another blow -on his side. - -And then they had grappled and locked together again, and were swaying -like drunken men, now to this side, and now to that, of the narrow hall. - -It could not last. John Bruce felt his knees giving way beneath him. He -had under-estimated Crang's resistance to the over-dose of drug. Crang -was the stronger--and seemed to be growing stronger every instant. Or -was it his own increasing weakness? - -Crang's fist with a short-arm jab smashed at John Bruce's wounded side -once more. The man struck nowhere else--always, with the cunning born -of hell, at the wounded side. John Bruce dug his teeth into his lips. -A wave of nausea swept over him. He felt his senses leaving him, and -he clung now to the other, close, tight-pressed, as the only means of -protecting his side. - -He forced himself then desperately to a last effort. There was one -chance left, just one. In the livid face, in the hot, panting breath -with which the other mouthed his hideous profanity, there was murder. -Over his shoulder, barely a foot away, John Bruce glimpsed the -staircase. He let his weight sag with seeming helplessness upon Crang. -It brought Crang around in a half circle. Crang's back was to the stairs -now. John Bruce let his hands slip slowly from their hold upon the -other, as though the last of his strength was ebbing away. He accepted -a vicious blow on his wounded side as the price that he must pay, a -blow that brought his chin crumpling down upon his breast--and then -with every ounce of remaining strength he hurled himself at Crang, and -Crang's foot stumbled out into space over the topmost stair, and with a -scream of infuriated surprise the man pitched backward. - -John Bruce grasped with both hands at the banister for support. -Something went rolling, rolling, rolling down the stairs with queer, -dull thumps like a sack of meal. His hands slipped from the banister, -and he sat limply down on the topmost step and laughed. He laughed -because that curious looking bundle at the bottom there began a series -of fruitless efforts to roll back up the stairs again. - -And then the front door opened. He could see it from where he sat, and -Paul Veniza--that was Paul Veniza, wasn't it?--stepped into the room -below, and cried out, and ran toward the bundle at the foot of the -stairs. - -John Bruce felt some one suddenly hold him back from pitching down the -stairs himself, but nevertheless he kept on falling and falling into -some great pit that grew darker and darker the farther he went down, and -this in spite of some one who tried to hold him back, and--and who had a -face that looked like Claire's, only it was as--as white as driven snow. -And as he descended into the blackness some one screamed at him: “I'll -finish you for this!” And screamed it again--only the voice kept growing -fainter. And--and then he could neither see nor hear any more. - -***** - -When John Bruce opened his eyes again he was lying on his cot. A little -way from him, their backs turned, Claire and Paul Veniza were whispering -earnestly together. He watched them for a moment, and gradually as his -senses became normally acute again he caught Claire's words: - -“He is not safe here for a moment. Father, we must get him away. I am -afraid. There is not a threat Doctor Crang made to-night but that he is -quite capable of carrying out.” - -“But he is safe for to-night,” Paul Veniza answered soothingly. “I -got Crang home to bed, and as I told you, he is too badly bruised and -knocked about to move around any before morning at least.” - -“And yet I am afraid,” Claire insisted anxiously. “Fortunately Mr. -Bruce's wound hasn't opened, and he could be moved. Oh, if Hawkins only -hadn't----” - -She stopped, and twisted her hands together nervously. - -Paul Veniza coughed, averted his head suddenly and in turning met John -Bruce's eyes--and stared in a startled way. - -“Claire!” John Bruce called softly. - -“Oh!” she cried, and ran toward him. “You----” - -“Yes,” smiled John Bruce. “And I have been listening. Why isn't it safe -for me to stay here any longer? On account of Crang's wild threats?” - -“Yes,” she said in a low voice. - -John Bruce laughed. - -“But you don't believe them, do you?” he asked. “At least, I mean, you -don't take them literally.” Claire's lips were trembling. - -“There is no other way to take them.” She was making an effort to steady -her voice. “It is not a question of believing them. I know only too well -that he will carry them out if he can. You are not safe here, or even in -New York now--but less safe here in this house than anywhere else.” - -John Bruce came up on his elbow. - -“Then, Claire, isn't this the end?” he demanded passionately. “You know -him for what he is. You do not love him, for I distinctly heard you -tell him that you loathed him, as I went up the stairs. Claire, I am not -asking for myself now--only for you. Tell me, tell Paul Veniza here, -to whom it will mean so much, that you have now no further thought of -marriage with that”--John Bruce's voice choked--“with Crang.” She shook -her head. - -“I cannot tell you that,” she said dully, “for I am going to marry -Doctor Crang.” - -John Bruce's face hardened. He looked at Paul Veniza. The old pawnbroker -had his eyes on the floor, and was ruffling his white hair helplessly -with his fingers. - -“Why?” John Bruce asked. - -“Because I promised,” Claire said slowly. - -“But a promise like that!” John Bruce burst out. “A promise that you -will regret all your life is----” - -“No!” Her face was half averted; her head was lowered to hide the tears -that suddenly welled into her eyes. “No; it is a promise that I--that I -am glad now I made.” - -“_Glad!_” John Bruce sat upright. She had turned her head away from the -cot. He could not see her face. “Glad!” he repeated incredulously. - -“Yes.” Her voice was scarcely audible. - -For a moment John Bruce stared at her; then a bitter smile tightened his -lips, and he lay back on the cot, and turned on his side away from both -Claire and Paul Veniza. - -When John Bruce looked around again, only Paul Veniza was in the room. - -“I don't understand,” said Paul Veniza--he was still ruffling his hair, -still with his eyes on the floor. - -“I do,” said John Bruce grimly. “Claire is right. It isn't safe for me -to stay here, and I'll go to-night. If only Hawkins hadn't----” He -laughed a little harshly. “But I'll go to-night, just the same. A taxi -will do quite as well.” - - - - -CHAPTER THIRTEEN--TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL - -|UNDER the shaded light on his table, in his private sitting room in -the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, John Bruce had been writing steadily for half an -hour--but the sheets of paper over which his pen had traveled freely and -swiftly were virgin white. He paused now, remained a moment in thought, -and then added a line to the last sheet. No mark was left, but from the -movement of the pen this appeared to be a signature. - -He gathered the sheets together, folded them neatly, and slipped them -into an envelope. He replaced the cap on the fountain pen he had been -using, placed the pen in his vest pocket, and from another pocket took -out another pen that was apparently identical with the first. With -this second pen, in black ink, he addressed the envelope to one Gilbert -Larmon in San Francisco. He sealed the envelope, stamped it, put it in -his pocket, returned the second fountain pen to his vest pocket, lighted -a cigarette leaned back in his chair, and frowned at the ascending -spirals of smoke from the cigarette's tip. - -The report which he had just written to Larmon, explaining his inaction -during the past weeks, had been an effort--not physical, but mental. He -had somehow, curiously, felt no personal regret for the enforced absence -from his “work,” and he now felt no enthusiasm at the prospect of -resuming it. He had had no right to tinge or color his letter to Larmon -with these views; nor had he intended to do so. Perhaps he had not; -perhaps he had. He did not know. The ink originated by the old Samoan -Islander had its disadvantages as well as its advantages. He could not -now read the letter over once it was written! - -He flicked the ash irritably from his cigarette. He had been back here -in the hotel now for two days and that feeling had been constantly -growing upon him. Why? He did not know except that the cause seemed to -insist on associating itself with his recent illness, his life in the -one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza. But, logically, that did not hold -water. Why should it? He had met a pawnbroker who roamed the streets at -night in a fantastic motor car, driven by a drunkard; and he had fallen -in love with a girl who was glad she was going to marry a dope-eating -criminal. Good God, it was a spectacle to make---- - -John Bruce's fist crashed suddenly down on the desk beside him, and he -rose from his chair and stood there staring unseeingly before him. -That was not fair! What was uppermost now was the recrudescence of the -bitterness that had possessed him two nights ago when he had returned -from Paul Veniza's to the hotel here. Nor was it any more true than -it was fair! What of the days and nights of nursing, of care, of the -ungrudging and kindly hospitality they had given to an utter stranger? -Yes, he knew! Only--only she had said she was _glad!_ - -He began to pace the room. He had left Veniza's in bitterness. He had -not seen Claire. It was a strange sort of love he boasted, little of -unselfishness in it, much of impatience, and still more of intolerance! -That it was a hopeless love in so far as he was concerned did not place -him before himself in any better light. If he cared for her, if there -was any depth of feeling in this love he claimed to have, then at least -her happiness, her welfare and her future could not be extraneous -and indifferent considerations to him. And on the spur of the moment, -piqued, in spite of Paul Veniza's protestations, he had left that night -without seeing Claire again! - -He had been ashamed of himself. Yesterday, he had telephoned Claire. He -had begged her forgiveness. He had not meant to say more--but he had! -Something in her voice had--no, not invited; he could not say that--but -had brought the passion, pleading almost, back into his own. It had -seemed to him that she was in tears at the other end of the wire; at -least, bravely as she had evidently tried to do so, she had been unable -to keep her voice under control. But she had evaded an answer. There had -been nothing to forgive, she had said. He had told her that he must see -her, that he would see her again. And then almost hysterically, over -and over again, she had begged him to attempt nothing of the sort, but -instead to leave New York because she insisted that it was not safe for -him to stay even in the city. - -John Bruce hurled the butt of his cigarette in the direction of the -cuspidor, and clenched his fist. Crang! Safe from Crang! He laughed -aloud harshly. He asked nothing better than to meet Crang again. He -would not be so weak the next time! And the sooner the better! - -He gnawed at his under lip, as he continued to pace the room. To-day, he -had telephoned Claire again--but he had not spoken to her this time. He -had not been surprised at the news he had received, for he remembered -that Hawkins had once told him that the old pawnbroker was in reality -far from well. Some one, he did not know who, some neighbor probably, -had answered the phone. Paul Veniza had been taken ill. Claire had been -up with him all the previous night, and was then resting. - -John Bruce paused abruptly before the desk at which he had been writing, -and looked at his watch. It was a little after ten o'clock. He was -going back to “work” again to-night. He smiled suddenly, and a little -quizzically, as he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What would they -say--the white-haired negro butler, and the exquisite Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne, for instance--when the millionaire plunger, usually so -immaculate in evening clothes, presented himself at their door in a suit -of business tweeds? - -He shrugged his shoulders. Down at Ratti's that night his apparel--it -was a matter of viewpoint--had been a source of eminent displeasure, and -as such had been very effectively disposed of. He had had no opportunity -to be measured for new clothes. - -The smile faded, and he stood staring at the desk. The millionaire -plunger! It seemed to jar somehow on his sensibilities. Work! That was a -queer way, too, to designate it. He was going to take up his work again -to-night, pick up the threads of his life again where he had dropped -them. A bit ragged those threads, weren't they? Frayed, as it were! - -What the devil was the matter with him, anyway? - -There was money in it, a princely existence. What more could any one -ask? What did Claire, his love for a girl who was glad to marry some -one else infinitely worse than he was, have to do with it? Ah, she _did_ -have something to do with it, then! Nonsense! It was absurd! - -He took a key abruptly from his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers -of the desk. From the drawer he took out a large roll of bills. The -hotel management had sent to the bank and cashed a check for him that -afternoon. He had not forgotten that he would need money, and plenty of -it, at the tables this evening. Well, he was quite ready to go now, and -it was time; it would be halfpast ten before he got there, and---- - -“The devil!” said John Bruce savagely--and suddenly tossed the money -back into the drawer, and locked the drawer. “If I don't feel like -it to-night, why should I? I guess I'll just drop around for a little -convalescent visit, and let it go at that.” - -John Bruce put on a light overcoat, and left the room. In the lobby -downstairs he posted his letter to Gilbert Larmon. He stepped out on the -street, and from the rank in front of the hotel secured a taxi. Twenty -minutes later he entered Gilbert Larmon's New York gambling hell. - -Here he received a sort of rhapsodical welcome from the exquisite -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, which embraced poignant regret at the -accident that had befallen him, and unspeakable joy at his so-splendid -recovery. It was a delight so great to shake the hand of Mr. Bruce again -that Monsieur Henri de Lavergne complained bitterly at the poverty of -language which prevented an adequate expression of his true and sincere -feelings. Also, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, if he were not trespassing, -would be flattered indeed with Mr. Bruce's confidence, if Mr. Bruce -should see fit to honor him with an account of how the accident had -happened. He would be desolated if in any way it could be attributable -to any suggestion that he, Monsieur de Lavergne, on behalf of the house -which he had the honor to represent as manager, had made to Mr. Bruce -which might have induced---- - -“Not at all!” John Bruce assured him heartily. He smiled at Monsieur de -Lavergne. The other knew nothing of Claire's presence in the car that -night, and for Claire's sake it was necessary to set the man's mind so -completely at rest that the subject would lack further interest. The -only way to accomplish that was to appear whole-heartedly frank. John -Bruce became egregiously frank. “It was just my own damned curiosity,” - he said with a wry smile. “I got out of that ingenious contraption at -the corner after going around the block, and, well, my curiosity, as I -said, got the better of me. I followed the thing, and found out where -Mr. Veniza lived. I started on my way back, but I didn't get very far. -I got into trouble with a rather tough crowd just around the corner, who -didn't like my shirt front, I believe they said. The fight ended by -my being backed into a wine shop where I was stabbed, but from which I -managed to escape into the lane. I was about all in, and the only chance -I could see was a lighted window on the other side of a low fence. I -crawled in the window, and flopped on the floor. It proved to be Mr. -Veniza's house.” - -“_Pour l'amour du dieu!_” exclaimed Monsieur Henri de Lavergne -breathlessly. - -“And which also accounts,” said John Bruce pleasantly, “for the apology -I must offer you for my appearance this evening in these clothes. The -mob in that respect was quite successful.” - -“But that you are back!” Monsieur de Lavergne's hands were raised in -protest. “That is alone what matters. Monsieur Bruce knows that in any -attire it is the same here for monsieur as though he were at home.” - -“Thank you!” said John Bruce cordially. “I have only dropped in through -the urge of old habits, I guess. I'm hardly on my feet yet, and I -thought I'd just watch the play for a little while to-night.” - -“And that, too,” said Monsieur Henri de Lavergne with a bow, as John -Bruce moved toward the staircase, “is entirely as monsieur desires.” - -John Bruce mounted the stairs, and began a stroll through the roulette -and card rooms. The croupiers and dealers nodded to him genially; those -of the “guests” Whom he knew did likewise. He was treated with marked -courtesy and consideration by every attendant in the establishment. -Everything was exactly as it had been on his previous visits. There were -the soft mellow lights; the siren pur of the roulette wheel, the musical -_click_ of the ball as it spun around on its little fateful orbit; the -low, quiet voices of the croupiers and dealers; the well-dressed -players grouped around the tables, the hilarious and the grim, the -devil-may-care laugh from one, the thin smile from another. It was -exactly the same, all exactly the same, even to the table in the supper -room, free to all though laden with every wine and delicacy that money -could procure; but somehow, even at the end of half an hour, where he -was wont to be engrossed till daylight, John Bruce became excessively -bored. - -Perhaps it was because he was simply an on-looker, and not playing -himself. He had drawn close to a group around a faro bank. The play was -grim earnest and for high stakes. No, it wasn't that! He did not want -to play. Somehow, rather, he knew a slight sense both of contempt and -disgust at the eager clutch and grasp of hands, the hoarse, short laugh -of victory, the snarl of defeat, the trembling fingers of the more -timorous who staked with Chance and demanded that the god be charitable -in its omnipotence and toss them crumbs! - -Well, what was he caviling about? It was the life he had chosen. It was -his life work. Wasn't he pleased with it? He had certainly liked it well -enough in the old days to squander upon it the fair-sized fortune -his father had left him. He decidedly had not gone into that infernal -compact with Larmon blindfolded. Perhaps it was because in those days -he played when he wanted to; and in these, and hereafter, he would play -because he had to. Perhaps it was only that, to-night, there was upon -him the feeling, which was natural enough, and which was immeasurably -human too, that it was irksome to be a slave, to be fettered and -shackled and bound to anything, even to what one, with one's freedom his -own, was ordinarily out of choice most prone to do and delight in. Well, -maybe! But that was not entirely a satisfactory or conclusive solution -either. - -He looked around him. There seemed to be something hollow to-night in -these trappings of tinsel; and something not only hollow, but sardonic -in his connection with them--that he should act as a monitor over the -honesty of those who in turn acted as the agents of Larmon in an already -illicit traffic. - -“Oh, hell!” said John Bruce suddenly. - -The dealer looked up from the table, surprise mingling with polite -disapproval. Several of the players screwed around their heads. - -“That's what I say!” snarled one of the latter with an added oath, as a -large stack of chips was swept away from him. - -Some one touched John Bruce on the elbow. He turned around. It was one -of the attendants. - -“You are being asked for downstairs, Mr. Bruce,” the man informed him. - -John Bruce followed the attendant. In the hall below the white-haired -negro doorkeeper came toward him. - -“I done let him in, Mistuh Bruce, suh,” the old darky explained a little -anxiously, “'cause he done say, Mistuh Bruce, that it was a case of -most particular illness, suh, and----” - -John Bruce did not wait for more. It was Veniza probably--a turn for the -worse. He nodded, and passed hurriedly along the hall to where, near the -door, a poorly dressed man, hat in hand and apparently somewhat ill at -ease in his luxurious surroundings, stood waiting. - -“I am Mr. Bruce,” he said quickly. “Some one is critically ill, you say? -Is it Mr. Veniza?” - -“No, sir,” the man answered. “I don't know anything about Mr. Veniza. -It's Hawkins.” - -“Hawkins!” ejaculated John Bruce. - -“Yes, sir,” said the man. He shuffled his feet. “I--I guess you know, -sir.” - -John Bruce for a moment made no comment. Hawkins! Yes, he knew! Hawkins -had even renounced his pledge, hadn't he? Not, perhaps, that that would -have made any difference! - -“Bad?” he asked tersely. - -“I'm afraid so, sir,” the man replied. “I've seen a good bit of Hawkins -off and on in the last two years, sir, because I room in the same house; -but I've never seen him like this. He's been out of his head and clawing -the air, sir, if you know what I mean. He's over that now, but that weak -he had me scared once, sir, that he'd gone.” - -“What does the doctor say?” John Bruce bit off his words. - -The man shook his head. - -“He wouldn't have one, sir. It's you he wants. You'll understand, sir, -that he's been alone. I don't know how long ago he started on this -spree. It was only by luck that I walked into his room to-night. I was -for getting a doctor at once, of course, but he wouldn't have it; he -wanted you. At times, sir, he was crying like a baby, only he hadn't -the strength of one left. Knowing I could run her, me being a motortruck -driver, he told me to take that car he drives and go to the hotel for -you, and if you weren't there to try here--which I've done, sir, as -you see, and I hope you'll come back with me. I don't know what to do, -though I'm for picking up a doctor on the way back whether he wants one -or not.” - -John Bruce turned abruptly, secured his coat and hat, motioned the man -to lead the way, and followed the other out of the house and down the -steps to the sidewalk. - -The traveling pawn-shop was at the curb. The man opened the door, and -John Bruce stepped inside--and was instantly flung violently down upon a -seat. The door closed. The car started forward. And in a sudden glare of -light John Bruce stared into the muzzle of a revolver, and, behind the -revolver, into a bruised and battered face, which was the face of Doctor -Crang. - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTEEN--THE TWO PENS - -|JOHN BRUCE stared for a moment longer at the revolver that held a -steady bead between his eyes, and at the evil face of Crang that leered -at him from the opposite seat; then he deliberately turned his head and -stared at the face of still another occupant of the car--a man who sat -on the seat beside him. He was trapped--and well trapped! He recognized -the other to be the man known as Birdie, who had participated on a -certain night in the robbery of Paul Veniza's safe. It was quite plain. -The third man in that robbery, whose face he had not seen at the time, -was undoubtedly the man who had brought the “message” a few minutes ago, -and who was now, with almost equal certainty, engaged in driving the -car. Thieving, at least, was in the trio's line! They must somehow or -other have stolen the traveling pawn-shop from Hawkins! - -He smiled grimly. If it had been Birdie now who had brought the message -he would never have fallen into the trap! Crang had played in luck and -won by a very narrow margin, for Crang was naturally in ignorance that -he, John Bruce, had ever seen either of the men before. And then John -Bruce thought of the bulky roll of bills which by an equally narrow -margin was _not_ in his pocket at that moment, and his smile deepened. - -Crang spoke for the first time. - -“Take his gun away from him, if he's got one!” he gnarled tersely. - -“It's in the breast pocket of my coat,” said John Bruce imperturbably. - -Birdie, beside John Bruce, reached over and secured the weapon. - -John Bruce leaned back in his seat. The car was speeding rapidly along -now. - -The minutes passed. None of the three men spoke. Crang sat like some -repulsive gargoyle, leering maliciously. - -John Bruce half closed his eyes against the uncanny fascination of that -round black muzzle which never wavered in its direction, and which was -causing him to strain too intently upon it. What was the game? How far -did Crang intend to go with his insane jealousy? How far would Crang -dare to go? The man wasn't doped to-night. Perhaps he was even the -more dangerous on that account. Instead of mouthing threats, there was -something ominous now, it seemed, in the man's silence. John Bruce's -lips drew together. He remembered Claire's insistence that Crang had -meant what he said literally--and Claire had repeated that warning over -the telephone. Well, if she were right, it meant--_murder_. - -From under his half closed lids, John Bruce looked around the car. The -curtains, as they always were, were closely drawn. The interior was -lighted by that same soft central light, only the light was high up now -near the roof of the car. Well, if it was to be murder, why not _now?_ -The little velvet-topped table was not in place, and there was nothing -between himself and that sneering, sallow face. Yes, why not now--and -settle it! - -He straightened almost imperceptibly in his seat, as impulse suddenly -bade him fling himself forward upon Crang. Why not? The sound of a -revolver shot would be heard in the street, and Crang might not even -dare to fire at all. And then John Bruce's glance rested on the man -beside him--and impulse gave way to common sense. He had no intention of -submitting tamely and without a struggle to any fate, no matter what it -might be, that Crang proposed for him, but that struggle would better -come when there was at least a chance. There was no chance here. Birdie, -on the seat beside him, held a deadlier and even more effective weapon -than was Crang's revolver, a silent thing--a black-jack. - -“Wait! Don't play the fool! You'll get a better chance than this!” the -voice of what he took to be common sense whispered to him. - -The car began to go slower. It swerved twice as though making sharp -turns; and then, running still more slowly, began to bump over rough -ground. - -Crang spoke again. - -“You can make all the noise you want to, if you think it will do you any -good,” he said viciously; “but if you make a move you are not told to -make you'll be _carried_ the rest of the way! Understand?” - -John Bruce did not answer. - -The car stopped. Birdie opened the door on his side, and stepped to the -ground. He was joined by the man who had driven the car, and who, as -John Bruce now found he had correctly assumed, had acted as the decoy at -the gambling house. - -“Get out!” ordered Doctor Crang curtly. - -John Bruce followed Birdie from the car. It was dark out here, -exceedingly dark, but he could make out that the car had been driven -into a narrow lane, and that they were close to the wall of a building -of some sort. The two men gripped him by his arms. He felt the muzzle of -Crang's revolver pressed into the small of his back. - -“Mind your step!” cautioned Birdie gruffly. - -It was evidently the entrance to a cellar. John Bruce found himself -descending a few short steps; and then, on the level again, he was -guided forward through what was now pitch blackness. A moment more and -they had halted, but not before John Bruce's foot had come into contact -with a wall or partition of some kind in front of him. One of the -men who gripped his arms knocked twice with three short raps in quick -succession. - -A door opened in front of them, and for an instant John Bruce was -blinded by a sudden glare of light; but the next instant, his eyes grown -accustomed to the transition, he saw before him a large basement room, -disreputable and filthy in appearance, where half a dozen men sat at -tables drinking and playing cards. - -A shove from the muzzle of Crang's revolver urged John Bruce forward -into an atmosphere that was foul, hot and fetid, and thick with tobacco -smoke that floated in heavy, sinuous layers in mid-air. He was led down -the length of the room toward another door at the opposite end. The men -at the tables, as he passed them, paid him little attention other than -to leer curiously at him. They greeted Birdie and his companion with -blasphemous familiarity; but their attitude toward Crang, it seemed to -John Bruce, was one of cowed and abject respect. - -John Bruce's teeth closed hard together. This was a nice place, an -ominously nice place--a hidden den of the rats of the underworld, -where Crang was obviously the leader. He was not so sure now that the -promptings of so-called common sense had been common sense at all! His -chances of escaping, practically hopeless as they had been in the car, -would certainly have been worth trying in view of this! He began to -regret his “common sense” bitterly now. - -He was in front of the door toward which they had been heading now. -It was opened by Birdie, and John Bruce was pushed into a small, -dimly-lighted, cave-like place. Crang said something in a low voice to -the two men, and, leaving them outside, entered himself, closing the -door only partially behind him. - -For a moment they faced each other, and then Crang laughed--tauntingly, -in menace. - -John Bruce's eyes, from Crang's sallow face, and from Crang's revolver, -swept coolly over his surroundings. A mattress, a foul thing, lay on the -ground in one corner. There was no flooring here in the cellar. A small -incandescent bulb hung from the roof. There was one chair and a battered -table--nothing else; not even a window. - -“It was like stealing from a child!” sneered Crang suddenly. “You poor -mark!” - -“Quite so!” said John Bruce calmly. “And the more so since I was warned -that you were quite capable of--murder. I suppose that is what I am here -for.” - -“Oh, you were warned, were you?” Crang took an abrupt step forward, his -lips working. An angry purple clouded the pallor of his face. “More of -that love stuff, eh? Well, by God, here's the end of it! I'll teach you -with your damned sanctimonious airs to fool around the girl I'm going to -marry! You snivelling hypocrite, you didn't tell her who _you_ were, did -you?” - -John Bruce stared blankly. - -“Who I am?” he repeated. “What do you mean?” - -Crang for the moment was silent. He seemed to be waging a battle with -himself to control his passion. - -“I'm too clever a man to lose my temper, now I've got you!” he rasped -finally. “That's about the size of your mentality! The sweet, naïve, -innocent rôle! Yes, I said a snivelling hypocrite! You don't eat dope, -but perhaps you've heard of a man named Larmon--Mr. Gilbert Larmon, of -San Francisco!” - -To John Bruce it seemed as though Crang's words in their effect were -something like one of those blows the same man had dealt him on his -wounded side in that fight of the other night. They seemed to jar him, -and rob his mind of quick thinking and virility--and yet he was quite -sure that not a muscle of his face had moved. - -“You needn't answer,” Crang grinned mockingly. “If you haven't met him, -you'll have the opportunity of doing so in a few hours. Mr. Larmon will -arrive in New York to-night in response to the telegram you sent him.” - -“I know you said you were clever,” said John Bruce shortly, “and I have -no doubt this is the proof of it! But what is the idea? I did not send a -telegram to any one. - -“Oh, yes, you did!” Crang was chuckling evilly. - -“It was something to the effect that Mr. Larmon's immediate presence in -New York was imperative; that you were in serious difficulties. And in -order that Mr. Larmon might have no suspicions or anxiety aroused as to -his own personal safety, he was to go on his arrival to the Bayne-Miloy -Hotel; but was, at the same time, to register under the name of R. L. -Peters, and to make no effort to communicate with you until you gave -him the cue. The answer to the telegram was to be sent to a--er--quite -different address. And here's the answer.” - -His revolver levelled, Crang laid a telegram on the table, and then -backed away a few steps. - -John Bruce picked up the message. It was dated from San Francisco -several days before, and was authentic beyond question. It was addressed -to John Bruce in the care of one William Anderson, at an address which -he took to be somewhere over on the East Side. He read it quickly: - -Leaving at once and will follow instructions. Arrive Wednesday night. Am -exceedingly anxious. - -Gilbert Larmon. - -“This is Wednesday night,” sneered Crang. - -John Bruce laid down the telegram. That Crang in some way had discovered -his, John Bruce's connection with Larmon, was obvious. But how--and what -did it mean? He smiled coldly. There was no use in playing the fool by -denying any knowledge of Larmon. It was simply a question of exactly how -_much_ Crang knew. - -“Well?” he inquired indifferently. - -The door was pushed open, and Birdie came in. He carried pen and ink, a -large sheet of paper, and an envelope. - -Crang motioned toward the table. - -“Put them down there--and get out!” he ordered curtly; and then as the -man obeyed, he stared for an instant in malicious silence at John Bruce. -“I guess we're wasting time!” he snapped. “I sent the telegram to Larmon -a few days ago, and I know all about you and Larmon, and his ring -of gambling houses. You talked your fool head off when you were -delirious--understand? And----” - -John Bruce, his face suddenly white, took a step forward--and stopped, -and shrugged his shoulders. Crang's outflung revolver was on a level -with his eyes. And then John Bruce turned his back deliberately, and -walked to the far end of the little room. - -Crang laughed wickedly. - -“I am afraid I committed a breach of medical étiquette,” he said. “I -sent to San Francisco and got the dope on the quiet about this Mr. -Larmon. I found out that he is an enormously wealthy man; and I also -found out that he poses as an immaculate pillar of society. It looks -pretty good, doesn't it, Bruce--for me? Two birds with one stone; you -for trying to get between me and Claire; and Larmon coughing up the -dough to save your hide and save himself from being exposed for what he -is!” - -John Bruce made no answer. They were not so fanciful now, not so unreal -and wandering, those dreams when he had been ill, those dreams in -which there had been a man with a quill toothpick, and another with a -sinister, loathsome face, whose head was always cocked in a listening -attitude. - -“Well, I guess you've got it now, all of it, haven't you?” Crang -snarled. “It's lucky for you Larmon's got the coin, or I'd pass you -out for what you did the other night. As it is you're getting out of it -light. There's paper on the table. You write him a letter that will get -him down here with a blank check in his pocket. I'll help you to word -it.” Crang smiled unpleasantly. “He will be quite comfortable here while -the check is going through the bank; for it would be most unfortunate, -you know, if he had a chance to stop payment on it. And I might say that -I am not worrying at all about any reprisals through the tracing of the -check afterward, for if Mr. Larmon is paying me to keep my mouth shut -there is no fear of his opening his own.” - -John Bruce turned slowly around. - -“And if I don't?” he asked quietly. - -Crang studied the revolver in his hand for a moment. He looked up -finally with a smile that was hideous in its malignancy. - -“I'm not sure that I particularly care,” he said. “You are going to get -out of my path in any case, though my personal inclination is to snuff -you out, and”--his voice rose suddenly--“damn you, I'd like to see you -dead; but on the other hand, my business sense tells me that I'd be -better off with, say, a hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. Do you -get the idea, my dear Mr. Bruce? I am sure you do. And as your medical -advisor, for your health is still very much involved, I would strongly -urge you to write the letter. But at the same time I want to be -perfectly frank with you. There is a tail to it as far as you are -concerned. I have a passage in my pocket--a first-class passage, in fact -a stateroom where you can be secured so that I may make certain you -do not leave the ship prematurely at the dock--for South America, on a -steamer sailing to-morrow afternoon. The passage is made out in the name -of John Bruce.” - -“You seem to have taken it for granted that I would agree to your -proposal,” said John Bruce pleasantly. - -“I have,” Crang answered shortly. “I give you credit in some respects -for not being altogether a fool.” - -“In other words,” said John Bruce, still pleasantly, “if I will trap Mr. -Larmon into coming here so that you will have him in your power, and can -hold him until you have squeezed out of him what you consider the fair -amount he should pay as blackmail, or do away with him perhaps, if he -is obstinate, I am to go free and sail for South America to-morrow -afternoon; failing this, I am to snuff out--I think you called it--at -the hands of either yourself or this gentlemanly looking band of apaches -you have gathered around you.” - -“You haven't made any mistake so far!” said Crang evenly. He jerked his -hand toward the table. “It's that piece of paper there, or your hide.” - -“Yes,” said John Bruce slowly. He stared for an instant, set-faced, into -Crang's eyes. “Well, then, go ahead!” - -Crang's eyes narrowed. - -“You mean,” his voice was hoarse with menace, “you mean----” - -“Yes!” said John Bruce tersely. “My hide!” - -Crang did not answer for a moment. The revolver in his hand seemed to -edge a little nearer to John Bruce as though to make more certain of its -aim. Crang's eyes were alight with passion. - -John Bruce did not move. It was over--this second--or the next. Crang's -threats were _literal_. Claire had said so. He knew it. It was in -Crang's eyes--a sort of unholy joy, a madman's frenzy. Well, why didn't -the man fire and have done with it? - -And then suddenly Crang's shoulders lifted in a mocking shrug. - -“Maybe you haven't got this--_straight_,” he said between closed teeth. -“I guess I've paid you the compliment of crediting you with a quicker -intelligence than you possess! I'll give you thirty minutes alone to -think it over and figure out where you stand.” - -Crang backed to the door. - -The door closed. John Bruce heard the key turn in the lock. He stared -about him at the miserable surroundings. Thirty minutes! He did not need -thirty minutes, or thirty seconds, to realize his position. He was not -even sure that he was thankful for the reprieve. It meant half an hour -more of life, but---- - -Cornered like a rat! To go out at the hands of a degenerate dope -fiend... the man had been cunning enough... Hawkins! - -John Bruce paced his little section of the cellar. His footsteps made -no sound on the soft earth. This was his condemned cell; his warders a -batch of gunmen whose trade was murder. - -Larmon! They had not been able to trick Larmon into their power so -easily, because there wasn't any Hawkins. No, there was--John Bruce. -John Bruce was the bait. Queer! Queer that he had ever met Larmon, and -queer that the end should come like this. - -Faustus hadn't had his fling yet. That quill toothpick with which he had -signed---- - -John Bruce stood stock still--his eyes suddenly fastened on the piece of -paper on the table. - -“My God!” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. - -He ran silently to the door and listened. He could hear nothing. He ran -back to the table, threw himself into the chair, and snatching the sheet -of paper toward him, took out a fountain pen from his pocket. Near the -lower edge of the paper, and in a minutely small hand, he began to write -rapidly. - -At the end of a few minutes John Bruce stood up. There was neither sign -nor mark upon the paper, save an almost invisible impression made by -his thumb nail, which he had set as a sign post, as it were, to indicate -where he had begun to write. It was a large sheet of unruled paper, -foolscap in size, and there was but little likelihood of reaching so far -down with the letter that Crang was so insistent upon having, but he did -not propose in any event to superimpose anything over what he had just -written. He could always turn the sheet and begin at the top on the -other side! Again he began to pace up and down across the soft floor, -but now there was a grim smile on his face. Behind Larmon and his -enormous wealth lay Larmon's secret organization, that, once set in -motion, would have little difficulty in laying a dozen Crangs, by the -heels. And Crang was yellow. Let Crang but for an instant realize that -his own skin was at stake, and he would squeal without hesitation--and -what had narrowly escaped being tragedy would dissolve into opera -bouffe. Also, it was very nice indeed of Crang to see that the message -reached Larmon's hands! - -And it was the way out for Claire, too! It was Crang who had mentioned -something about two birds with one stone, wasn't it? Claire! John -Bruce frowned. Was he so sure after all? There seemed to be something -unfathomable between Claire and Crang; the bond between them one that no -ordinary means would break. - -His brain seemed to go around in cycles now--Claire, Larmon, Crang; -Claire, Larmon, Crang.... He lost track of time--until suddenly he heard -a key rattle in the lock. And then, quick and silent as a cat in his -movements, he slipped across the earthen floor, and flung himself face -down upon the mattress. - -A moment more, and some one prodded him roughly. His hair was rumpled, -his face anxious and dejected, as he raised himself on his elbow. Crang -and two of his apaches were standing over him. One of the latter held an -ugly looking stiletto. - -“Stand him up!” ordered Crang. - -John Bruce made no resistance as the two men jerked him unceremoniously -to his feet. - -Crang came and stared into his face. - -“I guess from the look of you,” Crang leered, “you've put in those -thirty minutes to good advantage. You're about ready to write that -letter, aren't you?” - -John Bruce looked around him miserably. He shook his head. - -“No--no; I--I can't,” he said weakly. “For God's sake, Crang, you--you -know I can't.” - -“Sure--I know!” said Crang imperturbably. He nodded to the man with the -stiletto. “He's more used to steel than bullets, and he likes it better. -Don't keep him waiting.” - -John Bruce felt the sudden prick of the weapon on his flesh--it went a -little deeper. - -“Wait! Stop!” he screamed out in a well-simulated paroxysm of terror. -“I--I'll write it.” - -“I thought so!” said Crang coolly. “Well, go over there to the -table then, and sit down.” He turned to the two men. “Beat it!” he -snapped--and the room empty again, save for himself and John Bruce, -he tapped the sheet of paper with the muzzle of his revolver. “I'll -dictate. Pick up that pen!” - -John Bruce obeyed. He circled his lips with his tongue. - -“You--you won't do Larmon any harm, will you?” he questioned abjectly. -“I--my life's worth more than a little money, if it's only that, -and--and, if that's all, I--I'm sure he'd rather pay.” - -“Don't apologize!” sneered Crang. “Go on now, and write. Address him as -you always do.” - -John Bruce dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote in a small hand: - -“Dear Mr. Larmon:--” - -He looked up in a cowed way. - -“All right!” grunted Crang. “I guess we'll kill another bird, too, while -we're at it.” He smiled cryptically. “Go on again, and write!” - -And John Bruce wrote as Crang dictated: - -“I'm here in my rooms in the same hotel with you, but am closely -watched. Our compact is known. I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing -so felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in. She----” - -John Bruce's pen had halted. - -“Go on!” prompted Crang sharply. “It's got to sound right for Larmon--so -that he will believe it. He's not a fool, is he?” - -“No,” said John Bruce. - -“Well, go on then!” - -And John Bruce wrote: - -“She was all the time engaged to the head of a gang of crooks.” Crang's -malicious chuckle interrupted his dictation. - -“I'm not sparing myself, you see. Go on!” - -John Bruce continued his writing: - -“They are after blackmail now, and threaten to expose you. I telegraphed -you to come under an alias because we are up against it and you should -be on the spot; but if they knew you were here they would only attach -the more importance to it, and the price would go up. They believe you -are still in San Francisco, and that I am communicating with you by -mail. They are growing impatient. You can trust the bearer of this -letter absolutely. Go with him. He will take you where we can meet -without arousing any suspicion. I am leaving the hotel now. If possible -we should not risk more than one conference together, so bring a blank -check with you. There is no other way out. It is simply a question of -the amount. I am bitterly sorry that this has happened through me. John -Bruce.” - -Crang, with his revolver pressed into the back of John Bruce's neck, -leaned over John Bruce's shoulder and read the letter carefully. - -“Fold it, and put it in that envelope without sealing it, and address -the envelope to Mr. R. L. Peters at the Bayne-Miloy Hotel!” he -instructed. - -John Bruce folded the letter. As he did so, he noted that his signature -was a good two or three inches above the thumb nail mark. He placed the -letter in the envelope, and addressed the latter as Crang had directed. - -Crang moved around to the other side of the table, tucked the envelope -into his pocket, and grinned mockingly. - -And then without a word John Bruce got up from his chair, and flung -himself face down on the mattress again. - - - - -CHAPTER FIFTEEN--THE CLEW - -|PAUL VENIZA, propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his -eyes as she moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too -ill of late to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden -shock at Claire's appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her -movements seemed listless. - -“What's to-night?” he asked abruptly. - -“Wednesday, father,” she answered. - -Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire. -Besides--besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two -nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house. - -“Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see -him,” he smiled. - -Claire stared at the old pawnbroker. - -“Why, father,” she protested, “it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides, -you would be all alone in the house.” - -“Nonsense!” said Paul Veniza. “I'm all right. Much better. I'll be up -to-morrow. But I particularly want to see Hawkins to-night.” He did not -particularly want to see Hawkins or any one else, but if he did not have -some valid excuse she would most certainly refuse to go out and leave -him alone. A little walk and a breath of fresh air would do Claire -a world of good. And as for the lateness of the hour, Claire in that -section of the city was as safe as in her own home. “Please do as I ask -you, Claire,” he insisted. - -“Very well, father,” she agreed after a moment's hesitation, and went -and put on her hat. - -From downstairs, as she opened the front door, she called up to him a -little anxiously: - -“You are sure you are all right?” - -“Quite sure, dear,” Paul Veniza called back. “Don't hurry.” - -Claire stepped out on the street. It was not far to go--just around the -first corner and halfway down the next block--and at first she walked -briskly, impelled by an anxiety to get back to the house again as soon -as possible, but insensibly, little by little, her footsteps dragged. - -What was it? Something in the night, the darkness, that promised a -kindly cloak against the breaking of her self-restraint, that bade her -let go of herself and welcome the tears that welled so spontaneously -to her eyes? Would it bring relief? To-day, all evening, more than ever -before, she had felt her endurance almost at an end. She turned her face -upward to the night. It was black; not a star showed anywhere. It seemed -as though something dense and forbidding had been drawn like a somber -mantle over the world. God, even, seemed far away to-night. - -She shivered a little. Could that really be true--that God was turning -His face away from her? She had tried so hard to cling to her faith. -It was all she had; it was all that of late had stood between her and -a despair and misery, a horror so overwhelming that death by contrast -seemed a boon. - -Her lips quivered as she walked along. It almost seemed as though she -did not want to fight any more. And yet there had been a great and -very wonderful reward given to her before she had even made the final -sacrifice that she had pledged herself to make. If her soul revolted -from the association that must come with Doctor Crang, if every instinct -within her rose up in stark horror before the contamination of the man's -wanton moral filth, one strange and wondrous thing sustained her. And -she had no right to mistrust God, for God must have brought her this. -She had bought an unknown life--that had become dearer to her than her -own, or anything that might happen to her. She knew love. It was no -longer a _stranger_ who would live on through the years because she -was soon to pay the price that had been set upon his life--it was John -Bruce. - -Claire caught her hands suddenly to her breast. John Bruce! She was -still afraid--for John Bruce. And to-night, all evening, that fear had -been growing stronger, chilling her with a sense of evil premonition and -foreboding. Was it only premonition? Crang had threatened. She had heard -the threats. And she knew out of her own terrible experience that Crang, -as between human life and his own desires, held human life as naught. -And yet, surely John Bruce was safe from him now--at least his life was -safe. That was how Crang had wrung the promise from her. No, she was -not so sure! There was personal enmity between them now. Besides, -if anything happened she would not be able to bring it to Crang's -door--Crang would take care of that--and her promise would still hold. -And so she was afraid. - -She had not seen Crang since the night that John Bruce had thrown him -down the stairs. She had thanked God for the relief his absence had -brought her--but now, here again, she was not so sure! What had kept him -away? Where was John Bruce? She began to regret that she had told John -Bruce he must not attempt to see her or communicate with her any -more, though she had only done so because she had been afraid for his -sake--that it would but arouse the very worst in Doctor Crang. Perhaps -John Bruce had yielded to her pleading and had left the city. She shook -her head. If she knew the man she loved at all, John Bruce would run -from no one, and---- - -Claire halted abruptly. She had reached the dingy rooming house where -Hawkins lived. She brushed her hand resolutely across her eyes as she -mounted the steps. The tears had come after all, for her lashes were -wet. - -It was not necessary either to ring or knock; the door was always -unfastened; and, besides, she had been here so many, many times that -she knew the house almost as well as her own home. She opened the door, -stepped into a black hallway, and began to feel her way up the creaking -staircase. There was the possibility, of course, that Hawkins was either -out or already in bed; but if he were out she would leave a note in his -room for him so that he would come over to the old pawn-shop when he -returned, and if he were already in bed her message delivered through -the door would soon bring Hawkins out of it again--Hawkins, since he had -been driving that old car which he had created, was well accustomed to -calls at all hours of the night. - -A thin, irregular streak of light, the only sign of light she had -seen anywhere in the house, showed now at the threshold under Hawkins' -ill-fitting door, as she reached the landing. She stepped quickly to -the door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. There was -still no answer. Claire smiled a little whimsically. Hawkins was growing -extravagant--he had gone out and left the light burning. She tried the -door, and, finding it unlocked, opened it, stepped forward into the -room--and with a sudden, low, half-hurt, half-frightened cry, stood -still. Hawkins was neither out, nor was he in bed. Hawkins was sprawled -partly on the floor and partly across a chair in which he had obviously -been unable to preserve his balance. Several bottles, all empty but one, -stood upon the table. There were two dirty glasses beside the bottles, -and another one, broken, on the floor. Hawkins was snoring stertorously. - -It seemed somehow to Claire standing there that this was the last -straw--and yet, too, there was only a world of pity in her heart for -the old man. All the years rolled before her. She remembered as a child -climbing upon his knee and pleading for the _tick-tick_--that great -cumbersome silver watch, which, fallen out of his pocket now, dangled by -its chain and swung in jerky rhythm to his breathing. She remembered the -days when, a little older, she had dressed herself in her best clothes, -and to Hawkins' huge delight had played at princess, while he drove her -about in his old ramshackle hansom cab; and, later still, his gentle -faithfulness to Paul Veniza in his trouble, and to her--and the love, -and a strange, always welcome, tenderness that he had ever shown her. -Poor frail soul! Hawkins had been good to every one--but Hawkins! - -She could not leave him like this, but she was not strong enough alone -to carry him to his bed. She turned and ran hurriedly downstairs. There -was the widow Hedges, of course, the old landlady. - -Back at the end of the lower hall, Claire pounded upon a door. Presently -a woman's voice answered her. A moment later a light appeared as the -door was opened, and with it an apparition in an old gingham wrapper and -curl papers. - -“Oh, it's you, Miss Claire!” the woman exclaimed in surprise. “What's -brought you over here to-night, dear? Is your father worse?” - -“No,” Claire answered. “He wanted Hawkins, and----” - -Mrs. Hedges shook her head. - -“Hawkins ain't in,” she said; “but I'll see that he gets the message -when he comes back. He went out with the car quite a little while ago -with some men he had with him.” - -“With the car?” Claire found herself suddenly a little frightened, she -did not quite know why. “Well, he's back now, Mrs. Hedges.” - -“Oh, no,” asserted Mrs. Hedges positively. “I might not have heard him -going upstairs, but I would have heard the car coming in. It ain't come -back yet.” - -“But Hawkins _is_ upstairs,” said Claire a little heavily. “I--I've been -up.” - -“You say Hawkins is upstairs?” Mrs. Hedges stared incredulously. “That's -very strange!” She turned and ran back into her room and to a rear -window. “Look, Miss Claire! Come here! You can see!” And as Claire -joined her: “The door of the shed, or the gradge as he calls it, is -open, and you can see for yourself it's empty. If he's upstairs what -could he have done with the car? It ain't out in front of the house, -is it, and--oh!” She caught Claire's arm anxiously. “There's been an -accident, you mean, and he's----” - -“I am sure he never left the house,” said Claire, and her voice in -its composed finality sounded strange even in her own ears. She was -thoroughly frightened now, and her fears were beginning to take concrete -form. There were not many who would have any use for that queer old car -that was so intimately associated with Hawkins! She could think of -only one--and of only one reason. She pulled at Mrs. Hedges' arm. “Come -upstairs,” she said. - -Mrs. Hedges reached the door of Hawkins' room first. - -“Oh, my God!” Mrs. Hedges cried out wildly. “He ain't dead, is he?” - -“No,” said Claire in a strained voice. “He's--he's only had too much to -drink. Help me lift him on the bed.” - -It taxed the strength of the two women. - -“And the car's stole!” gasped Mrs. Hedges, fighting for her breath. - -“Yes,” said Claire; “I am afraid so.” - -“Then we'll get the police at once!” announced Mrs. Hedges. - -Claire looked at her for a moment. - -“No,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “You mustn't do that. It--it -will come back.” - -“Come back?” Mrs. Hedges stared helplessly. “It ain't a cat! You--you -ain't quite yourself, are you, Miss Claire? Poor dear, this has upset -you. It ain't a fit thing for young eyes like yours to see. Me--I'm used -to it.” - -“I am quite myself.” Claire forced a calmness she was far from feeling -into her voice. “You mustn't notify the police, or do a thing, except -just look after Hawkins. It--it's father's car, you know; and he'll know -best what to do.” - -“Well, maybe that's so,” admitted Mrs. Hedges. - -“Do you know who the men were who were here with Hawkins?” Claire asked. - -“No, I don't,” Mrs. Hedges answered excitedly. “The thieving devils, -coming here and getting Hawkins off like this! I just knew there were -some men up in his room with him because I heard them talking during the -evening, and then when I heard them go out and get the car I thought, of -course, that Hawkins had gone with them.” - -“I--I see,” said Claire, striving to speak naturally. “I--I'll go back -to father now. I can't leave him alone very long, anyhow. I'll tell him -what has happened, and--and he'll decide what to do. You'll look after -Hawkins, won't you, Mrs. Hedges?” - -“You run along, dear,” said Mrs. Hedges reassuringly. “Who else but me -has looked after him these ten years?” - -Claire ran from the room and down the stairs, and out to the street. -The one thing left for her to do was to reach home and get to the -telephone--get the Bayne-Miloy Hotel--and John Bruce. Perhaps she was -already too late. She ran almost blindly along the street. Her -intuition, the foreboding that had obsessed her so heavily all evening, -was only too likely now to prove itself far from groundless. What -object, save one, could anybody have in obtaining possession of the -traveling pawn-shop, and at the same time of keeping Hawkins temporarily -out of the road? Perhaps her deduction would show flaws if it were -subjected to the test of pure logic, perhaps there were a thousand other -reasons that would account equally well, and even more logically, for -what had happened, but she _knew_ it was Crang--and Crang could have but -one object in view. The man was clever, diabolically clever. In some way -he was using that car and Hawkins' helplessness to trap the man he had -threatened. She must warn John Bruce. There was not an instant to lose! -To lose! How long ago had that car been taken? Was there even a chance -left that it was not already far too late? She had not thought to ask -how long ago it was when Mrs. Hedges had heard the car leave the garage. - -It had never seemed so far--just that little half block and halfway -along another. It seemed as though she had been an hour in coming that -little way when she finally reached her home. Her breath coming in hard, -short gasps, she opened the door, closed it, and, with no thought but -one in her mind, ran across the room to the telephone. She remembered -the number of the Bayne-Miloy. She snatched the telephone receiver from -the hook--and then, as though her arm had suddenly become incapable of -further movement, the receiver remained poised halfway to her ear. - -Doctor Crang was leaning over the banister, and looking down at her. - -With a stifled little cry, Claire replaced the receiver. - -Paul Veniza's voice reached her from above. - -“Is that you, Claire?” he called. - -“Yes, father,” she answered. - -Doctor Crang came down the stairs. - -“I just dropped in a minute ago--not professionally”--a snarl crept into -his voice--“for I have never been informed that your father was ill.” - -Claire did not look up. - -“It--it wasn't serious,” she said. - -“So!” Crang smiled a little wickedly. “I wonder where you get the -_gambling_ spirit from? One of these days you'll find out how serious -these attacks are!” He took a step forward. “Your father tells me you -have been over to Hawkins' room.” - -There was a curious hint of both challenge and perverted humor in his -voice. It set at rest any lingering doubt Claire might have had. - -“Yes,” she said, and faced him now, her eyes, hard and steady, fixed on -his. - -“Poor Hawkins!” sighed Doctor Crang ironically. “Even the best of us -have our vices! It should teach us to be tolerant with others!” - -Claire's little form was rigidly erect. - -“I wonder if you know how much I hate you?” she said in a tense, low -voice. - -“You've told me often enough!” A savage, hungry look came into Crang's -eyes. “But you're mine, for all that! Mine, Claire! Mine! You understand -that, eh?” - -He advanced toward her. The door of the inner room, that for weeks, -until a few days ago, had been occupied by John Bruce, was just behind -her, and she retreated through it. He followed her. She did not want to -cry out--the sound would reach the sick room above; and, besides, she -dared not show the man that she had any fear. - -“Don't follow me like that!” she breathed fiercely. - -“Why not?” he retorted, as he switched on the light and closed the door. -“I've got the right to, even if I hadn't something that I came over here -particularly to-night to tell you about--quite privately.” - -She had put the table between them. That he made no effort to come -nearer for the moment afforded her a certain relief, but there was -something in the smile with which he surveyed her now, a cynical, -gloating triumph, that chilled her. - -“Well, what is it?” she demanded. - -“I trapped that damned lover of yours to-night!” he announced coolly. - -Claire felt her face go white. It _was_ true, then! She fought madly -with herself for self-possession. - -“If you mean Mr. Bruce,” she said deliberately, “I was just going to try -to warn him over the phone; though, even then, I was afraid I was too -late.” - -“Ah!” he exclaimed sharply. “You knew, then?” - -Claire shrugged her shoulders. - -“Oh, yes!” she said contemptuously. “My faith in you where evil is -concerned is limitless. I heard your threats. I saw Hawkins a few -minutes ago. He was quite--quite helpless. You, or some of your -confederates, traded on his weakness, took the key of the car away from -him, and then stole the car. Ordinary thieves would not have acted like -that.” An icy smile came to her lips. “His landlady thought the police -should be notified that the car had been stolen.” - -“You always were clever, Claire,” Crang grinned admiringly. “You've got -some brains--all there are around here, as far as I can make out. -You've got it straight, all right. Mr. John Bruce, Esquire, came out of -Lavergne's on being informed that Hawkins was in bad shape--no lie about -that!--and walked into the car without a murmur. Too bad to bother the -police, though--the car will have been left in front of Hawkins' door -again by now.” - -It was hard to keep her courage; hard to keep her lips from trembling; -hard to keep the tears back; hard to pretend that she was not afraid. - -“What are you going to do with him?” Her voice was very low. “The -promise that I gave you was on the condition that he _lived_--not only -then, but now.” Crang laughed outright. - -“Oh, don't worry about that! He'd never let it get that far. He thinks -too much of Mr. Bruce! He has already taken care of himself--at another -man's expense.” - -Claire stared numbly. She did not understand. - -“I'll tell you,” said Crang, with brutal viciousness. “He's a -professional gambler, this supposedly wealthy gentleman of leisure. He -works for a man in San Francisco named Larmon, who really is wealthy, -but who poses as a pillar of the church, or words to that effect. Never -mind how, but Larmon will be here to-night in New York--just at the -right moment. And Mr. Bruce has very kindly consented to assist in -convincing Mr. Larmon that exposure isn't worth the few dollars that -would buy him immunity.” - -Claire did not speak. Still she did not understand. She sat down wearily -in the chair beside the table. - -Crang took a letter from his pocket abruptly, and, opening it, laid it -in front of Claire. - -“I thought perhaps you would like to read it,” he said carelessly. - -Claire rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. -She stared at the letter. At first the words ran together, and she could -not make them out. Then a sentence took form, and then another--and she -read them piteously. “... I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so -felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in... She read -on to the end. - -“But it's not true!” she cried out sharply. “I don't believe it!” - -“Of course, it isn't true!” said Crang complacently. “And, of course, -you don't believe it! But Larmon will. I've only shown you the letter to -let you see what kind of a yellow cur this would-be lover of yours is. -Anything to save himself! But so long as he wrote the letter, I had no -quarrel with him if he wanted to fake excuses for himself that gave him -a chance of holding his job with Larmon afterwards.” - -It couldn't be true--true that John Bruce had even written the letter, a -miserable Judas thing that baited a trap, for one who trusted him, with -the good name of a woman for whom he had professed to care. It couldn't -be true--but the signature was there, and--and it was genuine: “John -Bruce.... John Bruce.... John Bruce.” It seemed to strike at her with -the cruel, stinging blows of a whip-lash: “John Bruce.... John Bruce.... -John----” - -The words became blurred. It was the infinite hopelessness of everything -that crushed her fortitude, and mocked it, and made of it at last a -beaten thing. A tear fell and splashed upon the page--and still another. -She kept looking at the letter, though she could only see it through a -blinding mist. And there was something ominous, and something that -added to her fear, that she should imagine that her tears made _black_ -splashes on the blurred letter as they fell, and----- - -She heard a sudden startled snarl from Crang, and the letter was -snatched up from the table. And then he seemed to laugh wildly, without -reason, as a maniac would laugh--and with the letter clutched in his -hand rushed from the room. Claire crushed her hands against her temples. -Perhaps it was herself who had gone mad. - -The front door banged. - - - - -CHAPTER SIXTEEN--A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS - -|OUTSIDE the house Crang continued to run. He was unconscious that he -had forgotten his hat. His face worked in livid fury. Alternately he -burst out into short, ugly gusts of laughter that made of laughter an -evil thing; alternately, racked with unbridled passion, he mouthed a -flood of oaths. - -He ran on for some three blocks, and finally dashed up the steps of a -small, drab-looking, cheap frame house. A brass sign, greenish with mold -from neglect, flanked one side of the door. Under the street light it -could just barely be deciphered: SYDNEY ANGUS CRANG, M.D. - -He tried the door. It was locked. He searched impatiently and hastily in -his pockets for his pass-key, and failing to find it instantly he rang -the bell; and then, without waiting for an answer to the summons, he -immediately began to bang furiously upon the panels. - -An old woman, his housekeeper, whose bare feet had obviously been -thrust hurriedly into slippers, and who clutched at the neck of a woolen -dressing gown that also obviously, and with equal haste, had been flung -around her shoulders over her nightdress, finally opened the door. - -“Get out of the road!” Crang snarled--and brushed his way roughly past -her. - -He stepped forward along an unlighted hall, opened a door, and slammed -it behind him. He switched on the light. He was in his consulting room. -The next instant he was standing beside his desk, and had wrenched -John Bruce's letter from his pocket. He spread this out on the desk and -glared at it. Beyond any doubt whatever, where Claire's tears had fallen -on the paper, traces of writing were faintly discernible. Here, out of -an abortive word, was a well-formed “e”; and there, unmistakably, was a -capital “L.” - -Crang burst into a torrent of abuse and oaths; his fists clenched, and -he shook one of them in the air. - -“Double-crossed--eh?--damn him!” he choked. “He tried to double-cross -me--did he?” - -Carrying the letter, he ran now into a little room behind his office, -where he compounded his medicines, and that was fitted up as a sort of -small laboratory. - -“I'm a clever man,” Crang mumbled to himself. “We'll see about this!” - -With sudden complacence he began to study the sheet of paper. He nodded -curtly to himself as he noted that the traces of the secret writing were -all on the lower edge of the paper. - -“We'll be very careful, _very_ careful”--Doctor Crang was still -mumbling--“it may be useful in more ways than one.” - -He turned on the water faucet, wet a camel's-hair brush, and applied the -brush to the lower edge of the letter. The experiment was productive of -no result. He stared at the paper for a while with wrinkled brow, and -then suddenly he began to laugh ironically. - -“No, of course, not!” He was jeering at himself now. “Clever? You are -not clever, you are a fool! She _cried_ on the paper. Tears! Tears -possess a slight trace of”--he reached quickly for a glass container, -and began to prepare a solution of some sort--“a very slight trace... -that's why the characters that already show are so faint. Now we'll see, -Mr. John Bruce, what you've got to say.... Salt!... A little salt, eh?” - -He dipped the camel's-hair brush in the solution and drew it across the -bottom edge of the paper again. - -“Ha, ha!” exclaimed Doctor Crang in eager excitement. Letters, words and -sentences began to take form under the brush. “Ha, ha! He'd play that -game with me, would he? Damn him!” - -Very carefully Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., worked his brush upward on -the paper line by line, until, still well below the signature that John -Bruce had affixed in his, Crang's, presence, there failed to appear -any further trace of the secret writing. He read as fast as a word -appeared--like a starving beast snatching in ferocious greed at morsels -of food. It made whole and complete sense. His eyes feasted on it now in -its entirety: - -Keep away. This is a trap. Stall till you can turn tables. Information -obtained while I was delirious. Am a prisoner in hands of a gang whose -leader is a doctor named Crang. Veniza will tell you where Crang lives. -Get Veniza's address from Lavergne at the house. The only way to save -either of Us is to trick Crang. Look out for yourself. Bruce. - -He tossed the camel's-hair brush away, returned to his desk, spread the -letter out on a blotter to allow the lower edge to dry, and slumping -down in his desk chair, glued his eyes on the secret message, reading it -over and over again. - -“Trick Crang--eh?--ha, ha!” He began to chuckle low; then suddenly his -fingers, crooked and curved until they looked like claws, reached out -as though to fasten upon some prey at hand. And then he chuckled once -more--and then grew somber, and slumped deeper in his chair, and his -eyes, brooding, were half closed. “Not to-night,” he muttered. “One job -of it to-morrow... squeal like a pair of rats that----” - -He sat suddenly bolt upright in his chair. It came again---a low tapping -on the window; two raps, three times repeated. He rose quickly, crossed -the room, opened the door, and stood motionless for a moment peering -out into the hall. It was a purely precautionary measure--he had little -doubt but that his old housekeeper had long since mounted the stairs and -returned to her bed. He stepped rapidly then along the hall, and opened -the front door. - -“That you, Birdie?” he called in a low voice. - -A man's form appeared from the shadow of the stoop. - -“Sure!” the man answered. - -“Come in!” Doctor Crang said tersely. - -He led the way back into the consulting room, and slumped down again in -his chair. - -“Well?” he demanded. - -“Peters arrived all right,” Birdie reported. “He registered at the -Bayne-Miloy Hotel, and he's there now.” - -“Good!” grunted Crang. - -For a full five minutes he remained silent and without movement in his -chair, apparently utterly oblivious of the other, who stood, shifting a -little awkwardly from foot to foot, on the opposite side of the desk. - -Then Crang spoke--more to himself than to Birdie. - -“He'll be anxious, of course, and growing more so,” he said. “He might -make a break of some kind. I'll have to fix that. I'm not ready yet. -What?” - -Birdie, from staring inanely at the wall, came to himself with a sudden -start at what he evidently interpreted as a direct question. - -“Yes--sure!” he said hurriedly. “No--I mean, no, you're not ready.” - -Crang glared at the man contemptuously. - -“What the hell do you know about it?” he inquired caustically. - -He picked up the telephone directory, studied it for a moment, then, -reaching for the desk telephone, asked for his connection. Presently the -Bayne-Miloy Hotel answered him, and he asked for Mr. R. L. Peters' room. -A moment more and a voice reached him over the phone. - -“Is that Mr. Peters?” Crang inquired quietly. “Mr. R. L. Peters, of San -Francisco?... Yes? Then I have a message for you, Mr. Peters, from the -person who sent you a telegram a few days ago... I beg your pardon?... -Yes, I am sure you do... Myself? I'd rather not mention any names over -the phone. You understand, don't you? He told me to tell you that it is -absolutely necessary that no connection is known to exist between you, -and for that reason he does not dare take the chance of getting -into touch with you to-night, but he will manage it somehow by early -afternoon to-morrow... What say?... Yes, it is very serious, otherwise -he would hardly have telegraphed you to come on from San Francisco... -No, personally, I don't know. That was his message; but I was also to -warn you on no account to leave your rooms, or have communication -with anybody until you hear direct from him.... No, I do not know the -particulars. I only know that he is apparently in a hole, and a bad one, -and that he is now afraid that you will get into it too.... Yes. You are -sure you fully understand?... No, not at all! I am only too glad.... -Good-night.” - -Crang, with a curious smile on his lips, hung up the receiver. He turned -abruptly to Birdie. - -“You get a taxi to-morrow,” he said brusquely. “We'll want it for two or -three hours. Slip the chauffeur whatever is necessary, and change places -with him. See? You'll know where to find one that will fall for that. -Then you come here for me at--let's see--the boat sails at four--you -come here at half past one sharp. Get me?” - -“Sure!” said Birdie, with a grin. “That's a cinch!” - -“All right, then!” Crang waved his hand. “Beat it!” - -Birdie left the room. A moment later the front door closed behind him. - -Crang picked up the letter and examined it critically. The lower three -or four inches of the paper was slightly crinkled, but quite dry now; -the body of the original letter showed no sign whatever of his work upon -the lower portion. - -Doctor Crang nodded contentedly. - -He rose abruptly, secured his surgical bag, and from it selected a -lance. With the aid of a ruler and the keen-bladed little instrument, -he very carefully cut away the lower section of the paper. The slip -containing the erstwhile secret message he tucked away in his inside -pocket; then he examined the letter itself again even more critically -than before. For all evidence that it presented to the contrary, -it might have been the original size of the sheet. There was even a -generous margin of paper still left beneath John Bruce's signature. -He folded the letter, replaced it in its envelope--and now sealed the -envelope. - -“To-morrow!” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang with a sinister smile, as he -produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket and rolled up the -sleeve of his left arm. He laughed as the needle pricked his flesh. -“To-morrow--John Bruce!” - -He slumped far down in his chair once more. For half an hour he sat -motionless, his eyes closed. Then he spoke again. - -“Damn you!” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER SEVENTEEN--ALIAS MR. ANDERSON - -DOCTOR Sydney Angus Crang looked at his watch, as he stepped from a taxi -the next afternoon, and entered the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. It was fifteen -minutes of two. He approached the desk and obtained a blank card. “From -J. B.,” he wrote upon it. He handed it to the clerk. - -“Please send this up to Mr. R. L. Peters,” he requested. - -He leaned nonchalantly against the desk as a bellboy departed with -the card. From where he stood the front windows gave him a view of the -street, and he could see Birdie parking the taxi a little way up past -the entrance. He smiled pleasantly as he waited. - -Presently the bell-boy returned with the information that Mr. Peters -would see him; and, following the boy upstairs, he was ushered into the -sitting room of one of the Bayne-Miloy's luxurious suites. A tall man -with a thin, swarthy face confronted him. Between his fingers the tall -man held the card that he, Crang, had sent up; and between his lips the -tall man sucked assiduously at a quill toothpick. - -“Mr. Peters, of course?” Crang inquired easily, as the door closed -behind the bell-boy. - -Mr. Peters, alias Gilbert Larmon, nodded quietly. “I was rather -expecting Mr. Bruce in person,” he said. - -Crang looked cautiously around him. - -“It still isn't safe,” he said in a lowered voice. “At least, not here; -so I am going to take you to him. But perhaps you would prefer that I -should explain my own connection with this affair first?” - -Again Larmon nodded. - -“Perhaps it would be just as well,” he said. - -Once more Crang looked cautiously around him. - -“We--we are quite alone, I take it?” - -“Quite,” said Larmon. - -“My name is Anderson, William Anderson,” Crang stated smoothly. “I was -the one who telephoned you last night. I am a friend of John Bruce--the -only one he's got, I guess, except yourself. Bruce and I used to be boys -together in San Francisco. I hadn't seen him for years until we ran into -each other here in New York a few weeks ago and chummed up again. As I -told you over the phone, I don't know the ins and outs of this, but I -know he is in some trouble with a gang that he got mixed up with in the -underworld somehow.” - -“_Tck!_” The quill toothpick flexed sharply against one of the -tall man's front teeth. “William Anderson”--he repeated the name -musingly--“yes, I remember. I sent a telegram in your care to Mr. Bruce -a few days ago.” - -“Yes,” said Crang. - -The quill toothpick appeared to occupy the tall man's full attention for -a period of many seconds. - -“Are you conversant with the contents of that telegram, Mr. Anderson?” - he asked casually at last. - -Crang suppressed a crafty smile. Mr Gilbert Larmon was no fool! Mr. -Gilbert Larmon stood here as Mr. R. L. Peters--the telegram had been -signed: “Gilbert Larmon.” The question that Larmon was actually asking -was: How much do you really know? - -“Why, yes,” said Crang readily. “I did not actually see the telegram, -but Bruce told me it was from a friend of his, a Mr. Peters, who would -arrive in New York Wednesday night, and whom he seemed to think he -needed pretty badly in his present scrape.” Larmon took a turn or two up -and down the room. He halted again before Crang. - -“I am obliged to admit that I am both anxious and considerably at sea,” - he said deliberately. “There seems to be an air of mystery surrounding -all this that I neither like nor understand. You did not allay my fears -last night when you telephoned me. Have you no more to tell me?” - -Crang shook his head slowly. - -“No,” he said. “You've got everything I know. Bruce has been like a -clam as far as the nature of what is between himself and this gang is -concerned. He will have to tell you himself--if he will. He won't tell -me. Meanwhile, he sent you this.” - -Crang reached into his pocket and took out the envelope addressed to Mr. -R. L. Peters, that he had taken pains to seal the night before. - -Larmon took the envelope, stepped over to the window, presumably for -better light, and opening the letter, began to read it. - -Crang watched the other furtively. The quill toothpick, from a series -of violent gyrations, became motionless between Larmon's lips. The thin -face seemed to mold itself into sharp, dogged lines. Again and again -Larmon appeared to read the letter over; and then the hand that held the -sheet of paper dropped to his side, and he stood for a long time staring -out of the window. Finally he turned slowly and came back across the -room. - -“This is bad, Mr. Anderson--far worse than I had imagined,” he said in a -hard voice. “I believe you said you would take me to Bruce. This letter -asks me to accompany you, and I see we are to go at once.” He motioned -toward a box of cigars on the table. “Help yourself to a cigar, Mr. -Anderson, and take a chair while I change and get ready. I will only be -a few minutes, if you will excuse me for that length of time?” - -Crang's face expressed concern. - -“Why, certainly, Mr. Peters,” he agreed readily. He helped himself to a -cigar, and sat down in a chair. “I'm sorry if it's as bad as that.” - -Larmon made no answer, save to nod his head gravely as he stepped -quickly toward the door of the apartment's adjoining room. - -Crang struck a match and lighted his cigar. The door of the connecting -room closed behind Larmon. A cloud of blue smoke veiled Crang's -face--and a leer that lighted his suddenly narrowed eyes. - -“So that's it, is it?” grinned Crang to himself. “I wondered how he was -going to work it! Well, I guess he would have got away with it, too--if -I hadn't got away with it first!” - -He sat motionless in his chair--and listened. And suddenly he smiled -maliciously. The sound of running water from a tap turned on somewhere -on the other side of the connecting door reached him faintly. - -“And now a little salt!” murmured Doctor Sydney - -Angus Crang. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it dissolve. -“And, presto!--like the smoke ring--nothing!” - -The minutes passed, perhaps five of them, and then the door opened again -and Larmon reappeared. - -“I'm ready now,” he announced quietly. “Shall we go?” - -Crang rose from his chair. - -“Yes,” he said. He glanced at Larmon, as he tapped the ash from the end -of his cigar. Larmon had _not_ forgotten to change his clothes. “I've -got a taxi waiting.” - -“All right,” agreed Larmon briskly--and led the way to the elevator. - -Out on the street, Crang led the way in turn--to the taxi. Birdie -reached out from his seat, and flung the door open. Crang motioned -Larmon to enter, and then leaned toward Birdie as though to give the man -the necessary address. He spoke in a low, quiet tone: - -“Keep to the decent streets as long as you can, so that he won't have -a chance to get leery until it won't matter whether he does or not. -Understand?” - -Birdie touched his cap. - -“Yes, sir,” he said. - -The taxi jerked forward. - -“It's not very far,” said Crang. He smiled engagingly as he settled -back in his seat--and his hand in his coat pocket sought and fondled his -revolver. - -Larmon, apparently immersed in his own thoughts, made no immediate -reply. The taxi traversed a dozen blocks, during which time Crang, quite -contented to let well enough alone, made no effort at conversation. -Larmon chewed at his quill toothpick until, following a savage little -click, he removed it in two pieces from his mouth. He had bitten it in -half. He tossed the pieces on the floor, and produced a fresh one from -his pocket. - -“My word!” observed Crang dryly. “You've got good teeth.” - -Larmon turned and looked at him. - -“Yes, Mr. Anderson, I have!” His voice was level. “And I am going to -show them--when I get hold of Bruce.” - -Crang's expression was instantly one of innocent bewilderment. - -“Why,” he said, “I thought you----” - -“Have you ever met the lady?” Larmon asked abruptly. - -“The--lady?” Crang glanced out of the window. Birdie was making good -time, very good time indeed. Another five minutes at the outside and the -trick was done. - -“The woman in the case,” said Larmon. - -“Oh!” Crang whistled low. “I see! No, I've never met her. I didn't know -there was one. I told you he had said nothing to me.” - -Larmon was frowning heavily; his face was strained and worried. He -laughed out suddenly, jerkily. - -“I suppose I should give him credit for keeping you at least in the -dark,” he said shortly; “though it strikes me as more or less of a case -of locking the stable door after the horse has gone.” - -Crang's eyebrows were raised in well-simulated perplexity. - -“I don't quite get you, Mr. Peters,” he said politely. - -“It's of no consequence.” Larmon's eyes were suddenly fastened on the -window. From an already shabby street where cheap tenements hived a -polyglot nationality, the taxi had swerved into an intersection that -seemed more a lane than anything else, and that was still more shabby -and uninviting. “This is a rather sordid neighborhood, isn't it?” he -observed curiously. - -“It's safe,” said Crang significantly. - -The taxi stopped. - -“We get out here, Mr. Peters,” Crang announced pleasantly, as Birdie -opened the door. “It's a bit rough, I'll admit; but”--he shrugged his -shoulders and smiled--“you'll have to blame Bruce, not me. Just follow -me, Mr. Peters--it's down these steps.” - -He began to descend the steps of a cellar entrance, which was -unprepossessingly black, and which opened from the rear of a seedy -looking building that abutted on the lane. He did not look behind him. -Larmon had made _sure_ that the letter was to be relied upon, hadn't -he?--and it was John Bruce, not anybody else, that Larmon was trusting -now. Certainly, it was much easier to _lead_ Larmon as long as Larmon -could be led; if Larmon hesitated about following, Birdie stood ready to -pitch the other headlong down the steps--the same end would be attained -in either case! - -But Larmon still showed no suspicion of the good faith of one William -Anderson. He was following without question. The daylight streaking down -through the entrance afforded enough light to enable Crang, over his -shoulder, to note that Larmon was always close behind him. At a door -across the cellar Crang gave two raps, three times repeated, and as the -door was opened, entered with Larmon beside him. - -The man who had let them in--one of three, who had evidently been -rolling dice at a table close to the entrance--closed the door behind -them, and resumed his game. - -“If you'll just wait here a minute, Mr. Peters,” Crang said breezily, -“I'll find Bruce for you.” - -He did not wait for a reply. It mattered very little as to what Larmon -said or did now, anyhow--Larmon's exit was barred by three men! He -walked up the length of the low-ceiled, evil-smelling place, and with a -key which he took from his pocket unlocked a door at the farther end. As -he stepped through the door his revolver was in his hand. - -He laughed in an ugly way, as John Bruce rose from the mattress and -faced him. - -“Salt is a great thing, isn't it?” he jeered. He drew from his pocket -the slip of paper he had cut from the bottom of the letter, and held -it so that John Bruce could see it. Then he put it back in his pocket -again. “Understand? He got the _rest_ of the letter, all right; and so -he has come down to pay you a little visit. He's outside there now.” - -John Bruce made no answer. - -Crang laughed again. - -“You thought you'd double-cross me, did you? You poor fool! Well, it's a -showdown now. I'm going to bring him in here--and let you tell him what -he's up against. I guess you can convince him. He's got less than an -hour in which to come across--if you are going to sail on that steamer. -If you don't make yourself useful to that extent, you go out--for keeps; -and Larmon stays here until he antes up--or rots! Is that quite clear?” - -John Bruce's lips scarcely moved. - -“Yes; it is quite clear,” he said. - -“I thought it would be!” snarled Crang--and backed out through the door. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHTEEN--THE HOSTAGE - -|AS Crang disappeared through the doorway, John Bruce stepped -noiselessly forward across the earthen floor. With the door half open -and swung inward, it left a generous aperture at the hinges through -which he could see down the length of the cave-like den outside. - -He was strangely calm. Yes, there was Larmon down there--and Crang was -walking toward him. And Crang had left the door open here. Well, -why not?--with those three apaches at that table yonder! Yes, why -not?--except that Crang had also left open the way to one last move, -left him, John Bruce, one last card to play! - -Strange, the cold, unnatural calmness that possessed him! His mind -seemed instantaneously to have conceived and created a project that -almost subconsciously he was now in the act of putting into effect. -He reached out, and extracting the key from the outside of the door, -inserted it on the inside of the lock. He smiled grimly. So far, it was -quite safe! The door was swung so far inward that the inner edge of it, -and therefore his act, certainly could not be seen by any one out there. - -A last card! His lips tightened. Well, perhaps! But it was more than -that. His unnatural composure had something deeper than that behind -it--a passionate fury smoldering on the verge of flame. Larmon was out -there--trapped! He could not put Larmon in greater jeopardy now, no -matter what he, John Bruce, did personally, because Larmon dead would -not be worth anything to them. But for himself--to stand and take it all -like a sheep at the hands of a damned, cringing---- - -He shook his head in quick, curious self-rebuke. Not yet! He needed that -cold composure a little longer since it was to be a showdown now. That -was what Crang had said--a showdown. And Crang was right! It meant the -end--one way or the other. But with luck, if Crang was as yellow as he -believed the man to be, the idea of the bluff that had leaped into his -mind would work successfully; and if it didn't work--well, then, there -was the end--and at least it would not be a scatheless one for Crang! - -The mind works swiftly. Had Crang had time only to walk down _half_ the -length of that room out there toward Larmon? Yes, he saw Crang halt now, -and heard Crang call out sharply to the three men at the table: - -“See if he's got a gun!” - -John Bruce, through the crack, saw Larmon whirl around suddenly, as -though aware for the first time that he was in danger; saw two of the -men grasp Larmon roughly, while the third searched through his clothes. - -And then Crang laughed out raucously: - -“This way, _Mr. Peters_--please! You three can stay where you are--I'll -call you if I need you!” - -For still another instant John Bruce watched through the crack. Larmon, -though his face was set and stern, advanced calmly to where Crang stood. -Crang, with a prod of his revolver, pushed him onward. They were coming -now--Larmon first, and Crang immediately behind the other. Without a -sound, John Bruce slipped around to the other side of the door; and, -back just far enough so that he would not be seen the instant the -threshold was reached, crouched down close against the wall. - -A second passed. - -“Go on in there!” he heard Crang order. - -Larmon's form crossed the threshold; and then Crang's--and John Bruce -hurled himself forward, striking, even while his hands flew upward to -lock like a vise around Crang's throat, a lightning blow at Crang's -wrist that sent the revolver to the soft earthen floor without a -sound--and a low, strangling, gurgling noise was alone the result of -Crang's effort at a shout of alarm. - -“Shut the door--_quietly!_ And lock it, Larmon!” John Bruce flung out. - -It was an impotent thing. It struck at the air blindly, its fists going -like disjointed flails. Strong! He had not just risen from a sick bed -this time! John Bruce and the soul within him seemed to chuckle In -unison together at this wriggling thing that he held up by the neck with -its feet off the ground. But he saw Larmon, though for the fraction of a -second held spellbound in amazement, spring and lock the door. - -“If you make a sound that reaches out there”--John Bruce was whispering -now with panting, labored breath, as he swung Crang over to the corner -and forced him down upon the mattress--“it will take too long to break -that door in to be of any use to you! Understand?” - -“Bruce!” - -It was Larmon standing over them. John Bruce scarcely turned his head. -His hands were still on Crang's throat, though the man lay cowed and -passive now. - -“His inside coat pocket!” John Bruce jerked out. “It will save a lot of -explanation.” - -Larmon leaned over and thrust his hand into Crang's pocket. He produced -several envelopes and the slip of paper cut from John Bruce's letter. - -“Read the slip!” said John Bruce grimly. “He showed it to me a minute -ago when he came in to tell me you were here. It was written in our -invisible ink at the bottom of the letter he brought you.” He laughed -shortly. “When you've read it, I'll introduce you.” - -Larmon read the slip hurriedly. - -“Good God!” he cried out. - -“This is Crang,” said John Bruce evenly. - -“But”--Larmon's face was tense and strained--“how------” - -“How did he discover there was anything there to begin with, and then -hit on the salt solution?” John Bruce interrupted. “I don't know. We'll -find out.” He relaxed his hold a little on Crang's throat, and taking -the slip of paper from Larmon, thrust it into his own pocket. “Go on, -Crang! Tell us!” - -Crang's eyes roved from John Bruce to Larmon and back to John Bruce -again. His face was ashen. He shook his head. - -“You'll _talk!_” said John Bruce with ominous quiet. - -“And the less urging”--his grip began to tighten again--“the better for -you.” - -“Wait!” Crang choked. “Yes--I--I'll tell you. I showed the letter to -Claire. She--she cried on it. A tear splash--black letter began to -appear. I took the letter home, and--trace of salt in tears--and----” - -Crang's voice died away in a strangling cry. Claire! John Bruce had -barely caught any other word but that. Claire! The face beneath him -began to grow livid. Claire! So the devil had brought Claire into this, -too. _Too!_ Yes, there was something else. Something else! He remembered -now. There was a reckoning to come that was beyond all other reckonings, -wasn't there? He would know now what hold this thing, that was beast, -not man, had upon her. He would know now--or it would end now! - -“Claire! D'ye hear?” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. “You know what I -mean! What trick of hell did you play to make her promise to marry you? -Answer me!” - -The thing on the mattress moaned. - -“Bruce! For God's sake, Bruce, what are you doing?” Larmon cried out -sharply. - -John Bruce raised his head and snarled at Larmon. Neither Larmon, nor -any other man, would rob him of this now! - -“You stand aside, Larmon!” he rasped out. “This is between me and Crang. -Keep out of the way!” - -He shook at Crang again. He laughed. The man's head bobbed limply. - -“Answer me!” He loosened his grip suddenly. Queer, he had forgotten -that--Crang couldn't speak, of course, if he wouldn't let him! - -The man gasped, and gasped again, for his breath. - -“I give you one second.” John Bruce's lips did not move as he spoke. - -Twice Crang tried to speak. - -“Quick!” John Bruce planted his knees on the other's chest. - -“Yes--yes, yes, yes!” Crang gurgled out. “It's you--the night you--you -were stabbed. You were--were nearly gone. I--I gave her the--the -choice--to marry me, or--or I'd let you--go out.” - -John Bruce felt his shoulders surge forward, felt his muscles grow taut -as steel, and he shook at something flabby that made no resistance, -and his knees rocked upon something soft where they were bedded. -_him_--Claire had faced that inhuman choice, born in this monster's -brain--to save _his_ life! Madness seized upon him. The room, everything -before him whirled around in great, red, pulsing circles. A fury that -shook at the roots of his soul took possession of him. He knew nothing, -saw nothing, was moved by nothing save an overwhelming lust for -vengeance that seemed to give him superhuman strength, that enabled him -to crush between his two bare hands this nauseous thing that----- - -He heard a voice. It seemed to come from some infinite distance: - -“You are killing the man! In the name of God, John Bruce, come away!” - -It was Larmon's voice. He looked up. He was vaguely conscious that it -was Larmon who was pulling at his shoulders, wrenching madly at his -hands, but he could not see Larmon--only a blurred red figure that -danced insanely up and down. Killing the man! Of course! What an inane -thing to say! Then he felt his hands suddenly torn away from a hold they -had had upon something, and he felt himself pulled to his feet. And -then for a little he stood swaying unsteadily, and he shuddered, then he -groped his way over to the chair by the table and dropped into it. - -He stared in front of him. Something on the floor near the door -glittered and reflected the light from the single, dim incandescent. He -lurched up from the chair, and going toward the object, snatched it up. -It was Crang's revolver--but Larmon was upon him _in_ an instant. - -“Not that way, either!” said Larmon hoarsely. - -John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. - -“No, not that way, either,” he repeated like a child. - -He went back to the chair and sat down. He was aware that Larmon was -kneeling beside the mattress, but he paid no attention to the other. - -“The man's unconscious,” Larmon said. - -John Bruce did not turn his head. - -The minutes passed. - -John Bruce's brain began to clear; but the unbalanced fury that had -possessed him was giving place now only to one more implacable in its -considered phase. He looked around him. Crang, evidently recovered, was -sitting up on the mattress. The letters Larmon had taken from Crang's -pocket lay on the table. John Bruce picked them up idly. From one -of them a steamer ticket fell out. He stared at this for a moment. A -passage for John Bruce to South America! Then low, an ugly sound, his -laugh echoed around the place. - -South America! It recalled him to his actual surroundings--that on the -other side of the door were Crang's apaches. There was still time -to catch the steamer, wasn't there--for South America? “If the bluff -worked”--he remembered his thoughts, the plan that had actuated him when -he had crouched there at the door, waiting for Crang to enter. Strange! -It wouldn't be a _bluff_ any more! All that was gone. What he would do -now, and carry it through to its end, was what he had intended to bluff -Crang into believing he would do. And Crang, too, would understand now -how little of bluff there was--or, misunderstanding, pay for it with his -life. - -He thrust the ticket suddenly into his pocket, stepped from his chair, -the revolver in his hand, and confronted Crang. The man shrank back, -trembling, his face gray with fear. - -“Stand up!” John Bruce commanded. - -Crang, groveling against the wall, got upon his feet. - -It was a full minute before John Bruce spoke again, and then the words -came choking hot from his lips. - -“You damned cur!” he cried. “That's what you did, was it? The price -Claire paid was for my life. Well, it's hers, then; it's no longer mine. -Can you understand that, and understand that I am going to pay it back, -if necessary, to rid her of you? We are going to walk out of here. You -will lead the way. We are going down to that steamer, and you are going -on John Bruce's ticket where you proposed to send me--to South America. -Either that--or you are going on a longer journey. I shall carry this -revolver in the pocket of my coat, and walk beside you. It is your -affair how we pass those men out there. If you make any attempt at -trickery in getting out of here, or later in the street attempt to -escape, I will fire instantly. It does not matter in the slightest -degree what happens to me at the hands of your men, or at the hands of -a thousand people in the most crowded street. You will have gone out -_first_. The only consideration that exists is that Claire shall be free -of you.” - -“Tck!” It was the quill toothpick flexing against one of Larmon's teeth. - -John Bruce turned. - -“I did not understand,” said Larmon in a low, grim way. “If I had, I am -not sure I should have stopped you from throttling him when I did.” - -John Bruce nodded curtly. He spoke again to Crang. - -“I am not asking you whether you agree to this or not,” he said with -level emphasis. “You have your choice at any moment to do as you -like--you know the consequences.” He slipped his hand with his revolver -into the right-hand side pocket of his coat, and took his place at -Crang's left side. “Now, go ahead and open that door, and lead the way -out! Mr. Larmon, you follow close behind me.” - -“Yes,” Crang stammered, “yes--for God's sake--I--I'll do it--I---” - -“Open that door!” said John Bruce monotonously. “I didn't ask you to -talk about it!” - -Crang opened the door. The little procession stepped out into the long, -low cellar, and started down toward the lower end. The three men, from -playing dice at the table near the door, rose uncertainly to their feet. -John Bruce's revolver in his pocket pressed suggestively against Crang's -side. - -“It's all right, boys,” Crang called out. “Open the door. I've got -Birdie outside.” - -They passed the table, passed through the doorway, and the door closed -behind them. In the semi-darkness here, as they headed for the exit to -the lane, Larmon touched John Bruce's elbow. - -“He brought me down here in a taxi,” Larmon whispered. “I suppose now it -was one of his men who drove it.” - -“Birdie, he just told those rats,” said John Bruce tersely. “Do you -hear, Crang? If he's still out there, send him away!” - -They emerged into the lane. A taxi-cab stood opposite the exit; Birdie -lounged in the driver's seat. - -John Bruce's revolver bored into Crang's side. - -“Beat it!” said Crang surlily to the man. “I won't want you any more.” - -“You won't--what?” Birdie leaned out from his seat. He stared for a -moment in bewilderment, and then started to climb out of the taxi. - -The pressure of John Bruce's revolver increased steadily. - -“Damn it, you fool!” Crang screamed out wildly. “Beat it! Do you hear? -Beat it!” - -Birdie's face darkened. - -“Oh--sure!” he muttered, with a disgruntled oath. He shot the gears into -place with a vicious snap. “Sure--anything _you_ say!” The taxi -roared down the lane, and disappeared around the corner in a volley of -exhausts. - -“Go on!” John Bruce ordered. - -At the corner of the lane John Bruce turned to Larmon. - -“You are safe, and out of it now,” he said. “I am going to ask you to -step into the first store we pass and get me some good light rope, but -after that I think you had better leave us. If anything happened between -here and the steamer, or on the steamer, you would be implicated.” - -“Tck!” It was the quill toothpick again. “I'll get the rope with -pleasure,” Larmon said calmly; “but I never lay down a good hand. I am -going to the steamer.” - -John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. Larmon somehow seemed an abstract -consideration at the moment--but Larmon had had his chance. - -“What time does the steamer sail, Crang?” John Bruce bit off his words, -as he looked at his watch. - -“Four o'clock,” Crang mumbled. - -“Walk faster!” - -They stopped for a moment in front of a store. Larmon entered, and came -out again almost immediately with a package under his arm. - -A block farther on John Bruce hailed a passing taxi. - -Fifteen minutes later, pushing through the throng on the dock, John -Bruce produced the ticket, they mounted the gangway, and a steward led -them to a stateroom on one of the lower decks. - -John Bruce closed the door and locked it. His revolver was in his hand -now. - -“There isn't much time left,” he said coldly. “About ten minutes.” - -At the end of five, Crang, bound hand and foot, and gagged, lay lashed -into his bunk. - -A bugle sounded the “All Ashore!” - -John Bruce tossed the ticket on the couch. - -“There's your ticket!” he said sternly. “I wouldn't advise you to come -back--nor worry any further about exposing Mr. Larmon, unless you -want to force a showdown that will place some very interesting details -connected with the life of Doctor Crang in the hands of the police!” - -The bugle rang out again. - -John Bruce, without a further glance in Crang's direction, opened the -cabin window slightly, then unlocking the door, he motioned Larmon to -pass out. He locked the door on the outside, stepped to the deck, tossed -the key through the window to the floor of Crang's cabin, and drew the -window shut again. A minute more, and with Larmon beside him, he was -standing on the dock. - -Neither John Bruce nor Larmon spoke. - -And presently the tugs caught hold of the big liner and warped her out -of her berth. - -“John Bruce” had sailed for South America. - - - - -CHAPTER NINETEEN--CABIN H-14 - -|FOR a time, Crang lay passive. Fear was dominant. He could move his -head a little, and he kept screwing it around to cast furtive glances -at the cabin door. He was sure that Bruce was still outside there, or -somewhere near--Bruce wouldn't leave the ship until the last moment, -and.... - -The craven soul of the man shrivelled within him. Bruce's eyes! Damn -Bruce's eyes, and that hideous touch of Bruce's pocketed revolver! The -fool would even have killed him back there in the cellar if it hadn't -been for Larmon! He could still feel those strangling fingers at his -throat. - -Mechanically he made to lift his hand to touch the bruised and swollen -flesh--but he could not move his hands because they were bound behind -his back and beneath him. The fool! The fool had _wanted_ to shoot. -Perhaps with Larmon out of the road, and just at the last minute, that -was what he still meant to do--to open the door there, and--and _kill_. -Terror swept upon him. He tried to scream--but a gag was in his mouth. - -What was that? He felt a slight jar, another, and another. He -listened intently. He heard a steady throbbing sound. The ship was -moving--moving! That meant that Bruce was ashore--that he need not fear -that door there. He snarled to himself, suddenly arrogant with courage. -To the devil's pit with John Bruce! - -He began to work at his bonds now--at first with a measure of contained -persistence; and then, as he made no progress, angry impatience came, -and he began to struggle. He tossed now, and twisted himself about on -the bunk, and strained with all his might. The gag choked him. The bonds -but grew the tighter and cut into his wrists. He became a madman in his -frenzy. Passion and fury lashed him on and on. He flogged himself into -effort beyond physical endurance--and finally collapsed through utter -exhaustion, a limp thing bathed in sweat. - -Then he began the struggle again, and after that again. The periods came -in cycles... the insensate fury... exhaustion... recuperation... - -After a time he no longer heard the throbbing of the engines or the -movement of the ship during those moments when he lay passive in -weakness, nor did the desire for freedom, for merely freedom's sake, any -longer actuate him; instead, beneath him, in his pocket, he had felt -the little case that held his hypodermic syringe, and it had brought -the craving for the drug. And the craving grew. It grew until it became -torture, and to satisfy it became the one incentive that possessed -him. It tormented, it mocked him. He could feel it there in his -pocket, always there in his pocket. Hell could not keep him from it. -He blasphemed at the ropes that kept it from his fingers' reach, and -he wrenched and tore at them, and sobbed and snarled--and after long -minutes of maniacal struggle would again lie trembling, drained of the -power either to move or think. - -It grew dark in the cabin. - -And now, in one of his series of struggles, something snapped beneath -him--a cord! One of the cords around his wrists had given away. He tore -one hand free. Yes, yes--he could reach his pocket! Ha, ha--his pocket! -And now his other hand was free. He snatched at the hypodermic syringe -with feverish greed--and the plunger went home as the needle pricked its -way beneath the skin of his forearm. - -He reached up then, unloosened the knots at the back of his head, and -spat the gag from his mouth. His penknife freed his legs. He stood -up--tottered--and sat down on the edge of his bunk. He remained -motionless for a few minutes. The drug steadied him. - -He looked around him. It was dark. The ship was very still; there was no -sense of movement, none of vibration from the engines. It seemed to him -that in a hazy, vague way he had noticed that fact a long time ago. But, -nevertheless, it was very curious! - -He stood up again. This was better! He felt secure enough now on his -feet. It was only as though a great fatigue were upon him, and that he -seemed to be weighted down with lead--nothing more than that. He crossed -to the window, drew the shade, and opened the window itself. - -And then, for a long time, puzzled, his brows drawn together, he stood -there staring out. Close at hand, though but faintly outlined in the -darkness, he could see the shore. And it was not imagination, for beyond -the shore line, he could see innumerable little lights twinkling. - -It was strange! He rubbed his eyes. Here was something else! The window -opened on a narrow, dimly lighted and deserted deck--one of the lower -decks, he remembered. Below this deck, and evidently alongside of the -steamer's hull, he could make out the upper-structure of some small -vessel. - -A figure came along the deck now from the forward end--one of the crew, -Crang could see from the other's dress, as the man drew nearer. Crang -thrust his head out of the window. - -“I say, look here!” he called, as the other came opposite to him. -“What's all this about? Where are we?” - -“Down the bay a bit, that's all, sir,” the man answered. “We've had some -engine trouble.” - -Crang pointed to the small vessel alongside. A sudden, wild elation -surged upon him. - -“That's a tug down there, isn't it?” he said. “They're going to tow us -back, I suppose?” - -“Oh, no, sir,” the man replied. “It's the company's tug, all right, -that they sent down to us, but she'll be going back as soon as we're off -again. It's nothin' serious, and we won't be more'n another hour, sir.” - -Crang snarled under his breath. - -“I beg your pardon, sir?” inquired the man. - -“Nothing!” said Crang. “I'm much obliged to you.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said the man, and went on along the deck. - -Crang returned to his bunk and sat down again on its edge. He could -still see the reflection of the shore lights. This seemed to obsess -him. He kept staring out through the window. Suddenly he chuckled -hoarsely--and then, as suddenly, his fist clenched and he shook it in -the air. - -“Another hour, eh?” he muttered. “Then, I'll get you yet, Bruce--ha, ha, -I'll get you yet! But I'll make sure of Claire _first_ this time! That's -where I made the mistake--but Doctor Sydney Angus Crang doesn't make two -mistakes alike!” - -He relapsed into silent meditation. At the end of five minutes he spoke -again. - -“I'm a clever man,” said Doctor Crang between his teeth. “First -Claire--then you, Bruce. And I'll take good care that you know nothing, -Mr. John Bruce--not this time--not until it is too late--both ways! I'll -show you! I'll teach you to pit your clumsy wits against me!” - -He got up from the bunk and turned on a single incandescent light. Bruce -had thrown the key in through the window, he remembered. Yes, there it -was on the floor! He picked it up; and quickly and methodically he began -to work now. He gathered together the pieces of rope with which he -had been bound, tucked them under his coat, and running to the window, -thrust his head outside again. The deck was clear, there was not a soul -in sight. He unlocked the door now, stepped noiselessly out on the deck, -dropped the pieces of rope overboard, and then, returning to the cabin, -smiled ironically as he made a mental note of the number on the cabin -door. - -“H-14,” observed Doctor Crang grimly. “Quite so--H-14!” - -He halted before the mirror and removed the more flagrant traces of his -dishevelled appearance; then he took off his coat, flung it on a chair, -pushed the electric button, and returned to his bunk. - -He was sitting up on the edge of the bunk, and yawning, as the steward -answered his summons. - -“Hello, steward!” said Crang somewhat thickly. “I guess I've overslept -myself. Overdid the send-off a little, I'm afraid. What are we stopping -for?” - -“A little engine trouble, sir,” the steward answered. “It was right -after we started. We're only a little way down the bay. But it's all -right, sir. Nothing serious. We'll be off again shortly.” - -“Humph!” Crang dismissed the subject with a grunt. “I suppose I've -missed my dinner, eh?” - -“Oh, no, sir,” replied the steward. “It's only just a little after seven -now, sir.” - -“That's better!” smiled Crang. “Well, get my traps right up here, like a -good fellow, and I'll clean up a bit. And hurry, will you?” - -The steward looked a little blank. - -“Your traps, sir?” - -“Luggage--traps--baggage,” defined Crang with facetious terseness. - -“Oh, I knew what you meant, sir,” said the steward. “It's where your -traps are, sir? I--I thought it a bit strange you didn't have anything -with you when you came aboard this afternoon.” - -“Did you, now?” inquired Crang sweetly. “Well, then, the sooner you get -them here the less strange it will seem. Beat it!” - -“But where are they, sir?” persisted the man. “Where are they? Good God, -how do I know!” ejaculated Crang sarcastically. “I sent them down to the -ship early this morning to be put aboard--in your baggage room. You've -got a baggage room aboard, haven't you?” - -“Yes, sir; but----” - -“I would suggest the baggage room, then!” interrupted Crang crisply. -“And if they are not there, ask the captain to let you have any of the -crew who aren't too busy on this engine trouble, and get them to help -you search the ship!” - -The steward grinned. - -“Very good, sir. Would you mind describing the pieces?” - -“There are four,” said Crang with exaggerated patience, as he created -the non-existent baggage out of his imagination. “And they have all got -your 'wanted on the voyage' labels, with my name and cabin written on -them--Mr. John Bruce; Cabin H-14. There is a steamer trunk, and two -brown alligator-leather--which I do not guarantee to be genuine in spite -of the price--suit-cases, and a hat box.” - -“Very good, sir,” said the steward again--and hurried from the cabin. - -Crang got up and went to the window. The tug alongside seemed to furnish -him with engrossing reflections, for he stood there, smiling queerly, -until he swung around in answer to a knock upon his door. - -A man in ship's uniform entered ahead of the steward. - -“The steward here, sir,” said the man, “was speaking about your -baggage.” - -“_Speaking_ about it!” murmured Crang helplessly. “I told him to get -it.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the man; “but I am sorry to say that no such baggage as -you describe has come aboard the ship. There has been no baggage at all -for Mr. Bruce, sir.” - -“Not aboard!” gasped Crang. “Then--then where is it?” - -“I can't say, sir, of course,” said the other sympathetically. “I am -only stating a fact to you.” - -“But--but I sent it down to the dock early this morning.” Crang's voice -was rising in well-affected excitement. “It must be here! I tell you, it -must be here!” - -The man shook his head. - -“It's my job, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I know positively your -baggage is not aboard this ship.” - -“Then what's to be done?” Crang's voice rose louder. “You've left it on -the dock, that's what--fools, thundering idiots!” - -The man with the baggage job looked uncomfortable. - -Crang danced up and down on the floor of the cabin. - -“On the way to South America to stay six months,” he yelled insanely, -“and my baggage left behind! I can't go on without my baggage, do you -hear?” - -There was a whispered conference between the two men. The steward -vanished through the doorway. - -“I've sent for the purser, sir,” volunteered the other. - -Crang stormed up and down the floor. - -Presently the purser appeared. Crang swung on him on the instant. - -“You've left my baggage behind!” he shouted. “My papers, plans, -everything! I can't go on without them!” He shook his fist. “You'll -either get that baggage here, or get me ashore!” - -The purser eyed Crang's fist, and stiffened perceptibly. - -“I'm not a magician, Mr. Bruce,” he said quietly. “I am very sorry -indeed that this should have happened; but it is quite impossible, of -course, to get your baggage here.” - -“Then get me ashore!” Crang snatched up his coat and put it on. “There's -a tug, or something, out there, isn't there?” - -“Yes,” said the purser, “that's the company's tug, and I suppose you -could go back on her, if you think you----” - -“Think!” howled Crang. “I don't _think_ anything about it! I know -that----” His eye suddenly caught the envelope on the couch containing -the ticket. “And what about this?” He picked it up, jerked out the -ticket, and waved it in the purser's face. - -The purser refused the document. - -“You'll have to see the New York office, sir, about that,” he said. - -“I will, will I?” snapped Crang. “Well, that isn't all I'll see them -about!” - -“I am sure they will do what they can, sir, to make things right--if -they are to blame,” said the purser a little sharply. “But it might -have been your teamer, you know, who made the mistake.” He turned to the -door. “I will arrange about your going ashore, Mr. Bruce.” - -“Yes!” growled Crang savagely--and five minutes later, swearing volubly -for the benefit of those within hearing, he wriggled his way down a rope -ladder to the tug's deck. - -A deck hand led him to the pilot house. - -“The captain 'll be along as soon as we start,” the man informed him. - -Crang made himself comfortable in a cushioned chair. He sat chuckling -maliciously, as he stared up at the towering hull that twinkled with -lights above him--and then the chuckle died away, and little red spots -came and burned in his sallow cheeks, and his lips worked, and his hands -curled until the nails bit into the palms. - -He lost track of time. - -A man came into the pilot house, and gave the wheel a spin. - -“We're off!” said the man heartily. “You've had tough luck, I hear.” - -Crang's fingers caressed his bruised and swollen throat. - -“Yes,” said Crang with a thin smile; “but I think somebody is going to -pay the bill--in full.” - -The tug was heading toward New York. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY--OUTSIDE THE DOOR - -|HAWKINS very cautiously got out of bed, and consulted his watch. It was -five minutes after nine. He stole to the door and listened. There was no -sound from below. Mrs. Hedges, who had been his jailor all day, had now, -he was fairly certain, finally retired for the night. - -The old blue eyes blinked in perplexity and he scratched at the -fringe of hair behind his ear in a perturbed way, as he began, still -cautiously, to dress. It had been a very dreary day, during which he -had suffered not a little physical discomfort. Mrs. Hedges had been -assiduous in her attentions; more than that, even--motherly. - -“God bless her!” said Hawkins to one of his boots, as he laced it up. -“Only she wouldn't let me out.” - -He stopped lacing the boot suddenly, and sat staring in front of him. -Mrs. Hedges had been more than even motherly; she had been--been--yes, -that was it--been puzzling. If she had said Paul Veniza wanted to see -him, why had she insisted that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him? -Hawkins' gaze at the blank wall in front of him became a little more -bewildered. He tried to reconstruct certain fragments of conversation -that had taken place between Mrs. Hedges and himself. - -“Now, you just lie still,” Mrs. Hedges had insisted during the -afternoon, when he had wanted to get up. “Claire told me----” - -He remembered the sinking of his heart as he had interrupted her. - -“Claire,” he had said anxiously, “Claire ain't--she don't know about -this, does she?” - -“Certainly _not!_” Mrs. Hedges had assured him. - -“But you said she told you something”--Hawkins continued to reconstruct -the conversation--“so she must have been here.” - -“Law!” Mrs. Hedges had returned. “I nearly put my foot in it, didn't -I--I--I mean starting you in to worry. Certainly she don't know anything -about it. She just came over to say her father wanted to see you, and I -says to her you ain't feeling very well, and she says it's all right.” - -Hawkins resumed his dressing. His mind continued to mull over the -afternoon. Later on he had made another attempt to get up. He was -feeling quite well enough to go over and find out what Paul Veniza -wanted. And then Mrs. Hedges, as though she had quite forgotten what she -had said before, said that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him, or else -he'd send word. - -Hawkins scratched behind his ear again. His head wasn't quite clear. -Maybe he had not got it all quite straight. Suddenly he smiled. Of -course! There wasn't anything to be bewildered about. Mrs. Hedges was -just simply determined that he would not go out--and he was equally -determined that he would. Paul Veniza or not, he had been long enough in -bed! - -“Yes,” said Hawkins; “God bless her, that's it!” - -Hawkins completed his toilet, and picking up his old felt hat, -reconnoitered the hallway. Thereafter he descended the stairs with -amazing stealth. - -“God bless her!” said Hawkins softly again, as he gained the front door -without raising any alarm and stepped outside--and then Hawkins halted -as though his feet had been suddenly rooted to the spot. - -At the curb in front of the house was an old closed motor car. Hawkins -stared at it. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at it again. He -stared for a long time. No; there was no doubt about it--it was the -traveling pawn-shop. - -Hawkins' mind harked back to the preceding evening. He had met two men -in the saloon around the corner, whom he had seen there once or twice -before. He had had several drinks with them, and then at some one's -suggestion, he could not recollect whose, there had followed the -purchase of a few bottles, and an adjournment to his room for a -convivial evening. After that his mind was quite blank. He could not -even remember having taken out the car. - -“I--I must have been bad,” said Hawkins to himself, with a rueful -countenance. - -He descended the steps, and approached the car with the intention of -running it into the shed that served as garage behind the house. But -again he halted. - -“No,” said Hawkins, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the front -door; “if I started it up, Mrs. Hedges would hear me. I guess I'll wait -till I come back.” - -Hawkins went on down the street and turned the corner. He had grown a -little dejected. - -“I'm just an old bum,” said Hawkins, “who ain't ever going to swear off -any more 'cause it don't do any good.” - -He spoke aloud to himself again, as he approached the door of Paul -Veniza's house. - -“But I _am_ her daddy,” whispered the old man fiercely; “and she is my -little girl. It don't change nothing her not knowing, except--except -she ain't hiding her face in shame, and”--Hawkins' voice broke a -little--“and that I ain't never had her in these arms like I'd ought to -have.” A gleam of anger came suddenly into the watery blue eyes under -the shaggy brows. “But he ain't going to have her in _his!_ That -devil from the pit of hell ain't going to kill the soul of my little -girl--somehow he ain't--that's all I got to live for--old Hawkins--ha, -ha!--somehow old Haw-kins 'll----” - -Hawkins' soliloquy ended abruptly. He was startled to find himself in -the act of opening the front door of the one-time pawn-shop. He even -hesitated, holding the door ajar--and then suddenly he pushed the door -wider open and stepped softly inside, as the sound of a voice, angry and -threatening in its tones, though strangely low and muffled, reached him. -He knew that voice. It was Doctor Crang's. - -It was dark here in the room that had once been the office of the -pawn-shop, and upon which the front door opened directly; but from under -the door leading into the rear room there showed a thread of light, and -it was from there that Hawkins now placed the voice. - -He stood irresolute. He stared around him. Upstairs it was dark. -Paul Veniza, because he had not been well, had probably gone to bed -early--unless it was Paul in there with Crang. No! He caught the sound -of Claire's voice now, and it seemed to come to him brokenly, in a -strangely tired, dreary way. And then Crang's voice again, and an ugly -laugh. - -The wrinkled skin of Hawkins' old weather-beaten hands grew taut and -white across the knuckles as his fists clenched. He tiptoed toward the -door. He could hear distinctly now. It was Crang speaking: - -“... I'm not a fool! I did not speak about it to make you lie again. I -don't care where you met him, or how long you had been lovers before he -crawled in here. That's nothing to do with it. It's enough that I know -you were lovers before that night. But you belong to me now. Understand? -I spoke of it because the sooner you realize that _you_ are the one who -is the cause of the trouble between Bruce and me, the better--_for him!_ -I wasn't crowding you before, but I'm through fooling with it now for -keeps. I let you go too long as it is. To-day, for just a little while, -he won out--yes, by God, if you want the truth, he nearly killed me. He -got me tied in a cabin of a ship that sailed this afternoon for South -America; but the engines broke down in the harbor, and, damn him, I'm -back! You know what for. I've told you. There's one way to save him. -I've told you what that is, too. I'm waiting for your answer.” - -“Why should it be me?” Claire's voice was dull and colorless. “Why -cannot you leave me alone--I, who hate and loathe you? Do you look for -happiness with me? There will be none.” - -“Why should it be you?” Crang's voice was suddenly hoarse with passion. -“Because you have set my brain on fire, because you have filled me with -a madness that would mock God Himself if He stood between us. Do you -understand--Claire? Claire! Do you understand? Because I want you, -because I'm going to have you, because I'm going to own you--yes, -_own_ you, one way or another--by marriage, or----” - -A low cry came from Claire. It tore at Hawkins' heart in its bitter -shame and anguish. His face blanched. - -“Well, you asked for it, and you got it!” Crang snarled. “Now, I'm -waiting for your answer.” - -There was a long pause, then Claire spoke with an obvious effort to -steady her voice: - -“Have I got to buy him _twice?”_ - -“You haven't bought him _once_ yet,” Crang answered swiftly. “I -performed my part of the bargain. I haven't been paid.” - -And Hawkins, standing there, listening, heard nothing for a long time; -and then he distinguished Claire's voice, but it was so low that he -could not catch the words. But he heard Crang's reply because it was -loud with what seemed like passionate savagery and triumph: - -“You're wise, my dear! At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, then. And -since Mr. John Bruce's skin is involved in this, you quite understand -that he is not to be communicated with in any way?” - -“I understand.” Hawkins this time caught the almost inaudible reply. - -“All right!” Crang said. “There's a padre I know, who's down on Staten -Island now. We'll go down there and be married without any fuss. I'll be -here at eight o'clock. Your father isn't fit to ride in that rattle-trap -old bus of yours. I'll have a comfortable limousine for him, and you can -go with him. Hawkins can drive me, and”--he was laughing softly--“and be -my best man. I'll see that he knows about it in time to----” - -Like a blind man, Hawkins was groping his way toward the front door. -Married! They were to be married to-morrow morning! - -He found himself on the street. He hurried. Impulse drove him along. He -did not reason. His mind was a tortured thing. And yet he laughed as he -scurried around the corner, laughed in an unhinged way, and raised both -hands above his head and pounded at the air with his doubled fists. They -were to be married to-morrow morning, and he--he was to be _best man_. -And as he laughed, his once ruddy, weather-beaten face was white as a -winding-sheet, and in the whiteness there was stamped a look that it was -good on no man's face to see. - -And then suddenly two great tears rolled down his cheeks, opening the -flood gates of his soul. - -“My little girl!” he sobbed. “Daddy's little girl!” - -And reason and a strange calmness came. - -“John Bruce,” he said. “He loves her too.” - -And in front of Mrs. Hedges' rooming-house he climbed into the driver's -seat of the old traveling pawn-shop. - -It didn't matter now how much noise he made. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE--THE LAST CHANCE - -|JOHN BRUCE closed the door of Larmon's suite, and, taking the elevator, -went up to his own room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, two floors above. -Here, he flung himself almost wearily into a chair. Larmon had gone to -bed; but bed offered no appeal to him, John Bruce, in spite of the fact -that he was conscious of great mental fatigue. Bed without sleep was -a horror, and his spirits were too depressed to make sleep even a -possibility. - -From a purely selfish standpoint, and he admitted to utter selfishness -now, it had been a hollow victory. Crang was gone, disposed of, and as -far as Larmon was concerned the man no longer existed, for if Crang had -held certain intimate knowledge of Larmon's life over Larmon's head, -Larmon was now in exactly the same position in respect to Crang. And -Crang, too, for the time being at least, was no longer a factor in -Claire's life. - -He smiled grimly to himself. Hollow! The victory had been sweeping, -complete, conclusive--for every one but himself! He had not even waited -to leave the dock before he had telephoned Claire. And Claire had---- He -rose suddenly and began to walk feverishly up and down the room. Hollow! -He laughed out shortly. She had curtly refused to talk to him. - -He had only meant to telephone to say that he was on the way up to -her house, and he had managed to say that much--and she had coldly, -contemptuously informed him that she would not be at home, and had hung -up the receiver. She had given him no opportunity to say any more. - -It was not like Claire. It had been so unexpected that he had left the -dock mentally dazed. The sight of the liner out in the stream had seemed -to mock him ironically. After that, until now, he had followed the line -of least resistance. He had come back here to the hotel, and dined with -Larmon. - -He stood still in the middle of the room. Larmon! It had been a singular -evening that he had just spent with Larmon. He had got a new viewpoint -on Larmon--a strange, grave, sympathetic Larmon. He had given Larmon the -details of everything that had happened; and Larmon had led him on to -talk--of everything, and anything, it seemed now, as he looked back upon -it. And somehow, he could not tell why, even while he felt that Larmon -was drawing him out, urging him even to speak of Claire and the most -intimate things of the last few weeks, he had been glad to respond. It -was only when Larmon for a little while had discussed his great chain of -gambling houses that he, John Bruce, had felt curiously detached from it -all and estranged from the other, as though he were masquerading as -some one else, as some one whom Larmon believed to be John Bruce, and as -though he in his true self had no interest in these matters any -longer in a personal sense, as though his connection with them had -automatically ceased with the climax of Crang's removal. It was queer! -But then his mind had been obsessed, elsewhere. And yet here, too, he -had been frank with Larmon--frank enough to admit the feelings that -had prompted him to refrain from actual play only two nights before. He -remembered the quick little tattoo of Larmon's quill toothpick at this -admission, and Larmon's tight little smile. - -Yes, it had been a singular evening! In those few hours he seemed to -have grown to know Larmon as though he had known the man all his life, -to be drawn to Larmon in a personal way, to admire Larmon as a man. -There was something of debonair sang-froid about Larmon. He had made -no fuss over his escape that day, and much less been effusive in any -thanks. Larmon's philosophy of life was apparently definitely fixed and -settled; and, in so far as Larmon was concerned, satisfactorily so. The -whole world to Larmon was a gamble--and, consistently enough, his own -activities in that respect were on as vast a scale as possible. - -Larmon with his unemotional face and his quill toothpick! No; not -unemotional! When Larmon had finally pleaded fatigue and a desire to -go to bed, there had been something in Larmon's face and Larmon's -“good-night,” that still lingered with him, John Bruce, and which even -now he could not define. - -John Bruce's brows gathered into tight furrows. His mind had flown off -at a tangent. There was Claire! It had not been like Claire. Nor had he -meant, nor did he intend now to accept her dismissal as final. But -what was it that had happened? What was it? He could think of only one -thing--the letter he had written to Larmon, and which, on that account, -he had asked for and received back from the other. - -It was a certainty that Crang's hand was in this somewhere, and Crang -had said that he had shown the letter to Claire, but---- - -The telephone rang. - -John Bruce stepped to the desk, and picked up the instrument. - -“Yes? Hello!” he said. - -The clerk's voice from the office answered him: - -“There's a man down here, Mr. Bruce, who insists on seeing you. He's -pretty seedy, and looks as though he had been on a bat for a week. I'm -sorry to bother you, but we can't get rid of him. He says his name is -Hawkins.” - -“Send him up at once!” said John Bruce sharply. - -“Yes, sir.” The clerk coughed deprecatingly. “Very well, Mr. Bruce. -Thank you.” - -Hawkins! John Bruce walked to the door of his suite, and opened it. He -looked at his watch. It was getting on now to eleven o'clock. What on -earth had brought Hawkins up here to the Bayne-Miloy at this hour? He -smiled a little grimly as he stood waiting on the threshold, and the -recollection of the night before last came back to him. Well, at least, -he was safe to-night from any kidnaping through the medium of Hawkins! - -The elevator door clanged a little way down the corridor, and Hawkins, -followed by a bell boy, stepped out. - -“This way, Hawkins!” John Bruce called--and dismissed the bell boy with -a wave of his hand. - -And then, as Hawkins reached the door, John Bruce stared in amazement, -and for a moment absolved the clerk for his diagnosis. Hawkins' face -was like parchment, devoid of color; his hands, twisting at the old felt -hat, trembled as with the ague; and the blue eyes, fever-burned they -seemed, stared out in a fixed way from under the shaggy brows. - -John Bruce pulled the old man inside the apartment, and closed the door. - -“Good Lord, Hawkins!” he exclaimed anxiously. “What's the matter with -you?” - -Hawkins caught at John Bruce's arm. - -“It's to-morrow morning,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow morning at eight -o'clock.” - -“What is?” inquired John Bruce. He forced the old cabman gently into a -chair. “You're upset, Hawkins. Here--wait! I'll get you something.” - -But Hawkins held him back. - -“I don't want a drink.” There was misery, bitterness, in Hawkins' voice. -“I don't want a drink--for once. It's come! It--it's come to the end -now. Crang and--and my little girl are going to be married to-morrow -morning.” - -And then John Bruce laughed quietly, and laid his hand reassuringly on -the old cabman's shoulder. - -“No, Hawkins,” he said. “I don't know where you got that idea; but -it won't be to-morrow morning, nor for a good many to-morrow mornings -either. Crang at the present moment is on board a ship on his way to -South America.” - -“I know,” said Hawkins dully. “But half an hour ago I left him with -Claire in Paul Veniza's house.” - -John Bruce's hand tightened on Hawkins' shoulder until the old man -winced. - -“You what?” John Bruce cried out. - -“Yes,” said Hawkins. “I heard him talking about it in the back room. -They didn't know I was there. He said there was something the matter -with the engines.” - -Crang back! John Bruce's face was set as chiselled marble. - -“Do you know what you are saying, Hawkins?” he demanded fiercely, as -though to trample down and sweep aside by the brute force of his own -incredulity the other's assertion. “Do you know what you are saying--_do -you?”_ - -“Yes, I know,” said Hawkins helplessly. “He said you nearly killed him -to-day, and----” - -John Bruce's laugh, with a savagery that had him now at its mercy and in -its grip, rang suddenly through the room. - -“Then, for once, he told the truth!” he cried. “He tricked me cold with -that old bus last night, and trapped me in the rats' hole where his gang -holds out, but----” - -Hawkins stumbled to his feet. His face seemed to have grown grayer -still, more haggard and full of abject misery. - -“That's it, then!” he whispered. “I--I understand now. I was drunk last -night. Oh, my God, I'm to blame for this, too!” - -John Bruce pushed Hawkins almost roughly back into his chair. Last night -was gone. It was of no significance any more. - -“Never mind about that!” he said between his teeth. “It doesn't matter -now. Nothing matters now except Claire. Go on, tell me! What does -it mean? To-morrow morning, you said. Why this sudden decision about -to-morrow morning?” - -Hawkins' lips seemed dry. He circled them again and again with his -tongue. - -“He said you nearly killed him to-day, as I--I told you,” said Hawkins, -fumbling for his words. “And he said that you had been lovers before -that night when you were stabbed, and that he wasn't going to stand for -it any longer, and--and”--Hawkins' voice broke--“and that she belonged -to him. And he said she was the only one who could stop this trouble -between you and him before it was too late, and that was by marrying him -at once. And--and Claire said she would.” - -Hawkins stopped. His old felt hat was on his knees, and he twisted at it -aimlessly with shaking fingers. - -John Bruce stood motionless. - -“Go on!” he bit off his words. - -“That's all,” said Hawkins, “except he made her promise not to let -you know anything about it. They're going to leave the house to-morrow -morning, and are going down to Staten Island to get married because -there's some minister down there he knows, Crang said. And I'm to take -Crang, and--and”--the old man turned away his face--“I--I'm to be best -man. That--that's what he said--best man.” - -John Bruce walked abruptly to the window, and stared blindly out into -the night. His brain seemed afire. - -For a time neither man spoke. - -“You said you loved her,” said Hawkins at last. “I came to you. There -wasn't any other place to go. Paul Veniza can't do anything.” - -John Bruce turned from the window, and walking to - -Hawkins, laid his two hands on the other's shoulders. He was calmer now. - -“Yes, I love her,” he said huskily. “And I think--I am not sure--but I -think now there is a chance that she can be made to change her mind even -here at the last minute. But that means I must see her; or, rather, that -she must see me.” - -Hawkins paused in the twisting of his felt hat to raise bewildered eyes. - -“I've got the car here,” he said. “I'll take you down.” - -“The car!” exclaimed John Bruce quickly. “Yes, I never thought of that! -Listen, Hawkins! Claire refused to see me this afternoon, or even to -talk to me over the telephone. I am not quite sure why. But no matter -what her reason was, I must see her now at once. I have something to -tell her that I hope will persuade her not to go on with this to-morrow -morning--or ever.” His voice was growing grave and hard. “I hope you -understand, Hawkins. I believe it may succeed. If it fails, then neither -you nor I, nor any soul on earth can alter her decision. That's all that -I can tell you now.” - -Hawkins nodded his head. A little color, eagerness, hope, had come into -his face. - -“That's enough,” he said tremulously, “as long as you--you think there -is a chance even yet. And--and you do, don't you?” - -“Yes,” said John Bruce, “I think there is more than a chance--if I can -see her alone and make her listen to me. The car will be just the thing. -But she would refuse to come out, if she knew I were in it. I depend -on you for that. We'll drive down there, and you will have to make some -excuse to get her to come with you. After that you can keep on driving -us around the block until I either win or lose.” - -Hawkins rose hurriedly to his feet. - -“Let us go, John Bruce! For God's sake, let us go!” he cried eagerly. -“I'll--I'll tell her Mrs. Hedges--that's my landlady--has got to see her -at once. She'll come quick enough.” - -John Bruce put on his hat and coat, and without a word led the way -to the door--but at the door he paused for an instant. There was -Larmon--and Crang was back. And then he shook his head in quick -decision. There was time enough later. It would serve no purpose to tell -Larmon now, other than the thankless one of giving Larmon a restless -night. - -John Bruce went on. He did not speak again until, outside the hotel, he -stepped into the traveling pawnshop as Hawkins opened the car door for -him. - -“You will have to make sure that Crang has gone,” he said quietly. -“Don't stop in front of the house, Hawkins.” - -“I'll make sure,” whispered Hawkins, as he climbed to his seat. “Oh, my -God, my little girl!” - -The old car jolted forward. John Bruce's face was set again in hard, -chiselled lines. He tried to think--but now his brain seemed curiously -impotent, as though it groped through chaos and through turmoil only to -stagger back bewildered, defeated, a wounded thing. And for a time it -was like that, as he sat there swaying with the lurch of the speeding -car, one thought impinging fast upon another only to be swallowed up so -quickly in turn by still another that he could correlate-no one of them. - -And then, after a little time again, out of this strange mental strife -images began to take form, as sharply defined and distinct one from -the other as before they had been mingled in hopeless confusion--and he -cried out aloud in sudden agony of soul. It was to save his life that -this had happened. He had wrung that knowledge from Crang. That was the -lever he meant to use with Claire now, and it _must_ succeed. He must -make it succeed! It seemed to drive him mad now, that thought--that -to-morrow morning she should die for him. Not physical death--worse than -that! God! It was unthinkable, horrible, abominable. It seemed to flaunt -and mock with ruthless, hell-born sacrilege what was holiest in his -heart. It stirred him to a fury that brought him to his feet, his fists -clenched. Claire in her purity--at the mercy of a degenerate beast! - -He dropped back on the seat. He battled for calmness. In a little while -Claire would be here beside him--_for a little while_. He shook his -head. This was not real, nothing of his life had been real since that -moon-mad night on the sands of Apia. No; that was not true! Soul, -mind and body rose up in fierce denial. His love was real, a living, -breathing, actual reality, Claire---- - -John Bruce sank his face in his hands. Hours seemed to pass. And then he -was conscious that the car had stopped. He roused himself, and drawing -the window curtain slightly, looked out. Hawkins had stopped a few -houses down past the one-time pawnshop. - -John Bruce rose suddenly and changed his seat to the one in the far -opposite corner, his back to the front of the car. The time seemed -interminable. Then he heard a light footstep ring on the pavement, and -he heard Hawkins' voice. The car door was opened, a dark form entered, -sat down, the door closed, and the car started forward. - -It was strange! It was like that, here in this car, that he had stepped -in one night and found Claire--as she would now find him. That was -so long ago! And it seemed so long too since even he had last seen -her--since that night when, piqued so unwarrantably, he had left Paul -Veniza's house. He felt his hands tremble. He steadied himself. He did -not want to frighten or startle her now. - -“Claire!” he said softly. - -He heard a slight, quick rustle of garments--and then the light in the -car was flashed on. - -She was leaning tensely forward, a little figure with loose cloak flung -over her shoulders, without hat, a wondrous sheen from the light on the -dark, silken hair, her eyes wide, her finger still on the electric-light -button. - -“You!” she cried sharply. “And Hawkins, too, in this!” - -She reached for the door handle; but John Bruce caught her hand. - -“Claire!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Wait! If it is a trick, at least you -know that with Hawkins and me you will come to no harm. What else could -I do? You would not speak to me this afternoon, you would not let me see -you, and I must talk to you to-night.” - -She looked at him steadily. - -_“Must?”_ she repeated coldly. “And to-night? Why to-night?” - -“Because,” John Bruce answered quickly, “to-morrow would be too late. I -know about to-morrow morning. Hawkins told me. He was outside the door -of that room when Crang was talking to you to-night.” She sank back -in her seat with a little cry. Her face had gone white--but again she -steadied herself. - -“And--and do you think that is any reason why you should have inveigled -me into this car?” she asked dully. “Do you think that anything you can -say will alter--to-morrow morning?” - -“Yes; I do!” said John Bruce earnestly. “But”--he smiled a little -bitterly--“I am afraid, too, that it will be hopeless enough if first -you will not tell me what has so suddenly come between us. Claire, what -is it?” - -The dark eyes lighted with a glint, half angry, half ironical. - -“Is _that_ what you brought me here for?” - -“No,” he said quietly. - -“Then,” she said coolly, “if you do not know, I will tell you. I read -a letter that you wrote to a certain Mr. Larmon.” - -It was a long minute before he spoke. - -“I--I thought it might be that,” he said slowly. “I knew you had -seen it. Crang told me so. And--and I was afraid you might believe -it--Claire.” - -“Believe it!” she returned monotonously. “Had I any choice? Have I any -now? I knew you were in danger. I knew it was written to save your life. -I knew it was your handwriting. I knew you wrote it.” She turned away -her head. “It was so miserable a lie, so cowardly a betrayal--to save -your life.” - -“But so hard to believe, and so bitter a thing to believe”--there was a -sudden eager thrill in John Bruce's voice--“that you wept upon it. Look, -Claire!” he cried. “I have that letter here--and this, that I took from -Crang to-day when I turned the tables on him. See! Read them both!” He -took from his pocket the letter and the slip cut from the bottom of the -sheet, and laid them in her lap. “The bottom was written in invisible -ink--the way always communicated privately with Larmon. Salt brings it -out. I knew Larmon would subject it to the test, so I was willing to -write anything that Crang dictated. I wrote that secret message on the -bottom of the paper while Crang was out of the room where he had me a -prisoner. Oh, don't you see now, Claire? When your tears fell on the -paper faint traces of the secret writing began to appear. That gave -Crang the clew, and he worked at it until he had brought out the -message, and then he cut off the bottom before delivering the letter to -Larmon, and----” - -John Bruce stopped. Claire's face was buried in the cushions, and, -huddled in the corner of the car, she was sobbing bitterly. - -“Don't! Don't cry, Claire!” John Bruce whispered, and laid his hand over -hers where it crushed the letter in her lap. - -“I believed it,” she said. “I did you that wrong. There is no -forgiveness for such meanness of soul as that.” - -“No,” John Bruce answered gently, “there is no forgiveness--because -there is nothing to forgive. It was only another piece of that miserable -hound's cunning that tricked us both. I did not appreciate what he was -after in that reference to you; I thought he was only trying to make the -letter bullet-proof in its plausibility for Larmon's benefit--I never -thought that he would show it to you.” - -She had not drawn her hand away, but her face was still hidden; and for -a moment there was silence between them. - -“Claire,” John Bruce said in a low voice, “the night I left your house -you said that, rather than regretting your promise to marry Crang, you -had come to be glad you had made it. Can you still say that?” - -She lifted her face now, tear-stained, the brown eyes strangely radiant -through the wet lashes. - -“Yes,” she said. “I am glad. So glad--because I know now that it was -worth it all so many, many times over.” - -“Claire”--his voice was lower still--“I left your house that night, -angry, jealous, misjudging you because you had said that. You asked for -forgiveness a minute ago when there was nothing to forgive; I asked for -forgiveness from you after that night, but even then I did not know how -far beyond the right to forgiveness I had gone.” - -She stared at him in a startled way. - -“What--what do you mean?” she breathed. - -And now John Bruce's face was alight. - -“You have confessed your love, Claire!” he cried passionately. “It was -not fair, perhaps, but I am past all that now--and you would not have -confessed it in any other way. Glad! I was a stranger that night when -you bought my life--and to-night you are glad, not because my life is -now or ever could be worth such a sacrifice as yours, but because love -has come to make you think so, sweetheart, and you care--you care for -me.” - -“You know!” Her face was deathly white. “You know about--about that -night?” she faltered. - -John Bruce had both her hands imprisoned now. - -“Yes; I know!” He laughed with a strange buoyancy; passion, triumph, -were vibrant in his voice. “Did Crang not tell you how near to death he -came to-day? I choked the truth out of him. Yes; I know! I know that it -was to save my life you made that promise, that you sold everything you -held dear in life for me--but it is over now!” - -He was beside her. He raised her two hands to draw her arms around his -neck. - -She struggled back. - -“No, no!” she cried wildly. “Oh, you must not--you must not!” - -“Must not!” His voice rang his challenge to the world. The blood was -pounding in mad abandon through his veins. His soul itself seemed -aflame. Closer, closer he drew her to him. “Must not! There is only you -and me--and our love--on all the earth!” - -But still she struggled---and then suddenly the tears came. - -“Oh, you are so strong--so strong,” she sobbed--and like some weary -child finding rest her head dropped upon his shoulder and lay hidden -there. - -“Claire! Claire!” It was his soul that spoke. - -He kissed the silken hair, and fondled it; and kissed the tear-wet eyes; -and his cheek lay against hers; and she was in his arms, and he held her -there tight-clasped so that she might never go again. - -And after a time she sobbed no more; and her hand, lifting, found his -face and touched it gently, and creeping upward, brushed the hair back -from his forehead--and then suddenly she clung to him with all her -strength and drew his head down until her lips met his. - -And there was no world about them, and time was non-existent, and only -they two lived. - -It was Claire at last who put his arms from her in a wistful, lingering -way. - -“We have been mad for a little while,” she whispered. “Take me back home -now, John--and--and you must never try to see me again.” - -And something seemed to grow chill and cold within John Bruce's heart. - -“Not that, Claire!” he cried out. “You do not mean that--that, after -this, you will go on with--with tomorrow morning!” - -A brave little effort at a smile quivered on her lips. - -“We have had our hour, John,” she said; “yours and mine. It can never be -taken from us, and I shall live in it all my life; but it is over now. -Yes; I shall go through with it to-morrow morning. There is no other -way. I must keep my promise.” - -“No!” he cried out again. “It shall never be! Claire, you cannot -mean what you are saying! A promise like that! It was forced upon you -inhumanly, horribly. He would have murdered me.” - -“But to-night you are alive,” she answered quietly. - -“Alive! Yes!” he said fiercely. “I am alive, and----” - -“It is because you are alive that I promised,” she broke in gently. “He -kept his word. I cannot break mine.” - -“Alive!” John Bruce laughed now in sudden, bitter agony. “Alive--yes! -And do you think that I can walk about the streets, and talk, and -smile, and suck the honey out of life, while you have paid for it with a -tortured soul? Claire, you shall not! That man is---- No, wait! There is -myself. He called me a snivelling hypocrite. You shall know the worst of -me before you know the worst of him. There is not much to tell--because -he has told you. I am a gambler. All my life I've gambled. As far back -as I can remember I've been a rolling stone. My life has been useless, -utterly worthless. But I was never ashamed of it; I never saw any reason -to be ashamed until you came into my life. It hasn't been the same since -then '--and it will never be the same again. You have given me something -to live for now, Claire.” - -She shook her head. “You do not argue well,” she said softly. “If I have -brought this to you, John, I am so glad--so glad for this, too. Oh, I -cannot tell you how glad I am, for, because I loved you, the knowledge -of what your life was hurt me. But I had faith in you, John, as I always -shall have. So don't you see”--the brave little smile came again--“that -this is a reward, something tangible and great, to make still more worth -while the promise that I made?” - -He stared at her. He swept his hand across his eyes. She seemed--she -seemed to be slipping away from him--beyond--beyond his reach. - -“That man!” he said desperately. “You said you knew him--but you do not -know him. He is the head and front and brains of a gang of crooks. -I know! He held me a prisoner in their dirty lair, a hidden place, a -cellar over in the slums--like rats they were. He is a criminal, and a -dangerous one--while he masquerades with his medicine. God alone knows -the crimes, if there are any, that he has not committed. He is a foul, -unclean and filthy thing, debauched and dissolute, a moral leper. -Claire, do you understand all this--that his life is pollution and -defilement, that love to him is lust, that your innocence----” - -With a broken, piteous cry, Claire stopped him. - -And again he stared at her. She did not speak, but in her eyes he read -the torment of a far greater and fuller appreciation of the price than -he, he knew, though it turned his soul sick within him, could ever have. - -And suddenly he covered his face with his hands. - -“Bought!” he said brokenly in his agony. “Oh, my God, this has bought -me!” - -He felt his hands drawn away, and her two palms laid upon his cheeks. He -looked at her. How white she was! - -“Help me, John,” she said steadily. “Don't--don't make it harder.” - -She reached out and touched the bell button beside the seat. In a -subconscious way he remembered that was the signal for Hawkins to bring -the traveling pawn-shop to the end of its circuit around the block in -its old-time trips to Persia. He made no effort to stop her. There -was something of ultimate finality in her face and eyes that answered, -before it was uttered, the question that stumbled on his lips. - -“Claire! Claire!” he pleaded wildly. “Will nothing change you?” - -“There is no other way,” she said. - -He stretched out his arms to draw her to him again, to lay her head once -more upon his shoulder--but now she held him back. - -“No!” she whispered. “Be merciful now, John--my strength is almost -gone.” - -And there was something in her voice that held him from the act. - -The car stopped. - -And then, as the door was opened and she stood up, suddenly she leaned -swiftly forward and pressed her lips to his--and springing from the car, -was gone. - -John Bruce groped his way out of the car. Across the sidewalk the -door of Paul Veniza's house closed. Hawkins, standing by the car door, -clutched at his arm. And Hawkins' hand was trembling violently. Slowly -his eyes met Hawkins'. - -He shook his head. - -The old lined face seemed to gray even in the murky light of a distant -street lamp. - -“I'd rather see her dead,” said the old cab driver brokenly. - -John Bruce made no answer. - -Then Hawkins, gulping his words, spoke again: - -“I--where'll I drive you?” - -John Bruce started blindly on past Hawkins down the street. - -“Nowhere,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO--THROUGH THE NIGHT - -|A GAUNT and haggard figure stalked through the night; around him only -shuttered windows, darkened houses, and deserted streets. The pavements -rang hollow to the impact of his boot-heels. Where the way lay open -he went. But always he walked, walked incessantly, without pause, -hurrying--nowhere. - -There was a raw, biting chill in the air, and his hands, ungloved, as -they swung at his sides, were blue with cold. But sweat in great beads -stood out upon his forehead. At times his lips moved and he spoke aloud. -It was a hoarse sound. - -“Or him!” he said. “Or him!” - -On! Always on! There was no rest. It was ceaseless. The gray came into -the East. - -And then at last the figure halted. - -There was a large window with wire grating, and a light burned within. -In the window was a plate mirror, and a time-piece. It was a jeweler's -window. - -The man looked at the time-piece. It was five o'clock. He looked at the -mirror. It reflected the face of a young man grown old. The eyes burned -deep in their sockets; the lines were hard, without softness; the skin -was tightly drawn across the cheek bones, and was colorless. And he -stared at the face, stared for a time without recognition. And then -as he smiled and the face in the mirror smiled with him in a distorted -movement of the lips, he swept his hand across his eyes. - -“John Bruce,” he said. - -It seemed to arouse him from some mental absorption in which his -physical entity had been lost. It was five o'clock, and he was John -Bruce. At eleven o'clock--or was it twelve?--last night he had left -Hawkins standing by the door of the traveling pawn-shop, and since -then---- - -He stared around him. He was somewhere downtown. He did not know where. -He began to walk in an uptown direction. - -Something had been born in those hours. Something cataclysmic. What was -it? - -“Or him!” The words came again--aloud--without apparent volition. - -What did that mean? It had something to do with Hawkins; with what -Hawkins had said, standing there by the traveling pawn-shop. What was it -Hawkins had said? Yes; he remembered: “I'd rather see her dead.” - -“Or him!” - -With cold judicial precision now the hours unrolled themselves before -him. - -“Or him!” - -He was going to kill Crang. - -The hours of mental strife, of torment through which he had just passed, -were as the memory of some rack upon which his soul had been put to -torture. They came back vividly now, those hours--every minute of them a -living eternity. His soul had shrunk back aghast at first, and called it -murder; but it was not murder, or, if it was, it was imperative. It was -the life of a foul viper--or Claire's. It was the life of an unclean -thing that mocked and desecrated all decency, that flung its sordid -challenge at every law, both human and divine--or the life of a pure, -clean soul made the plaything of this beast, and dragged into a mire -of unutterable abomination to suffocate and strangle in its noxious -surroundings and die. - -And that soul was in jeopardy because at this moment he, John Bruce, had -the power of movement in his limbs, the sense of sight, the ability to -stretch out his hand and feel it touch that lamp-post there, and, if -he would, to speak aloud and designate that object for what it was--a -lamp-post. She had bought him these things with her life. Should she -die--and he live? - -And he remembered back through those hours since midnight, when his soul -had still faltered before the taking of human life, how it had sought -some other way, some alternative, _any_ alternative. A jail sentence -for Crang. There was enough, more than enough now with the evidence of -Crang's double life, to convict the man for the robbery of that safe. -But Claire had answered that in the long ago: “I will marry him when he -comes out.” Or, then, to get Crang away again like this afternoon--no, -_yesterday_ afternoon. It was _this_ morning, in a few hours, that they -were to be married. There was no time left in which to attempt anything -like that; but, even if there were, he knew now, that it but postponed -the day of reckoning. Claire would wait. Crang would come back. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -If he didn't, Crang would kill him. He knew that, too. But his -decision was not actuated, or even swayed, by any consideration of -self-preservation. He had no thought of his future or his safety. That -was already settled. With his decision was irrevocably coupled the -forfeiting of his own life. Not his own life! It belonged to Claire. -Claire had bought it. He was only giving it back that the abysmal price -she had agreed to pay should not be extorted from her. Once he had -accomplished his purpose, he would give himself up to the police. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -That was what had been born out of the travail of those hours of the -night. But there were other things to do first. He walked briskly now. -The decision in itself no longer occupied his thoughts. The decision -was absolute; it was final. It was those “other things” that he must -consider now. There was Larmon. He could not tell Larmon what he, John -Bruce, was going to do, but he must warn Larmon to be on his guard -against any past or present connection with John Bruce coming to light. -Fortunately Larmon had come to New York and registered as Peters. He -must make Larmon understand that Larmon and John Bruce had never met, -even if he could not give Larmon any specific reason or explanation. -Larmon would probably refuse at first, and attribute it as an attempt to -break, for some ulterior reason, the bond they had signed together that -night on the beach at Apia. - -John Bruce smiled gravely. The bond would be broken in any case. -Faustus was at the end of the play. A few months in prison, the electric -chair--how apt had been his whistling of that aria _in his youth!_ - -Youth! Yes, he was old now; he had been young that night on the beach at -Apia. - -He took off his hat and let the sharp air sweep his head. He was not -thinking clearly. All this did not express what he meant. There was -Larmon's safety. He must take care of that; see to it, first of all, -that Larmon could not be implicated, held by law as an accomplice -through foreknowledge of what was to happen; then, almost of as great -importance for Larmon's sake and future, the intimacy between them, -their business relations of the past, must never be subjected to the -probe of the trial that was to come. - -John Bruce nodded his head sharply. Yes, that was better! But there was -still something else--that bond. He knew to-night, even if prison -walls and a death penalty were not about to nullify that bond far more -effectively than either he or Larmon ever could, that the one thing -he wanted now, while yet he was a free agent, while yet it was not -arbitrarily his choice, was to cancel that agreement which was so -typical of what his life up to the present time had always stood for; -and in its cancellation, for what little time was left, to have it -typify, instead, a finer manhood. The future, premonitive, grim in its -promise, seemed to hold up before him as in a mirror where no lines were -softened, where only the blunt, brutal truth was reflected, the waste -and worthlessness of the past. He had no wish to evade it, or temporize -with it, or seek to palliate it. He knew only a vain and bitter regret; -knew only the desire now at the end, in so far as he could, to face -death a changed man. - -He walked on and on. He was getting into the uptown section now. How -many miles he must have covered since he had left Hawkins, and since -the door of the one-time pawn-shop had closed on that little bare-headed -figure with the loose cloak clutched about her throat--the last sight -he had had of Claire! How many miles? He did not know. It must have been -many, very many. But he felt no weariness. It was strange! It was -as though his vitality and energy flowed into him from some wholly -extraneous source; and as though physically he were non-existent. - -He wondered what Larmon would say. Larmon alone had the right to cancel -the bond. That was the way it had been written. Would Larmon refuse? He -hoped not, because he wanted to part with Larmon as a friend. He hoped -not, though in the final analysis, in a practical way, Larmon's refusal -must be so futile a thing. Would Larmon laugh at him, and, not knowing, -call him a fool? He shook his head. He did not know. At least Larmon -would not be surprised. The conversation of last evening---- - -John Bruce looked up. He was at the entrance to the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. -He entered, nodded mechanically to the night clerk, stepped into the -elevator, and went up to his room. There was his revolver to be got. -Afterward he would go down to Larmon's room. Somehow, even in the face -of that other thing which he was to do, this interview which was to -come with Larmon obsessed him. It seemed to signify some vital line of -demarcation between the old life and the new. - -The new! He smiled grimly, without mirth, as, entering his room, -he switched on the light, stepped quickly to his desk, pulled open a -drawer, and took out his revolver. The new! There would be very little -of the new! He laughed now in a low, raucous way, as he slipped the -weapon into his pocket. The new! A few weeks, a few months of a prison -cell, and then---- His laugh died away, and a half startled, half -perplexed look settled on his face. For the first time he noticed that -a letter, most obviously placed to attract his attention, lay on the -center of the desk pad. Strange, he had not seen it instantly! - -He stared at it now. It was a plain envelope, unstamped, and addressed -to him. The writing was familiar too! Larmon's! He picked it up, opened -it--and from the folds of the letter, as he drew it from the envelope, -four torn pieces of paper fluttered to the desk. And for a long time, -in a dazed way, he gazed at them. The letter dropped from his hand. -Then mechanically he pieced the four scraps together. It was one of the -leaves torn from Larmon's notebook that night in Apia--and here was the -heavy scrawl where he, John Bruce, had signed with the quill toothpick. -It was Larmon's copy of the bond. - -And again for a long time he stared at it, then he picked up the letter -again. He read it slowly, for somehow his brain seemed only able to -absorb the words in a stunned way. Then he read it again: - -Dear Bruce:--11 P. M. - -Something has come into your life that was not there on a night you will -remember in the Southern Seas, and I know of no other way to repay you -for what you did for me to-day than to hand you this. I knew from what -you said to-night, or, rather perhaps, from what you did not say, that -this was in your heart. And if I were young again, and the love of a -good woman had come to me, I too should try--and fail, I fear, where you -will succeed--to play a man's part in life. - -And so I bid you good-by, for when you read this I shall be on my way -back West. What I lose another will gain. Amongst even my friends are -men of honorable callings and wide interests who need a John Bruce. You -will hear from one of them. Godspeed to you, for you are too good and -clean a man to end your days as I shall end mine--a gambler. - -Yours, - -Gilbert Larmon. - -The love of a good woman--and young again! John Bruce's face was white. -A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to surge upon him. There was -something fine and big in what Larmon had done, like the Larmon whose -real self he had come to glimpse for the first time last night; and -something that was almost ghastly in the unconscious irony that lay -behind it all. And for a little while he stood there motionless, holding -the letter in his hand; then with a quick, abrupt return to action, he -began to tear the letter into little shreds, and from his pocket he -took his own copy of the bond and tore that up, and the four pieces of -Larmon's copy he tore into still smaller fragments, and gathering all -these up in his hands, he walked to the window and let them flutter out -into the night. - -The way was clear. There was nothing to connect Gilbert Larmon with the -man who to-morrow--no, _to-day_--would be in the hands of the police -charged with murder. Nothing to bring to light Larmon's private affairs, -for nothing bearing Larmon's signature had ever been kept; it was always -destroyed. Larmon was safe--for, at least, they could never make John -Bruce _talk_. - -There was a strange relief upon him, a strange uplift; not only for -Larmon's sake, but for his own. The link that had bound him to the past -was gone, broken, dissolved. He stood free--for the little time that was -left; he stood free--to make a fresh start in the narrow confines of a -prison cell. He smiled grimly. There was no irony here where it seemed -all of irony. It meant everything--all. It was the only atonement he -could make. - -He switched off the light, left his room, and went down to the desk. -Here he consulted the directory. He requested the clerk to procure a -taxi for him. - -It was five minutes after six by the clock over the desk. - -He entered the taxi and gave the chauffeur the address. He was -unconscious of emotion now. He knew only a cold, fixed, merciless -purpose. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -The taxi stopped in front of a frame house that bore a dirty brass -name-plate. He dismissed the taxi, and mounted the steps. His right -hand was in the pocket of his coat. He rang the bell, and obtaining no -response, rang again--and after that insistently. - -The door was finally opened by an old woman, evidently aroused from bed, -for she clutched tightly at a dressing gown that was flung around her -shoulders. - -“I want to see Doctor Crang,” said John Bruce. - -She shook her head. - -“The doctor isn't in,” she answered. - -“I will wait for him,” said John Bruce. - -Again she shook her head. - -“I don't know when he will be back. He hasn't been here since yesterday -morning.” - -“I will wait for him,” said John Bruce monotonously. - -“But----” - -John Bruce brushed his way past her into the hall. - -“I will wait for him,” he repeated. - -A door was open off the hallway. John Bruce looked in. It was obviously -Crang's office. He went in and sat down by the window. - -The woman stood for a long time in the doorway watching him. Finally she -went away. - -John Bruce's mind was coldly logical. Crang was not aware that his -escape was known to any one except Claire, and he had been cunning -enough to keep under cover. That was why he had not been home. But he -would be home before he went out to be married. Even a man like Crang -would have a few preparations to make. - -John Bruce sat by the window. Occasionally the old woman came and stood -in the doorway--and went away again. - -There was no sign of Crang. - -At fifteen minutes of eight John Bruce rose from his chair and left the -house. - -“He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight,” said John Bruce to himself -with cool precision. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE--THE BEST MAN - -|HAWKINS sat at the table in his room, and twined and twined one old -storm-beaten hand over the other. For hours he had sat like that. It was -light in the room now, for it was long after seven o'clock. His bed had -not been slept in. He was dressed in his shiny best suit; he wore his -frayed black cravat. He had been dressed like that since midnight; since -he had returned home after Claire had fled into her house, and John -Bruce had strode by him on the sidewalk with set, stony face and -unseeing eyes; since, on reaching his room here, he had found a note -whose signature was false because it read “Paul Veniza,” when he knew -that it came from Crang. Crang was taking precautions that his return -should not leak out! The note only corroborated what he had heard -through the door. He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight o'clock with -the traveling pawn-shop.. - -The note had said nothing about any marriage; but, then, he knew! He -was to be the best man. And so he had dressed himself. After that he had -waited. He was waiting now. - -“The first,” said Hawkins, with grave confidence to the cracked mirror. -“Yes, that's it--the first in line, because I _am_ her old father, and -there ain't nothing can change that.” - -His own voice seemed to arouse him. He stared around the shabby room -that was his home, his eyes lingering with strange wistfulness on -each old battered, and long familiar object--and then suddenly, with a -choking cry, his head went down, buried in his arms outflung across the -table. - -“Pawned!” the old man cried brokenly. “It's twenty years ago, I pawned -her--twenty years ago. And it's come to this because--because I -ain't never redeemed her--but, oh God, I love her--I love my little -girl--and--and she ain't never going to know how much.” - -His voice died away. In its place the asthmatic gas-jet spat venomous -defiance at the daylight that was so contumaciously deriding its puny -flame. - -And after a little while, Hawkins raised his head. He looked at his -watch. - -“It's time to go,” said Hawkins--and cleared his throat. - -Hawkins picked up his hat and brushed it carefully with his coat sleeve; -his shoulders, and such of his attire as he could reach, he brushed -with his hands; he readjusted his frayed black cravat before the cracked -mirror. - -“I'm the best man,” said Hawkins. - -Oblivious to the chattering gas-jet, he descended the stairs, and went -out to the shed in the rear that housed the traveling pawn-shop. - -“The first in line,” said the old cab driver, as he climbed into the -seat. - -Five minutes later, he drew up in front of the onetime pawn-shop. He -consulted his watch as he got down from his seat and entered the house. -It was twenty-five minutes of eight. - -He twisted his hat awkwardly in his hands, as he entered the rear room. -He felt a sudden, wild rush of hope spring up within him because -there was no sign of Crang. And then the hope died. He was early; and, -besides, Claire had her hat on and was dressed to go out. Paul Veniza, -also dressed, lay on the cot. - -No one spoke. - -Then Paul Veniza's frame was racked with a fit of coughing, and out of a -face ashen in pallor his eyes met Hawkins' in silent agony--and then he -turned his head away. - -Hawkins twisted at his hat. - -“I came a little early;” he said wistfully, “because I thought mabbe -you might--that mabbe there might be some change--that mabbe you might -not----” - -He stopped. He was looking at Claire. Her face was very white too. Her -smile seemed to cut at his heart like a knife. - -“No, Hawkins,” she said in a low voice; “there is no change. We -are going to Staten Island. You will drive Doctor Crang. There is a -limousine coming for father and me, that will be more comfortable for -father.” - -Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - -“I--I didn't mean that kind of a change,” he said. - -“I know you didn't, Hawkins. But--but I am trying to be practical.” Her -voice broke a little in spite of herself. “Doctor Crang doesn't know -that you overheard anything last night, or that you know anything about -the arrangements, so--so I am explaining them to you now.” - -Hawkins' eyes were still on the floor. - -“Ain't there nothing”--his voice was thick and husky--“ain't there -nothing in all the world that any of us can do to make you change your -mind? Claire, ain't there nothing, nothing at all? John Bruce said there -wasn't, and you love John Bruce, but----” - -“Don't, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully. - -The old shoulders came slowly up, and the old head; and the old blue -eyes were of a sudden strangely flints like. - -“I've got to know,” said Hawkins, in a dead, stubborn way. - -“There is nothing,” she answered. - -Hawkins' eyes reverted to the floor. He spoke now without lifting them. - -“Then--then it's--it's like saying good-by,” he said, and the broken -note was back again in his voice. “It's--it's so many years that mabbe -you've forgotten, but when you were a little girl, and before you grew -up, and--and were too big for that, I--I used to hold you in my arms, -and you used to put your little arms around my neck, and kiss me, -and--and you used to say that--Hawkins would never let the bugaboos get -you, and--and I wonder if--if----” - -“Oh, Hawkins!” Claire's eyes were full of tears. “I remember. Dear, dear -Hawkins! And I used to call you Daddy Hawkins. Do _you_ remember?” - -A tear found a furrow and trickled down the old weather-beaten face -unchecked, as Hawkins raised his head. - -“Claire! Claire!” His voice trembled in its yearning. “Will--will you -say that again, Claire?” - -“Dear Daddy Hawkins,” she whispered. - -His arms stretched out to her, and she came to them smiling through her -tears. - -“You've been so good to me,” she whispered again. “You _are_ so good to -me--dear, dear Daddy Hawkins.” - -A wondrous light was in the old cabman's face. He held the slight form -to him, trying to be so tenderly careful that he should not hurt her -in his strength. He kissed her, and patted her head, and his fingers -lingered as they smoothed the hair back from where it made a tiny curl -about her ear. - -And then he felt her drawing him toward the couch--and he became -conscious that Paul Veniza was holding out his hands to them both. - -And Claire knelt at the side of the couch and took one of Paul Veniza's -hands, and Hawkins took the other. And no one of them looked into the -other's face. - -The outer door opened, and Doctor Crang came in. He stood for an instant -surveying the scene, a half angry, half sarcastic smile spreading over -his sallow face, and then he shrugged his shoulders. - -“Ah, you're here, like me, ahead of time, Hawkins, I see!” he said -shortly. “You're going to drive me to Staten Island where----” - -Claire rose to her feet. - -“I have told Hawkins,” she said quietly. - -Hawkins' hand tightened over Paul Veniza's for a moment, and then he -turned away. - -“I--I'll wait outside,” said Hawkins--and brushed has hand across his -eyes as he went through the doorway. - -Paul Veniza was racked with a sudden fit of coughing again. Doctor -Crang walked quickly to the couch and looked at the other sharply. After -a moment he turned to Claire. - -“Are you ready to go?” he asked crisply. - -“Yes; I am ready,” she answered steadily. - -“Very well, then,” said Crang, “you had better go out and get into the -old bus. You can go with Hawkins and me.” - -“But”--Claire looked in a bewildered way at Paul Veniza--“but you -said----” - -“I know I did,” Crang interrupted brusquely, “but we're all here a -little early and there's lots of time to countermand the other car.” He -indicated Paul Veniza with a jerk of his head. “He's far from as well as -he was last night. At least you'll admit that I'm a _good_ doctor, and -when I tell you he is not fit to go this morning that ought to be enough -for both of you. I'll phone and tell them not to send the limousine.” - -Still Claire hesitated. Paul Veniza had closed his eyes. - -Crang shrugged his shoulders. - -“You can do as you like, but I don't imagine”--a snarl crept into his -voice--“that it will give him any joy to witness the ceremony, or you to -have him. Suit yourselves; but I won't answer for the consequences.” - -“I'll go,” said Claire simply--and as Paul Veniza lifted himself up -suddenly in protest, she forced him gently back upon the couch again. -“It's better that way,” she said, and for a moment talked to him in low, -earnest tones, then kissed him, and rose, and walked out from the room. - -Crang, with a grunt of approval, started toward the telephone. - -“Wait!” Paul Veniza had raised himself on his elbow. - -Crang turned and faced the other with darkened face. - -“It is not too late even now at the last moment!” Paul Veniza's face was -drawn with agony. “I know you for what you are, and in the name of God -I charge you not to do this thing. It is foul and loathsome, the basest -passion--and whatever crimes lay at your door, even if murder be among -them, no one of them is comparable with this, for you do more than take -a human life, you desecrate a soul pure as the day God gave it life, -and----” - -The red surged into Crang's face, and changed to mottled purple. - -“Damn you!” he flung out hoarsely. “Hold your cackling tongue! This is -my wedding morning--understand?” He laughed out raucously. “My wedding -morning--and I'm in a hurry!” - -Paul Veniza raised himself a little higher. White his face was--white as -death. - -“Then God have mercy on your soul!” he cried. - -And Crang stared for a moment, then turned on his heel--and laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR--THE RIDE - -|JOHN BRUCE turned the corner, and, on the opposite side of the street, -drew back under the shelter of a door porch where he could command -a view of the entrance to Paul Veniza's house. And now he stood -motionless, waiting with cold patience, his eyes fixed on the doorway -across the street. He was there because Crang was either at the present -moment within the house, or presently would come to the house. It was -nearly eight o'clock. The old traveling pawn-shop was drawn up before -the door. - -He had no definite plan now. No plan was needed. He was simply waiting -for Crang. - -His eyes had not left the doorway. Suddenly, tense, he leaned a little -forward. The door opened. No; it was only Hawkins! He relaxed again. - -Only Hawkins! John Bruce's face grew a little sterner, his lips a little -more tightly compressed. Only Hawkins--only an old man who swayed there -outside the door, and whose face was covered with his hands. - -He watched Hawkins. The old cabman moved blindly along the sidewalk for -the few steps that took him to the corner, and turning the corner, out -of sight of the house, sat down on the edge of the curb, and with his -shoulders sunk forward, buried his face in his hands again. - -And John Bruce understood; and his fingers, in his pocket, snuggled -curiously around the revolver that was hidden there. He wanted to go to -that old bent figure there in its misery and despair, who was fighting -now so obviously to get a grip upon himself. But he did not move. He -could not tell Hawkins what he meant to do. - -Were they minutes or were they hours that passed? Again the front door -of Paul Veniza's house opened, and again John Bruce leaned tensely -forward. But this time he did not relax. Claire! His eyes drank in the -slim, little, dark-garbed figure, greedy that no smallest gesture, -no movement, no single line of face or form should escape him. It was -perhaps the last time that he would see her. He would not see her in his -prison cell--he would not let her go there. - -A queer sound issued from his throat, a strange and broken little cry. -She was gone now. She had crossed the sidewalk and entered the traveling -pawn-shop. The curtains were down, and she was hidden from sight. And -for a moment there seemed a blur and mist before John Bruce's eyes--then -Hawkins, still around the corner, still with crouched shoulders, still -with his face hidden in his hands, took form and grew distinct again. -And then after a little while, Hawkins rose slowly, and came back -along the street, and climbed into the driver's seat of the traveling -pawnshop, and sat fumbling at the wheel with his hands. - -The door of Paul Veniza's house opened for the third time--and now John -Bruce laughed in a low, grim 'way, and his hand, hugging the revolver in -his pocket, tightened and grew vise-like in its grip upon the weapon. It -was Crang at last! - -And then John Bruce's hand came out from his pocket--empty. - -_Not in front of Claire!_ - -He swept his hand across his forehead. It was as though a sudden shock -had aroused him to some stark reality to which he had been strangely -oblivious. Not in front of Claire! Claire was in the car there. He felt -himself bewildered for a moment. Hawkins had said nothing about driving -Claire too. - -Crang's voice reached him from across the street: - -“All right, Hawkins! Go ahead!” - -Where was Paul Veniza? Crang had got into the car, and the car was -moving forward. Wasn't Paul Veniza going too? - -Well, it did not matter, did it? Crang was there. And it was a long way -to Staten Island, and before then a chance would come, _must_ come; he -would make one somehow, and----- - -John Bruce ran swiftly out into the street, and, as the car turned the -corner, swung himself lightly and silently in beside Hawkins. Crang -would not know. The curtained panel at the back of the driver's seat hid -the interior of the car from view. - -Hawkins turned his head, stared into John Bruce's face for an instant, -half in a startled, half in a curiously perplexed way, made as though to -speak--and then, without a word, gave his attention to the wheel again. - -The car rattled on down the block. - -John Bruce, as silent as Hawkins, stared ahead. On the ferry! Yes, that -was it! It was a long way to Staten Island. Claire would not stay cooped -up in a closed car below; she would go up on deck to get the air. And -even if Crang accompanied her, it would not prove very difficult to -separate them. - -He looked around suddenly and intercepted a furtive, puzzled glance cast -at him by Hawkins. - -And then Hawkins spoke for the first time. - -“You'd better get off, John Bruce,” he said in a choked voice. “You've -done all you could, and God bless you over and over again for it, but -you can't do anything more now, and it won't do you any good to come any -further.” - -“No,” said John Bruce, “I'm going all the way, Hawkins.” - -Hawkins relapsed into silence. They were near the Battery when he spoke -again. - -“All the way,” Hawkins repeated then, as though it were but a moment -gone since John Bruce had spoken. “All the way. Yes, that's it--after -twenty years. That's when I pawned her--twenty years ago. And I couldn't -never redeem her the way Paul Veniza said. And she ain't never known, -and thank God she ain't never going to know, that I--that I----” - A tear trickled down the old face, and splashed upon the wrinkled skin -of the hand upon the wheel. And then old Hawkins smiled suddenly, and -nodded toward the clock on the cowl-board--and the speed of the car -increased. “I looked up the ferry time,” said Hawkins. - -They swung out in front of the ferry house, and the car stopped. A -ferry, just berthing, was beginning to disgorge its stream of motors and -pedestrians. - -“We're first in line,” said Hawkins, nodding his head. “We'll have to -wait a minute or two.” - -John Bruce nodded back indifferently. His eyes were fixed on the ferry -that he could just see through the ferry house. Certainly, Claire would -not stay down in the confined space of the ferry's run-way all the trip; -or if she did, Crang wouldn't. His face set. Quite unconsciously his -hand had gone to his pocket, and he found his fingers now snuggling -again around the weapon that lay there. - -And then he looked at Hawkins--and stared again at the other, startled. -Strange, he had not noticed it before! The smile on Hawkins' face did -not hide it. The man seemed to have aged a thousand years; the old face -was pinched and worn, and deep in the faded, watery blue eyes were hurt -and agony. And a great sympathy for the man surged upon John Bruce. He -could not tell Hawkins, but---- He reached out, and laid his hand on the -other's arm. - -“Don't take it too hard, Hawkins,” he said gently. “I--perhaps--perhaps, -well, there's always a last chance that something may happen.” - -“Me?” said Hawkins, and bent down over his gears as he got the signal to -move forward. “Do I look like that? I--I thought it all out last night, -and I don't feel that way. I'll tell you what I was thinking about. I -was just thinking that I did something to-day when I left my room that I -haven't done before--in twenty years. I've left the light burning.” - -John Bruce stared a little helplessly. - -“Yes,” said Hawkins. He smiled at John Bruce. “Don't you worry about -me. Mabbe you don't understand, but that's all I've been thinking about -since we've been waiting here. I've left the light burning.” - -Sick at heart, John Bruce turned his head away. He made no response. - -Hawkins paid the fare, ran the car through the ferry house, and aboard -the ferry itself. He was fumbling with a catch of some kind behind his -seat, as he proceeded slowly up the run-way. - -“He'll want a little air in there,” said Hawkins, “because it's close -down here. It opens back, you know--the whole panel. I had it made that -way when the car was turned into a traveling pawn-shop--didn't know what -tough kind of a customer Paul might run into sometime, and I'd want to -get in beside him quick to help, and I----” The old cabman straightened -up. - -The car was at the extreme forward end of the ferry--and suddenly it -leaped forward. “Jump, John Bruce! Jump clear!” old Hawkins cried. -“There's only two of us going all the way--and that's Crang and me! -Claire and Paul 'll be along in another car--tell them it was an -accident, and----” - -John Bruce was on his feet--too late. There was a crash, and the -collapsible steel gates went down before the plunging car, and the guard -chain beyond was swept from its sockets. He reeled and lost his balance -as something, a piece of wreckage from the gates or chain posts, struck -him. He felt the hot blood spurt from shoulder and arm. And then, as the -car shot out in mid-air, diving madly for the water below, and he -was thrown from his feet, he found himself clinging to the footboard, -fighting wildly to reach the door handle. Claire was in there! Claire -was in there! - -There was a terrific splash. A mighty rush of water closed over him. -Horror, fear, madness possessed his soul. Claire was in there! Claire -was in there--and somehow Hawkins had not known! Yes, he had the door -handle now! He wrenched and tore at the door. The pressure of the water -seemed to pit itself against his strength. He worked like a maniac. It -opened. He had it now! It opened. He could scarcely see in the murky -water--only the indistinct outlines of two forms undulating grotesquely, -the hands of one gripped around the throat of the other--only that, and -floating within his reach a woman's dress. He snatched at the dress. His -lungs were bursting. Claire! It was Claire! She was in his arms--then -blackness--then sunlight again--and then, faintly, he heard a cheer. - -He held her head above the water. She was motionless, inert. - -“Claire! Claire!” he cried. Fear, cold, horrible, seized upon him. He -swam in mad haste for the iron ladder rungs at the side of the slip. - -Faces, a multitude of them, seemed to peer at him from above, from the -brink of this abyss in which he was struggling. He heard a cheer again. -Why were they cheering? Were they cheering because two men were locked -in a death grip deep down there in the water below? - -“Claire!” he cried out again. - -And then, as his hand grasped the lower rung, she opened her eyes -slowly, and a tremor ran through her frame. - -She lived! Was he weak with the sudden revulsion that swept upon him -now? Was that it? He tried to carry her up--and found that it was beyond -his strength. And he could only cling there and wait for assistance from -above, thankful even for the support the water gave his weight. It was -strange! What were those red stains that spread out and tinged the water -around him? His arm! Yes, he remembered now! His shoulder and arm! It -was the loss of blood that must have sapped his strength, that must be -sapping it now so that--- - -“John!” Claire whispered. “You--John!” - -He buried his face in the great wet masses of hair that fell around her. -Weak? No, he was not weak! He could hold her here always--always. - -He felt her clutch spasmodically at his arm. - -“And--and Hawkins, John?” she faltered. - -He lifted his head and stared at the water. Little waves rippled across -its surface, gamboling inconsequentially--at play. There wasn't anything -else there. There never would be. He made no answer. - -A sob shook her shoulders. - -“How--how did it happen?” she whispered again. - -“I think a--a gear jammed, or something,” he said huskily. - -He heard her speak again, but her voice was very low. He bent his head -until it rested upon hers to catch the words. - -She was crying softly. - -“Dear, dear Hawkins--dear Daddy Hawkins,” she said. - -A great mist seemed to gather before John Bruce's eyes. A voice seemed -to come again, Hawkins' voice; and words that he understood now, -Hawkins' words: - -“I've left the light burning.” - -THE END. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Pawned - -Author: Frank L. Packard - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51965] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAWNED *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -PAWNED - -By Frank L. Packard - -The Copp, Clark Co., Limited Toronto - -1921 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -PAWNED - - - - -BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION - - - - -HER STORY - - -|A HANSOM cab, somewhat woebegone in appearance, threaded its way in a -curiously dejected manner through the heart of New York's East Side. A -fine drizzle fell, through which the street lamps showed as through a -mist; and, with the pavements slippery, the emaciated looking horse, -the shafts jerking and lifting up at intervals around its ears, appeared -hard put to it to preserve its footing. - -The cabman on his perch drove with his coat collar turned up and his -chin on his breast. He held the reins listlessly, permitting the horse -to choose its own gait. At times he lifted the little trap door in the -roof of the cab and peered into the interior; occasionally his hand, -tentatively, hesitantly, edged toward a bulge in his coat pocket-only to -be drawn back again in a sort of panic haste. - -The cab turned into a street where, in spite of the drizzle, hawkers -with their push-carts under flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were -doing a thriving business. The horse went more slowly. There was very -little room. With the push-carts lining the curbs on both sides, and -the overflow of pedestrians from the sidewalks into the street, it was -perhaps over-taxing the horse's instinct to steer a safe course for the -vehicle it dragged behind it. Halfway along the block a wheel of -the hansom bumped none too gently into one of the push-carts, nearly -upsetting the latter. The hawker, with a frantic grab, saved his wares -from dis-aster-by an uncomfortably narrow margin, and, this done, hurled -an impassioned flood of lurid oratory at the two-wheeler. - -The cabman lifted his chin from his breast, stared stonily at the -hawker, slapped the reins mechanically on the roof of the cab as an -intimation to the horse to proceed, and the cab wended its way along -again. - -At the end of the block, it turned the corner, and drew up before a -small building that was nested in between two tenements. The cabman -climbed down from his perch, and stood for a moment surveying the three -gilded balls that hung over the dingy doorway, and the lettering--"Paul -Veniza. Pawnbroker"--that showed on the dully-lighted windows which -confronted him. - -He drew his hand across his eyes; then, reaching suddenly inside the -cab, lifted a bundle in his arms, and entered the shop. A man behind the -counter stared at him, and uttered a quick ejaculation. The cabman went -on into a rear room. The man from behind the counter followed. In the -rear room, a woman rose from a table where she had been sewing, and took -the bundle quickly from the cabman's arms, as it emitted a querulous -little cry. - -The cabman spoke for the first time. - -"She's dead," he said heavily. - -The woman, buxom, middle-aged, stared at him, white-faced, her eyes -filling suddenly with tears. - -"She died an hour ago," said the cabman, in the same monotonous -voice. "I thought mabbe you'd look after the baby girl for a bit, Mrs. -Veniza--you and Paul." - -"Of course!" said the woman in a choked voice. "I wanted to before, -but--but your wife wouldn't let the wee mite out of her sight." - -"She's dead now," said the cabman. "An hour ago." - -Paul Veniza, the pawnbroker, crossed to the cabman's side, and, placing -his hands on the other's shoulders, drew the man down into a chair. - -"Hawkins," he said slowly, "we're getting on in years, fifty each of us, -and we've known each other for a good many of those fifty." He cleared -his throat. "You've made a mess of things, Hawkins." - -The woman, holding the baby, started suddenly forward, a red flush -dyeing her cheeks. - -"Paul!" she cried out sharply. "How can you be so cruel at such an hour -as this?" - -The pawnbroker shook his head. He had moved to the back of the cabman's -chair. Tall, slight, grave and kindly-faced, with high forehead and the -dark hair beginning to silver at the temples, there seemed something -almost esthetic about the man. - -"It is _the_ hour," he said deliberately; "the one hour in which I must -speak plainly to my old friend, the one hour that has come into his -life which may mean everything to him." His right hand slipped from the -cabman's shoulder and started, tentatively, hesitantly, toward a bulge -in the cabman's coat pocket--but was drawn back again, and found its -place once more on the cabman's shoulder. "I was afraid, Hawkins, when -you married the young wife. I was afraid of your curse." - -The cabman's elbows were on the table; he had sunk his chin in his -hands. His blue eyes, out of a wrinkled face of wind-beaten tan, roved -around the little room, and rested finally on the bundle in the woman's -arms. - -"That's finished now," he said dully. - -"I pray God it is," said Paul Veniza earnestly; "but you said that -before--when you married the young wife." - -"It's finished now--so help me, God!" The cabman's lips scarcely moved. -He stared straight in front of him. - -There was silence in the little, plainly furnished room for a moment; -then the pawnbroker spoke again: - -"I was born here in New York, you know, after my parents came from -Italy. There was no money, nothing--only misery. I remember. It is like -that, Hawkins, isn't it, where you have just come from, and where you -have left the young wife?" - -"Paul!" his wife cried out again. "How can you say such things? It--it -is not like you!" Her lips quivered. She burst into tears, and buried -her face in the little bundle she snuggled to her breast. - -The cabman seemed curiously unmoved--as though dazed, almost detached -from his immediate surroundings. He said nothing. - -The pawnbroker's hands still rested on the cabman's shoulders, a -strange gentleness in his touch that sought somehow, it seemed, to offer -sympathy for his own merciless words. - -"I have been thinking of this for a long time, ever since we knew that -Claire could not get better," he said. "We knew you would bring the -little one here. There was no other place, except an institution. And so -I have been thinking about it. What is the little one's name?" - -The cabman shook his head. - -"She has no name," he said. - -"Shall it be Claire, then?" asked the pawnbroker gently. - -The cabman's fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold -of flesh and tightened until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. -He nodded his head. - -Again the pawnbroker was silent for a little while. - -"My wife and I will take little Claire--on one condition," he said at -last, gravely. "And that condition is that she is to grow up as our -child, and that, though you may come here and see her as often as you -like, she is not to know that you are her father." - -The cabman turned about a haggard face. - -"Not to know that I am her father--ever," he said huskily. - -"I did not say that," said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, leaning -over the cabman. "I am a pawnbroker; this is a pawn-shop. There is a way -in which you may redeem her." - -The cabman pressed a heavy hand over his eyes. - -"What is that way?" He swallowed hard as he spoke. - -"By redeeming yourself." The pawnbroker's voice was low and earnest. -"What have you to offer her to-day, save a past that has brought only -ruin and misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no home. -There was no home for the young wife. You said when you married Claire, -as you have said to-night, that it was all finished. But it was not -finished. And your curse was the stronger. Well, little Claire is only -a baby, and there would be years, anyhow, before just a man could take -care of her. Do you understand, my old friend? If, at the end of those -years, enough of them to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you -have changed your life and overcome your weakness, then you shall have -little Claire back again, and she shall know you as her father, and be -proud of you. But if you do not do this, then she remains with us, and -we are her parents, and you pledge me your word that it shall be so." - -There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying--but -more softly now. The cabman's chin had sunk into his hands again. The -minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and, pushing -back his chair, stumbled to his feet. - -"God--God bless you both!" he whispered. "It's all finished now for -good, as I told you, but you are right, Paul. I--I ain't fit to have her -yet. I'll stand by the bargain." He moved blindly toward the door. - -The pawnbroker interposed. - -"Wait, Hawkins, old friend," he said. "I'll go with you. You'll need -some help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things -that are to be done." - -The cabman shook his head. - -"Not to-night," he said in a choked way. "Leave me alone to-night." - -He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside, -but, following, stood bareheaded in the doorway as the other clambered -to his perch on the hansom cab. - -Hawkins slapped his reins on the roof of the cab. The horse started -slowly forward. - -The drizzle had ceased; but the horse, left to his own initiative, was -still wary of the wet pavements and moved at no greater pace than a -walk. Hawkins drove with his coat collar still turned up and his chin on -his breast. - -And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street--and the night -grew late. - -And the cabman's hand reached tentatively, hesitantly, a great many -times, toward a bulge in his coat pocket, and for a great many times -was withdrawn as empty as it had set forth. And then, once, his fingers -touched a glass bottle neck... and then, not his fingers, but his -lips... and for a great many times. - -It had begun to rain again. - -The horse, as if conscious of the futility of its own movements, had -stopped, and, with head hanging, seemed to cower down as though seeking -even the slender protection of the shafts, whose ends now made half -circles above his ears. - -Something slipped from the cabman's fingers and fell with a crash to the -pavement. The cabman leaned out from his perch and stared down at the -shattered glass. - -"Broken," said the cabman vacantly. - - - - -TWENTY YEARS LATER - -|IT was silver light. Inside the reefs the water lay placid and still, -mirroring in a long, shimmering line the reflection of the full tropic -moon; beyond, ever and anon, it splashed against its coral barriers in -little crystal showers. It was a soundless night. No breeze stirred the -palms that, fringing white stretches of beach around the bay, stood out -in serene beauty, their irregular tops etched with divine artistry into -the sky-line of the night. - -Out from the shore, in that harbor which holds no sanctuary in storm, -the mail boat, dark save for her riding lights, swung at her moorings; -shoreward, the perspective altered in the moonlight until it seemed that -Mount Vaea had lowered its sturdy head that it might hover in closer -guardianship over the little town, Apia straggled in white patches along -the road. And from these white patches, which were dwellings and stores, -there issued no light. - -From a point on the shore nearest the mail boat, a figure in cotton -drawers and undershirt slipped silently into the water and disappeared. -Thereafter, at intervals, a slight ripple disturbed the surface as the -man, coming up to breathe, turned upon his back and lay with his face -exposed; for the rest he swam under water. It was as though he were in -his natural element. He swam superbly even where, there in the Islands, -all the natives were born to the sea; but his face, when visible on the -few occasions that it floated above the surface, was the face, not of a -native, but of a white man. - -And now he came up in the shadow of the steamer's hull where, near the -stern, a rope dangled over the side, almost touching the water's edge. -And for a moment he hung to the rope, motionless, listening. Then he -began to swarm upward with fine agility, without a sound, his bare feet -finding silent purchase against the iron plates of the hull. - -Halfway up he paused and listened intently again. Was that a sound as of -some one astir, the soft movement of feet on the deck above? No, there -was nothing now. Why should there be? It was very late, and Nanu, the -man who lisped, was no fool. The rope had hung from exactly that place -where, of all others, one might steal aboard without attracting the -attention of the watch. - -He went on again, and finally raised his head above the rail. The deck, -flooded with moonlight, lay white and deserted below him. He swung -himself over, dropped to the deck--and the next instant reeled back -against the rail as a rope-end, swung with brutal force, lashed across -his face, raising a welt from cheek to cheek. Half stunned, he was -still conscious that a form had sprung suddenly at him from out of the -darkness of the after alleyway, that the form was one of the vessel's -mates, that the form still swung a short rope-end that was a murderous -weapon because it was little more flexible than iron and was an inch in -thickness, and that, behind this form, other forms, big forms, Tongans -of the crew, pressed forward. - -A voice roared out, hoarse, profane, the mate's voice: - -"Thought you'd try it again, did you, you damned beachcomber? I'll teach -you! And when I find the dog that left that rope for you, I'll give -him a leaf out of the same book! You bloody waster! I'll teach you! -I'll----" - -The rope-end hissed as it cut through the air again, aiming for the -swimmer's face. But it missed its mark. Perhaps it was an illusion -of the white moonlight, lending unreality to the scene, exciting the -imagination to exaggerate the details, but the swimmer seemed to move -with incredible speed, with the lithe, terrible swiftness of a panther -in its spring. The rope-end swished through the air, missing a suddenly -lowered head by the barest fraction of an inch, and then, driven home -with lightning-like rapidity, so quick that the blows seemed as one, the -swimmer's fists swung, right and left, crashing with terrific impact to -the point of the mate's jaw. And the mate's head jolted back, quivered -grotesquely on his shoulders for an instant like a tuning fork, sagged, -and the great bulk of the man collapsed and sprawled inertly on the -deck. - -There was a shuffle of feet from the alleyway, cries. The swimmer swung -to face the expected rush, and it halted, hesitant. It gave him time to -spring and stand erect upon the steamer's rail. On the upper deck faces -and forms began to appear. A man in pajamas leaned far out and peered at -the scene. - -There was a shout from out of the dark, grouped throng in the alleyway; -it was chorused. The rush came on again for the rail; and the dripping -figure that stood there, with the first sound that he had made--a laugh, -half bitter, half of cool contempt--turned, and with a clean dive took -the water again and disappeared. - -Presently he reached the shore. There were more than riding lights out -there on the steamer now. He gave one glance in that direction, shrugged -his shoulders, and started off along the road. At times he raised his -hand to brush it across his face where the welt, raw and swollen now, -was a dull red sear. He walked neither fast nor slow. - -The moonlight caught the dripping figure now and then in the open -spaces, and seemed to peer inquisitively at the great breadth of -shoulder, and the rippling play of muscle under the thin cotton drawers -and shirt, which, wet and clinging, almost transparent, scarce hid the -man's nakedness; and at the face, that of a young man, whose square jaw -was locked, whose gray eyes stared steadily along the road, and over -whose forehead, from the drenched, untrimmed mass of fair hair, the -brine trickled in little rivulets as though persistent in its effort -to torture with its salt caress the raw, skin-broken flesh across the -cheeks. - -Then presently a point of land ran out, and, the road ignoring this, the -bay behind was shut out from view. And presently again, farther on, the -road came to a long white stretch of beach on the one hand, and foliage -and trees on the other. And here the dripping figure halted and stood -hesitant as though undecided between the moonlit stretch of sand, and -the darkness of a native hut that was dimly outlined amongst the trees -on the other side of the road. - -After a moment he made his way to the hut and, groping around, secured -some matches and a box of cigarettes. He spoke into the empty blackness. - -"You lose, Nanu," he muttered whimsically. "They wouldn't stand water -and I left them for you. But now, you see, I'm back again, after all." - -He lighted a cigarette, and in the flame of the match stared -speculatively at the small, broken pieces of coral that made the floor -of the hut, and equally, by the addition of a thin piece of native -matting, his bed. - -"The sand is softer," he said with a grim drawl. - -He went out from the hut, crossed the road, flung himself upon his back -on the beach, and clasped his hands behind his head. The smoke from his -cigarette curled languidly upward in wavering spirals, and he stared for -a long time at the moon. - -"Moon madness," he said at last. "They say if you look long enough the -old boy does you in." - -The cigarette finished, he flung the stub away. After a time, he raised -his head and listened. A moment later he lay back again full length on -the sand. The sound of some one's footsteps coming rapidly along the -road from the direction of the town was now unmistakably audible. - -"The jug for mine, I guess," observed the young man to the moon. -"Probably a file of native constabulary in bare feet that you can't hear -bringing up the rear!" - -The footsteps drew nearer, until, still some distance away, the -white-clad figure of a man showed upon the tree-fringed road. The -sprawled figure on the beach made no effort toward flight, and less -toward concealment. With a sort of studied insolence injected into his -challenge, he stuck another cigarette between his lips and deliberately -allowed full play to the flare of the match. - -The footsteps halted abruptly. Then, in another moment, they crunched -upon the sand, and a tall man, with thin, swarthy face, a man of perhaps -forty or forty-five, who picked assiduously at his teeth with a quill -toothpick, stood over the recumbent figure. - -"Found you, have I?" he grunted complacently. - -"If you like to put it that way," said the young man indifferently. He -raised himself on his elbow again, and stared toward the road. "Where's -the army?" he inquired. - -The tall man allowed the point of the quill toothpick to flex and strike -back against his teeth. The sound was distinctive. _Tck!_ He ignored the -question. - -"When the mate came out of dreamland," he said, "he lowered a boat and -came ashore to lay a complaint against you." - -"I can't say I'm surprised," admitted the young man. "I suppose I am -to go with you quietly and make no trouble or it will be the worse for -me--I believe that's the usual formula, isn't it?" - -The man with the quill toothpick sat down on the sand. He appeared to be -absorbed for a moment in a contemplation of his surroundings. - -"These tropic nights are wonderful, aren't they? Kind of get you." -He plied the quill toothpick industriously. "I'm a passenger on the -steamer, and I came ashore with the mate. He's gone back--without laying -the complaint. There's always a way of fixing things--even injured -feelings. One of the native boat's-crew said he knew where you were to -be found. He's over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the -road. - -The young man sat bolt upright. - -"I don't get you," he said slowly, "except that you are evidently not -personifying the majesty of the law. What's the idea?" - -"Well," said the other, "I had three reasons for coming. The first was -that I thought I recognized you yesterday when they threw you off the -steamer, and was sure of it to-night when--I am a light sleeper--I came -out on the upper deck at the sound of the row and saw you take your -departure from the vessel for the second time." - -"I had no idea," said the young man caustically, "that I was so well -known. Are you quite sure you haven't made a mistake?" - -"Quite!" asserted the other composedly. "Of course, I am not prepared -to say what your present name is--you may have considered a change -beneficial--so I will not presume in that respect. But you are, or were, -a resident of San Francisco. You were very nice people there. I have -no knowledge of your mother, except that I understand she died in your -infancy. A few years ago your father died and left you, not a fortune, -but quite a moderate amount of money. I believe the pulpits designate -it as a 'besetting sin.' You had one--gambling. The result was that you -traveled the road a great many other young men have traveled; the only -difference being that, in so far as I am competent to speak, you -hold the belt for speed and all-round proficiency. You went utterly, -completely and whole-heartedly to hell." - -The tall man became absorbed again in his surroundings. "And I take it," -he said presently, "that in spite of the won became absorbed again in -his surroundings. And I take it," he said presently, "that in spite of -the wonders of a tropic night, you are still there." - -The young man shrugged his shoulders. - -"You have put it very delicately," he said, with a grim smile. "I'm -sorry, but I am obliged to confess that the recognition isn't mutual. -Would you mind telling me who you are?" - -"We'll get to that in due course," said the other. "My second reason was -that it appeared to me to be logical to suppose that, having once -been the bona fide article, you could readily disguise yourself as a -gentleman again, and your interpretation of the rle would be beyond -suspicion or----" - -"By God!" The welt across the young man's face grew suddenly white, as -though the blood had fled from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose, -staring levelly into the other's eyes. - -The tall man apparently was quite undisturbed. - -"And the third reason is that I have been looking for just such a--there -really isn't any other word--gentleman, providing he was possessed -of another and very essential characteristic. You possess that -characteristic in a most marked degree. Your actions tonight are -unmistakable evidence that you have nerve." - -"It strikes me that you've got a little of it yourself," observed the -young man evenly. - -The quill toothpick under the adroit guidance of his tongue traveled -from the left- to the right-hand side of the other's mouth. - -"It is equally as essential to me," he said dryly. "You appear to fill -the bill; but there is always the possibility of a fly in the ointment; -complications--er--unpleasant complications, perhaps, you know, -that might have arisen since you left San Francisco, and that -might--er--complicate matters." - -The young man relapsed into a recumbent position upon the sand, his -hands clasped under his head again, and in his turn appeared to be -absorbed in the beauty of the night. - -"Moon-madness!" he murmured pityingly. - -"A myth!" said the tall man promptly. "Would you mind sketching in -roughly the details of your interesting career since you left the haunts -of the aristocracy?" - -"I don't see any reason why I should." The young man yawned. - -"Do you see any reason why you shouldn't?" inquired the other -composedly. - -"None," said the young man, "except that the steamer sails at daybreak, -and I should never forgive myself if you were left behind." - -"Nor forgive yourself, perhaps, if you failed to sail on her as a -first-class passenger," said the tall man quietly. - -"What?" ejaculated the young man sharply. - -The other shrugged his shoulders. - -"It depends on the story," he said. - -"I--I don't understand." The young man frowned. "There's a chance for me -to get aboard the mail boat?" - -"It depends on the story," said the other again. - -"Moon-mad!" murmured the young man once more, after a moment's silence. -"But it's cheap at the price, for it's not much of a story. Beginning -where you left off in my biography, I ducked when the crash came in San -Francisco, and having arrived in hell, as you so delicately put it, I -started out to explore. Mr. Dante had it right--there's no use stopping -in the suburbs. I lived a while in his last circle. It's too bad he -never knew the 'Frisco water-front; it would have fired his imagination! -I'm not sure, though, but Honolulu's got a little on 'Frisco, at that! -Luck was out. I was flat on my back when I got a chance to work my way -out to Honolulu. One place was as good as another by then." - -The young man lit a cigarette, and stared at the glowing tip -reminiscently with his gray eyes. - -"You said something about gambling," he went on; "but you didn't say -enough. It's a disease, a fever that sets your blood on fire, and makes -your life kind of delirious, I guess--if you get it chronic. I guess I -was born with it. I remember when I was a kid I--but I forgot, pardon -me, the mail boat sails at daybreak." - -"Go as far as you like," said the tall man, picking at his teeth with -the quill toothpick. - -The young man shook his head. - -"Honolulu is the next stopping place," he said. "On the way out I picked -up a few odd dollars from my fellow-members of the crew, and----" - -"Tck!" It was the quill toothpick. - -The young man's eyes narrowed, and his jaw set challengingly. - -"Whatever else I've done," he stated in a significant monotone, "I've -never played crooked. It was on the level." - -"Of course," agreed the tall man hastily. - -"I sat in with the only stakes I had," said the young man, still -monotonously. "A bit of tobacco, a rather good knife that I've got yet, -and a belt that some one took a fancy to as being worth half a dollar." - -"Certainly! Of course!" reiterated the tall man in haste. - -The quill toothpick was silent. - -"A pal of mine, one of the stokers, said he knew of a good place to play -in Honolulu where there was a square deal," continued the young man; -"so, a night or so after we reached there, we got shore leave and -started off. Perhaps you know that part of Honolulu. I don't. I didn't -see much of it. I know there's some queer dumps, and queer doings, and -the scum of every nationality under the sun to run up against. And I -know it was a queer place my mate steered me into. It was faro. The -box was run by an old Chinaman who looked as though he were trying to -impersonate one of his ancestors, he was so old. My mate and I formed -the English-speaking community. There were a Jap or two, and a couple of -pleasant-looking cutthroats who cursed in Spanish, and a Chink lying on -a bunk rolling his pill. Oh, yes, the place stunk! Every once in a while -the door opened and some other Godforsaken piece of refuse drifted in. -By midnight we had a full house of pretty bad stuff. - -"It ended in a row, of course. Some fool of a tout came in chaperoning -a party of three men, who were out to see the sights; they were -passengers, I found out later, from one of the ships in port. I don't -know what started the rumpus; some private feud, I guess. The first -thing I knew one of the Spaniards had a knife out and had jumped for the -tout. It was a free-for-all in a minute. I saw the tout go down, and he -didn't look good, and the place suddenly struck me as a mighty unhealthy -place to be found in on that account. The stoker and I started to fight -our way through the jam to the door. There was a row infernal. I guess -you could have heard it a mile away. Anyway, before we could break from -the clinches, as it were, the police were fighting their way in just as -eagerly as we were fighting our way out. - -"I didn't like the sight of that tout lying on the floor, or the thought -of what might happen in the police court the next morning if I were one -of the crowd to adorn the dock. And things weren't going very well. The -police were streaming in through the doorway. And then I caught sight of -something I hadn't seen before because it had previously been hidden by -a big Chinese screen--one of those iron-shuttered windows they seem so -fond of down there. Things weren't very rosy just at that moment because -about the worst hell-cat scramble on record was being made a little -worse by some cheerful maniac starting a bit of revolver practice, but I -remember that I couldn't help laughing to save my soul. In the mle one -of the folding wings of the screen had suddenly doubled up, and, -besides the window, I saw hiding behind there for dear life, his -face pasty-white with terror, a very courageous gentleman--one of the -rubbernecks who had come in with the tout. He was too scared, I imagine, -even to have the thought of tackling such formidable things as iron -shutters enter his head. I yelled to the stoker to get them open, and -tried to form a sort of rear guard for him while he did it. Then I heard -them creak on their hinges, and heard him shout. I made a dash for it, -but I wasn't quite quick enough. One of the policemen grabbed me, but -I was playing in luck then. I got in a fortunate swing and he went down -for the count. I remember toppling the screen and the man behind it -over on the floor as I jumped sideways for the window; and I remember a -glimpse of his terrorized face, his eyes staring at me, his mouth wide -open, as I took a headlong dive over the window sill. The stoker picked -me up, and we started on the run. - -"The police were scrambling through the window after us. I didn't need -to be told that there wouldn't be a happy time ahead if I were caught. -Apart from that tout who, though I had nothing to do with it, gave the -affair a very serious aspect, I was good for the limit on the statute -books for resisting arrest in the first place, and for knocking out an -officer in the second. But the stoker knew his way about. We gave -the police the slip, and a little later on we landed up in a sailors' -boarding-house run by a one-eyed cousin of Satan, known as Lascar Joe. -We lay there hidden while the tout got better, and the Spanish hidalgo -got sent up for a long term for murderous assault. Finally Lascar Joe -slipped the stoker aboard some ship; and a week or so later he slipped -me, the transfer being made in the night, aboard a frowsy tramp, bound -for New Zealand." - -The young man paused, evidently inviting comment. - -"Go on," prompted the man with the quill toothpick softly. - -"There isn't very much more," said the young man. He laughed shortly. -"As far as I know I'm the sole survivor from that tramp. She never got -to New Zealand; and that's how I got here to Samoa. She went down in -a hurricane. I was washed ashore on one of this group of islands about -forty or fifty miles from here. I don't know much about the details; I -was past knowing anything when the bit of wreckage on which I had lashed -myself days before came to port. There weren't any--I was going to say -white people on the island, but I'm wrong about that. The Samoans are -about the whitest people on God's green earth. I found that out. There -were only natives on that island. I lived with them for about two -months, and I got to be pretty friendly with them, especially the old -fellow who originally picked me up half drowned and unconscious on the -beach, and who took me into the bosom of his family. Then the missionary -boat came along, and I came back with it to Apia here." - -The young man laughed again suddenly, a jarring note in his mirth. - -"I don't suppose you've heard that original remark about the world -being such a small place after all! I figured that back here in Apia a -shipwrecked and destitute white man would get the glad hand and at least -a chance to earn his stake. Maybe he would ordinarily; but I didn't. I -hadn't said anything to the missionary about that Honolulu escapade, and -I was keeping it dark when I got here and started to tell the shipwreck -end of my story over again. Queer, isn't it? Lined up in about the first -audience I had was the gentleman with the pasty face that I had toppled -over with the screen in the old Chink's faro dump. He was one of the big -guns here, and had been away on a pleasure trip, and Honolulu had been -on his itinerary. That settled it. The missionary chap spoke up a bit -for me, I'll give him credit for that, though I had a hunch he was going -to use that play as an opening wedge in an effort to reform me later on. -But I had my fingers crossed. The whites here turned their backs on me, -and I turned my back on the missionary. That's about all there was to -it. That was about two weeks ago, and for those two weeks I've lived in -another of Mr. Dante's delightful circles." - -He sat suddenly upright, a clenched fist flung outward. - -"Not a cent! Not a damned sou-marquee! Nothing but this torn shirt, and -what's left of these cotton pants! Hell!" - -He lay back on the sand quite as suddenly again, and fell to laughing -softly. - -"Tck!" It was the quill toothpick. - -"But at that," said the young man, "I'm not sure you could call me -a cynic, though the more I see of my own breed as compared with the -so-called heathen the less I think of--my own breed! I still had a card -up my sleeve. I had a letter of introduction to a real gentleman and -landed proprietor here. His name was Nanu, and he gave me his house to -live in, and made me free of his taro and his breadfruit and all his -worldly possessions; and it was the old native who took care of me on -the other island that gave me the letter. It was a queer sort of letter, -too--but never mind that now. - -"Splendid isolation! That's me for the last two weeks as a cross between -a pariah and a mangy cur! What amazes me most is myself. The gentleman -of the Chinese screen is still in the land of the living and walking -blithely around. Funny, isn't it? That's one reason I was crazy to get -away--before anything happened to him." The tanned fist closed fiercely -over a handful of sand, then opened and allowed the grains to trickle -slowly through the fingers, and its owner laughed softly again. "I've -lived through hell here in those two weeks. I guess we're only built to -stand so much. I was about at the end of my rope when the mail steamer -put in yesterday. I hope I haven't idealized my sojourn here in a way -that would cause you to minimize my necessity for getting away, no -matter to where or by what means! Nanu and I went out to the ship in his -outrigger. Perhaps I would have had better luck if I had run into any -other than the particular mate I did. I don't know. I offered to work my -passage. Perhaps my fame had already gone abroad--or aboard. He invited -me to make another excursion into Dante-land. But when he turned his -back on me I slipped below, and tucked myself in behind some of the -copra sacks they were loading. Once the steamer was away I was away -with her, and I was willing to take what was coming. But I didn't get a -chance. I guess the mate was sharper than I gave him credit for. After -about four hours of heat and stink down there below decks that I had to -grit my teeth to stand, he hauled me out as though he knew I had been -there all the time. I was thrown off the steamer. - -"But I wasn't through. Steamers do not call here every day. I wonder -if you'll know what I mean when I say I was beginning to be afraid of -myself and what might happen if I had to stick it out much longer? That -mangy cur I spoke of had me lashed to the mast from a social standpoint. -I tried it again--to-night. Nanu fixed it for me with one of the crew to -hang that rope over the side, and--well, I believe you said you had seen -what happened. I believe you said, too, that a chance still existed of -my sailing with the mail boat, depending upon my story." He laughed a -little raucously. "I hope it's been interesting enough to bail me out; -anyway, that's all of it." - -The tall man sat for a moment in silence. - -"Yes," he said at last; "I am quite satisfied. Dressed as a gentleman, -with money in your pockets, and such other details as go with the rle, -you would never be associated with that affair in Honolulu. As a matter -of fact your share in it was not so serious that the police would dog -you all over the world on account of it. In other words, and what really -interests me, is that you are not what is commonly designated as a -'wanted' man. Yes, I may say I am thoroughly satisfied." - -The young man yawned and stretched himself. - -"I'm delighted to hear it. I haven't any packing to do. Shall we stroll -back to the ship?" - -"I hope so." The quill toothpick was busy again. "The decision -rests with you. I am not a philanthropist. I am about to offer you a -situation--to fill which I have been searching a good many years to find -some one who had the necessary qualifications. I am satisfied you are -that man. You do not know me; you do not know my name, and though you -have already asked what it is, I shall still withhold that information -until your decision has been given. If you agree, I will here and now -sign a contract with you to which we will both affix our bona fide -signatures; if you refuse, we will shake hands and part as friends and -strangers who have been--shall we use your expression?--moon-mad under -the influence of the wonders of a tropic night." - -"Something tells me," said the young man softly, "that the situation is -not an ordinary one." - -"And you are right," replied the other quietly. "It is not only not -ordinary, but is, I think I may safely say, absolutely unique and -without its counterpart. I might mention in passing that I am not in -particularly good health, and the sea voyage I was ordered to take -explains my presence here. I am the sole owner of one of the largest, -if not the largest, business enterprises in America; certainly its -turn-over, at least, is beyond question the biggest on the American -continent. I have establishments in every city of any size in both the -United States and Canada--and even in Mexico. The situation I offer you -is that of my confidential representative. No connection whatever will -be known to exist between us; your title will be that of a gentleman of -leisure--but your duties will be more arduous. I regret to say that in -many cases I fear my local managers are not--er--making accurate returns -to me, and they are very hard to check up. I would require you to travel -from place to place as a sort of, say, secret inspector of branches, -and furnish me with the inside information from the lack of which my -business at present, I am afraid, is suffering severely." - -"And that business?" The young man had raised himself to his elbow on -the sand. - -"The one that is nearest to your heart," said the tall man calmly. -"Gambling." - -The young man leaned slowly forward, staring at the other. - -"I wonder if I quite get you?" he said. - -"I am sure you do." The tall man smiled. "My business is a chain of -select and exclusive gambling houses where only high play is indulged -in, and whose clientele is the richest in the land." - -The young man rose to his feet, walked a few steps away along the beach, -and came back again. - -"You're devilishly complimentary!" he flung out, with a short laugh. "As -I understand it, then, the price I am to pay for getting away from here -is the pawning of my soul?" - -"Have you anything else to pawn?" inquired the other--and the quill -toothpick punctuated the remark: "Tck!" - -"No," said the young man, with a twisted smile. "And I'm not sure I've -got that left! I am beginning to have a suspicion that it was in your -'branch' at San Francisco that I lost my money." - -"You did," said the other coolly. "That is how I came to know you. -Though not personally in evidence in the 'house' itself, San Francisco -is my home, and my information as to what goes on there at least is -fairly accurate." - -The young man resumed his pacing up and down the sand. - -"And I might add," said the tall man after a moment, "that from a point -of ethics I see little difference in the moral status between one who -comes to gamble and one who furnishes the other with the opportunity to -do so. You are perhaps hesitating to take the hurdle on that account?" - -"Moral status!" exclaimed the young man sharply. He halted abruptly -before the other. "No--at least I am not a hypocrite! What right have I -to quarrel with moral status?" - -"Very well, then," said the other; "I will go farther. I will give you -everything in life that you desire. You will live as a gentleman of -wealth surrounded by every luxury that money can procure, for that is -your rle. You may gamble to your heart's content, ten, twenty, fifty -thousand a night--in my houses. You will travel the length and breadth -of America. I will pay every expense. There is nothing that you may not -have, nothing that you may not do." - -The young man was silent for a full minute then, with his hands dug in -his pockets, he fell to whistling under his breath very softly--but very -deliberately. - -An almost sinister smile spread over the tall man's lips as he listened. - -"If I am not mistaken," he observed dryly, "that is the aria from -Faust." - -"Yes," said the young man--and stared the other in the eye. "It is the -aria from Faust." - -The tall man nodded--but now his lips were straight. - -"I accept the rle of Mephistopheles, then," he said softly. "Doctor -Faustus, you know, signed the bond." - -The young man squatted on the sand again. His face was curiously white; -only the ugly welt, dull red, across his cheeks, like the mark of some -strange branding-iron, held color. - -"Then, draw it!" he said shortly. "And be damned to you!" - -The tall man took a notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket. He -wrote rapidly, tore out the leaf, and on a second leaf made a copy of -the first. This, too, he tore out. - -"I will read it," he said. "You will observe that no names are -mentioned; that I have still reserved the privilege of keeping my -identity in abeyance until the document is signed. This is what I have -written: _For good and valid consideration the second signatory to -this contract hereby enters unreservedly into the employ of the first -signatory for a period which shall include the lifetime of one or -other of the undersigned, or until such time as this agreement may be -dissolved either by mutual consent or at the will of the first signatory -alone. And the first signatory to this contract agrees to maintain -the second signatory in a station in life commensurate with that of a -gentleman of wealth irrespective of expense, and further to pay to the -second signatory as a stated salary the sum of one thousand dollars a -month._" He looked up. "Shall I sign?" - -"Body and soul," murmured the young man. He appeared to be fascinated -with the restless movement of the quill toothpick in the other's -mouth. "Have you another toothpick you could let me have?" he inquired -casually. - -The tall man mechanically thrust his fingers into his vest pocket; and -then, as though but suddenly struck with the irrelevancy, and perhaps -facetiousness, of the request, frowned as he found himself handing over -the article in question. - -"Shall I sign?" His tone was sterner. "It is understood that the -signatures are to be bona fide and----" - -"Yes, sign it. It is quite understood." The young man spoke without -looking up. He seemed to be engrossed in carefully slitting the point of -the quill toothpick he had acquired with his knife. - -The other signed both sheets from the notebook. - -The young man accepted the two slips of paper, but refused the proffered -fountain pen. In the moonlight he read the other's signature: Gilbert -Larmon. His lips tightened a little. It was a big name in San Francisco, -a name of power. Few dreamed perhaps where the sinews of that power came -from! He drew from his pocket a small bottle, uncorked it, dipped in -the quill toothpick, and with his improvised pen wrote with a rasping, -spluttering noise beneath the other's signature on each of the two slips -of paper. One of these slips he returned to the other--but beneath the -tall man's signature there was no mark of any kind whatever. - -Through narrowing eyes the tall man had been watching, and now his face -darkened ominously, and there was something of deadly coolness in his -voice as he spoke. - -"What tomfoolery is this?" he demanded evenly. - -"No; it's quite all right," said the young man placidly. "Just a whim -of mine. I can't seem to get that Doctor Faustus thing out of my head. -According to the story, I think, he signed in a drop of blood--and I -thought I'd carry a sort of analogy along a bit. That stuff's all right. -I got it from my old native friend on that island I was telling you -about. It's what my letter of introduction to Nanu was written with. -And--well, at least, I guess it stands for the drop of blood, all right! -Take it down there to the shore and dip that part of the paper in the -salt water." - -The tall man made no answer. For a moment he remained staring with -grim-set features at the other, then he got up, walked sharply to the -water's edge, and, bending down, moistened the lower portion of the -paper. He held it up to the moonlight. Heavy black letters were slowly -taking form just beneath his own signature. Presently he walked back up -the beach to the young man, and held out his hand. - -"Let us get back to the ship--John Bruce," he said. - - - - -CHAPTER ONE--ALADDIN'S LAMP - -|JOHN BRUCE, stretched at full length on a luxurious divan in the most -sumptuous apartment of the Bayne-Miloy, New York's newest and most -pretentious hostelry, rose suddenly to his feet and switched off the -lights. The same impulse carried him in a few strides to the window. The -night was still, and the moon rode high and full. It was the same moon -that, three months ago, he had stared at from the flat of his back -on the beach at Apia. A smile, curiously tight, and yet curiously -whimsical, touched his lips. If it had been "moon-madness" that had -fallen upon the gambler king and himself that night, it had been a -madness that was strangely free in its development from hallucination! -That diagnosis no longer held. It would be much more apposite to lay it -bluntly to the door of--Mephistopheles! From the moment he had boarded -the mail steamer he had lived as a man possessed of unlimited wealth, -as a man with unlimited funds always in his possession or at his instant -command. - -He whistled softly. It was, though, if not moon-madness, perhaps the -moon, serene and full up there as it had been that other night, which he -had been watching from the divan a few moments before, that had sent his -mind scurrying backward over those intervening months. And yet, perhaps -not; for there would come often enough, as now, moments of mind groping, -yes, even the sense of hallucination, when he was not quite sure but -that a certain bubble, floating at one moment in dazzlingly iridescent -beauty before his eyes, would dissolve the next into blank nothingness, -and---- Well, what would it be then? Another beach at some Apia, until -another Mephistopheles, in some other guise, came to play up against his -rle of Doctor Faustus again? - -He looked sharply behind him around the darkened room, whose darkness -did not hide its luxury. His shoulder brushed the heavy silken portire -at his side; his fingers touched a roll of banknotes in his pocket, -a generous roll, whose individual units were of denominations more -generous still. These were realities! - -Mephistopheles at play! He had left Larmon at Suva, Fiji. Thereafter, -their ways and their lives lay apart--outwardly. Actually, even here -in New York with the continent between them, for Larmon had resumed -his life in which he played the rle of a benevolent and retired man of -wealth in San Francisco, they were in constant and extremely intimate -touch with each other. - -A modern Mephistopheles! Two men only in the world knew Gilbert Larmon -for what he was! One other besides himself! And that other was a man -named Maldeck, Peter Maldeck. But only one man knew him, John Bruce, in -his new rle, and that was Gilbert Larmon. Maldeck was the manager of -the entire ring of gambling houses, and likewise the clearing house -through which the profits flowed into Larmon's coffers; but to Maldeck, -he, John Bruce, was exactly what he appeared to be to the world at -large, and to the local managers of the gambling houses in particular--a -millionaire plunger to whom gambling was as the breath of life. The -"inspector of branches" dealt with Gilbert Larmon alone, and dealt -confidentially and secretively over Maldeck's head--even that invisible -writing fluid supplied by the old Samoan Islander playing its part when -found necessary, for it had been agreed between Larmon and himself that -even the most innocent appearing document received from him, John Bruce, -should be subjected to the salt water test; and he had, indeed, already -used it in several of the especially confidential reports that he had -sent Larmon on some of the branches. - -He shrugged his shoulders. The whole scheme of his changed existence -had all been artfully simple--and superbly efficient. He was under no -necessity to explain the source of his wealth except in his native city, -San Francisco, where he was known--and San Francisco was outside -his jurisdiction. With both Larmon and Maldeck making that their -headquarters, other supervision of the local "branch" was superfluous; -elsewhere, his wealth was inherited--that was all. So, skipping San -Francisco, he had come leisurely eastward, gambling for a week or -two weeks, as the case might be, in the various cities, following as -guidance apparently but the whim of his supposedly rou inclinations, -and he had lost a lot of money--which would eventually find its way -back to its original source in the pockets of Gilbert Larmon, via the -clearing house conducted by Peter Maldeck. It was extremely simple--but, -equally, extremely systematic. The habitues of every branch were -carefully catalogued. He had only--and casually--to make the -acquaintance of one of these in each city, and, in turn, quite -inevitably, would follow an introduction to the local "house"; and, once -introduced, the entre, then or on any subsequent visit to that city, -was an established fact. - -John Bruce laughed suddenly, softly, out into the night. It had been -a good bargain that he had made with Mephistopheles! Wealth, luxury, -everything he desired in life was his. On the trail behind him in the -cities he had already visited he had nightly lost or won huge sums of -money until he had become known as the millionaire plunger. It was quite -true that, in as much as the money, whether lost or won, but passed from -his right- to his left-hand pocket--the pockets being represented by -one Gilbert Larmon--the gambler craving within him was but ill -served, almost in a sense mocked; but that phase of it had sunk into -insignificance. The whole idea was a gigantic gamble--a gamble with -life. The whole fabric was of texture most precarious. It exhilarated -him. Excitement, adventure, yes, even peril, beckoned alluringly and -always from around the corner just ahead. He stood against the police; -he stood a very excellent chance of being discovered some morning minus -his life if the men he was set to watch, and who now fawned upon him and -treated him with awe and an unholy admiration, should get an inkling of -his real identity and his real purpose in their houses! - -He yawned, and as though glorying in his own strength flexed his great -shoulders, and stretched his arms to their full length above his head. -God, it was life! It made of him a superman. He had no human ties to -bind him; no restraint to know; no desire that could not be satiated. -The past was wiped away. It was like some reincarnation in which he -stood supreme above his fellow men, and they bowed to their god. And he -was their god. And if he but nodded approval they would lie, and cheat, -and steal, and commit murder in their greed of worship, they whose souls -were in pawn to their god! - -He turned suddenly from the window, switched on the lights, drew from -his pocket a great sum of money in banknotes, and stood staring at it. -There were thousands in his hand. Thousands and thousands! Money! The -one universally-orthodox god! For but one of these pieces of paper in -his hand he could command what he would, play upon human passions at his -whim, and like puppets on a stage of his own setting move the followers -of the Great Creed, that were numbered in their millions, at his will! -It was only over the few outcasts, the unbelievers, that he held no -sway. But he could afford to ignore the minority! Was he not indeed a -god? - -And it had cost him nothing. Only the pawning of his soul; and, like -Faustus, the day of settlement was afar off. Only the signing of a bond -that postulated a denial of what he had already beforehand held in light -esteem--a code of canting morals. It was well such things were out of -the way! Life stretched the fuller, the rosier, the more red-blooded -before him on that account. He was well content. The future lured him. -Nor was it money alone. There was the spice of adventure, the battle -of wits, hardly inaugurated yet, between himself and those whose -underground methods were the _raison d'tre_ of his own magically -enhanced circumstances. - -John Bruce replaced the money in his pocket abruptly, and frowned. That -was something, from still another standpoint, which he could not afford -to lose sight of. He had to justify his job. Gilbert Larmon had stated -that he was not a philanthropist, and it was written in the bond that -Larmon could terminate the agreement at will. Yes, and that was -queer, tool What kind of a man was Larmon? He knew Larmon, as Larmon -superficially subjected himself to inspection and speculation; but -he was fully aware that he did not know Larmon the man. There seemed -something almost sinister in its inconsistency that Larmon should at one -and the same time reserve the right to terminate that bond at will while -his very signature upon it furnished a weapon which, if he, John Bruce, -chose to use it, placed the other at his mercy. What kind of a man was -Larmon? No fool, no weak-ling--that was certain. And yet at a word he, -John Bruce, could tear the other from the pseudorighteous pedestal upon -which he posed, strip the other naked of the garments that clothed his -criminal activities, and destroy utterly the carefully reared structure -of respectability that Larmon had built up around himself. It might be -very true that he, John Bruce, would never use such a weapon, even under -provocation; but Larmon could not be sure of that. How then did Larmon -reconcile his reservation to terminate the contract at will and yet -furnish his co-signatory with the means of black-mailing him into a -continuance of it? What kind of a man was Larmon? What would he be like -with his back to the wall? What _other_ reservation had been in Larmon's -mind when he had drawn that bond? - -And then a queer and bitter smile came to John Bruce's lips. The god -of money! Was he so sure that he was the god and not the worshiper? Was -that it? Was that what Larmon counted upon?--that only a fool would risk -the sacrifice of the Aladdin's lamp that had been thrust into his -hands, and that only a fool but would devote body and soul to Larmon's -interests under the circumstances! - -The smile grew whimsical. It was complimentary in a sense. It was based -on the premise that he, John Bruce, was not a fool. He shrugged his -shoulders. Well, therein Larmon was right. It would not be his, John -Bruce's, fault if anything short of death terminated the bond which had -originated that tropic night on the moon-lit beach in Samoa three months -ago! - -He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. It was still early for -play; but it was not so early that his arrival in the New York "branch," -where he had been a constant visitor for the last four nights, could -possibly arouse any suspicion, and one's opportunities for inside -observation were very much better when the play was desultory and but -few present than in the crowded rooms of the later hours. - -"If I were in England now," said John Bruce, addressing the chandelier, -as he put on a light coat over his evening clothes, "I couldn't get away -with this without a man to valet me--and at times, though he might be -useful, he might be awkward. Damned awkward! But in America you do, or -you don't, as you please--and I don't!" - - - - -CHAPTER TWO--THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER - -|JOHN BRUCE left the hotel and entered a taxi. A little later, in -that once most fashionable section of New York, in the neighborhood of -Gramercy Square, he was admitted to a stately mansion by a white-haired -negro butler, who bowed obsequiously. - -Thereafter, for a little while, John Bruce wandered leisurely from room -to room in the magnificently appointed house, where in the rich carpets -the sound of footsteps was lost, where bronzes and paintings, exquisite -in their art, charmed the eye, where soft-toned draperies and portires -were eloquent of refinement and good taste; he paused for a moment at -the threshold of the supper room, whose table was a profusion of every -delicacy to tempt the palate, where wines of a vintage that was almost -priceless were to be had at no greater cost than the effort required -to lift a beckoning finger to the smiling ebony face of old Jake, the -attendant. And here John Bruce extended a five-dollar bill, but shook -his head as the said Jake hastened toward him. Later, perhaps, he might -revisit the room--when a few hours' play had dimmed the recollection of -his recent dinner, and his appetite was again sharpened. - -In the card rooms there were, as yet, scarcely any "guests." He chatted -pleasantly with the "dealers"--John Bruce, the millionaire plunger, -was _persona grata_, almost effusively so, everywhere in the house. -Lavergne, the manager, as Parisian as he was immaculate from the tips of -his patent-leathers to the tips of his waxed mustache, joined him; and -for ten minutes, until the other was called away, John Bruce proceeded -to nourish the already extremely healthy germ of intimacy that, from the -first meeting, he had planted between them. - -With the manager's million apologies for the unpardonable act of tearing -himself away still sounding in his ears, John Bruce placidly resumed -his wanderings. The New York "branch," which being interpreted meant -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, the exquisite little manager, was heavily -underscored on Gilbert Larmon's black-list! - -The faint, musical whir of the little ivory ball from the roulette table -caught John Bruce's attention, and he strolled in that direction. Here -a "guest" was already at play. The croupier smiled as John Bruce -approached the table. John Bruce smiled pleasantly in return, and sat -down. After a moment, he began to make small five-dollar bets on the -"red." His fellow-player was plunging heavily--and losing. Also, the man -was slightly under the influence of liquor. The croupier's voice droned -through half a dozen plays. John Bruce continued to make five-dollar -bets. The little by-play interested him. He knew the signs. - -His fellow-player descended to the supper room for another drink, it -being against the rules of the house to serve anything in the gambling -rooms. The croupier laughed as he glanced at the retreating figure and -then at another five-dollar bet that John Bruce pushed upon the "red." - -"He'll rob you of your reputation, Mr. Bruce, if you don't look out!" -the croupier smiled quizzically. "Are you finding a thrill in playing -the minimum for a change?" - -"Just feeling my way." John Bruce returned the smile. "It's a bit early -yet, isn't it?" - -The other player returned. He continued to bet heavily. He made another -excursion below stairs. Other "guests" drifted into the room, and the -play became more general. - -John Bruce increased his stakes slightly, quite indifferent naturally as -to whether he lost or won--since he could neither lose nor win. He was -sitting beside the player he had originally joined at the table, and -suddenly his interest in the other became still more enlivened. The man, -after a series of disastrous plays, was palpably broke, for he snatched -off a large diamond ring from his finger and held it out to the -croupier. - -"Give me--hic!--somethin' on that," he hiccoughed. "Might as well make a -clean-up, eh?" - -The croupier took the ring, examined it critically for an instant, and -handed it back. - -"I'm sorry," he said; "but you know the rules of the house. I couldn't -advance anything on it if it were worth a million. But the stone's -valuable, all right. You'd better take a trip to Persia." - -The man replaced the ring with some difficulty upon his finger, and -stared owlishly at the croupier. - -"T' hell with your--hic!--trip to Persia!" he said thickly. "Don't like -Persia! Been--hic!--there before! Guess I'll go home!" - -The man negotiated his way to the door; the game went on. John Bruce -began to increase his stakes materially. A trip to Persia! What, -exactly, did that mean? It both piqued his curiosity and stirred his -suspicions. He smiled as he placed a heavy stake upon the table. It -would probably be a much more expensive trip to this fanciful Persia -than to the Persia of reality, for it seemed that one must go broke -first! Well, he would go broke--though it would require some little -finesse for John Bruce, the millionaire plunger, to attain that envious -situation without exciting suspicion. He was very keenly interested in -this personally conducted tour, obviously inaugurated by that exquisite -little man, Monsieur Paul de Lavergne! - -John Bruce to his inward chagrin--won. He began to play now with a -zest, eagerness and excitement which, heretofore, the juggling of -Mephistopheles' money had deprived him of. Outwardly, however, the calm -impassiveness that, in the few evenings he had been in the house, had -already won him the reputation of being par excellence a cool and nervy -plunger, remained unchanged. - -He continued to win for a while; and then suddenly he began to lose. -This was much better! He lost steadily now. He staked with lavish hand, -playing numerous long chances for the limit at every voyage of the -clicking little ivory ball. Finally, the last of his visible assets were -on the table, and he leaned forward to watch the fall of the ball. He -was already fingering the magnificent jeweled watch-fob that dangled -from the pocket of his evening clothes. - -"Zero!" announced the croupier. - -The "zero" had been one of his selections. The "zero" paid 35 for 1. - -A subdued ripple of excitement went up from around the table. The room -was filling up. The still-early comers, mostly spectators for the time -being, lured to the roulette table at the whisper that the millionaire -plunger was out to-night to break the bank, were whetting their own -appetites in the play of Mr. John Bruce, who had obviously just escaped -being broke himself by a very narrow margin. - -John Bruce smiled. He was in funds again--more so than pleased him! - -"It's a 'zero' night, Mr. Croupier," observed John Bruce pleasantly. -"Roll her again!" - -But now luck was with John Bruce. The "zero" and his other combinations -were as shy and elusive as fawns. At the expiration of another half hour -the net result of John Bruce's play consisted in his having transferred -from his own keeping into the keeping of the New York branch thirty -thousand dollars of Mephistopheles' money. He was to all appearances -flagrantly broke as far as funds in his immediate possession were -concerned. - -"I guess," said John Bruce, with a whimsical smile, "that I didn't bring -enough with me. I don't know where I can get any more to-night, and--oh, -here!" He laughed with easy grace, as he suddenly tossed his jeweled -watch-fob to the croupier. "One more fling anyhow--I've still unbounded -faith in 'zero'! Let me have a thousand on that. It's worth about two." - -The croupier, as on the previous occasion, examined the article, but, as -before, shook his head. - -"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bruce, but it's strictly against the rules of -the house," he said apologetically. "I can fix it for you easily enough -though, if you care to take a trip to Persia." - -"A trip to Persia?" inquired John Bruce in a puzzled way. "I think I -heard you suggest that before this evening. What's the idea?" - -Some of those around the table were smiling. - -"It's all right," volunteered a player opposite, with a laugh. "Only -look out for the conductor!" - -"Shoot!" said John Bruce nonchalantly. "That's good enough! You can book -my passage, Mr. Croupier." - -The croupier called an attendant, spoke to him, and the man left the -room. - -"It will take a few minutes, Mr. Bruce--while you are getting your hat -and coat. The doorman will let you know," said the croupier, and with a -bow to John Bruce resumed the interrupted game. - -John Bruce strolled from the room, and descended to the lower floor. He -entered the supper room, and while old Jake plied him with delicacies he -saw the doorman emerge from the telephone booth out in the hall, hurry -away, and presently return, talking earnestly with Monsieur Henri de -Lavergne. The manager, in turn, entered the booth. - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne came into the supper room after a moment. - -"In just a few minutes, Mr. Bruce--there will be a slight delay," he -said effusively. "Too bad to keep you waiting." - -"Not at all!" responded John Bruce. He held a wine glass up to the -light. "This is very excellent, Monsieur de Lavergne." - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne accepted the compliment with a gratified bow. - -"Mr. Bruce is very kind to say so," he said--and launched into an -elaborate apology that Mr. Bruce should be put to any inconvenience -to obtain the financial accommodation asked for. The security that Mr. -Bruce offered was unquestioned. It was not that. It was the rule of the -house. Mr. Bruce would understand. - -Mr. Bruce understood perfectly. - -"Quite so!" he said cordially. - -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne excused himself, and left the room. - -"A fishy, clever little crook," confided John Bruce to himself. "I -wonder what's the game?" - -He continued to sip his wine in apparent indifference to the passing -minutes, nor was his indifference altogether assumed. His mind was quite -otherwise occupied. It was rather neat, that--a trip to Persia. The -expression in itself held a lure which had probably not been overlooked -as an asset. It suggested Bagdad, and the Arabian Nights, and a Caliph -and a Grand Vizier who stalked about in disguise. On the other hand, the -inebriated gentleman had evidently had his fill of it on one occasion, -and would have no more of it. And the other gentleman who had, as it -were, indorsed the proceeding, had, at the same time, taken the occasion -to throw out a warning to beware of the conductor. - -John Bruce smiled pleasantly into his wine glass. Not very difficult to -fathom, perhaps, after all! It was probably some shrewd old reprobate -with usurious rates in cahoots with the sleek Monsieur Henri de -Lavergne, who made a side-split on the said rates in return for the -exclusive privilege accorded the other of acting as leech to the guests -of the house when in extremity. - -It had been perhaps twenty minutes since he had left the roulette table. -He looked at his watch now as he saw the doorman coming toward the -supper room with his hat and coat. The night was still early. It was a -quarter to eleven. - -He went out into the hall. - -"Yassuh," said the gray-haired and obsequious old darky, as he assisted -John Bruce into his coat, "if yo'all will just come with me, Mistuh -Bruce, yo'all will be 'commodated right prompt." - -John Bruce followed his guide to the doorstep. - -The darky pointed to a closed motor car at the curb by the corner, a few -houses away. - -"Yo'all just say 'Persia' to the shuffer, Mistuh Bruce, and-------" - -"All right!" John Bruce smiled his interruption, and went down the steps -to the sidewalk. - -John Bruce approached the waiting car leisurely, scrutinizing it the -while; and as he approached, it seemed to take on more and more the -aspect of a venerable and decrepit ark. The body of the car was entirely -without light; the glass front, if there were one, behind the man whom -he discerned sitting in the chauffeur's seat, was evidently closely -curtained; and so, too, he now discovered as he drew nearer, were the -windows and doors of the car as well. - -"The parlor looks a little ominous," said John - -Bruce softly to himself. "I wonder how far it is to the spider's dining -room?" - -He halted as he reached the vehicle. - -"I'm bound for Persia, I believe," he suggested pleasantly to the -chauffeur. - -The chauffeur leaned out, and John Bruce was conscious that he was -undergoing a critical inspection. In turn he looked at the chauffeur, -but there was very little light. The car seemed to have chosen a spot -as little disturbed by the rays of the street lamps as possible, and -he gained but a vague impression of a red, weather-beaten face, clean -shaved, with shaggy brows under grizzled hair, the whole topped by an -equally weather-beaten felt hat of nondescript shape and color. - -The inspection, on the chauffeur's part at least, appeared to be -satisfactory. - -"Yes, sir," said the man. "Step in, sir, please." - -The door swung open--just how, John Bruce could not have explained. -He stepped briskly into the car--only to draw back instinctively as he -found it already occupied. But the door had closed behind him. It was -inky black in the interior now with the door shut. The car was jolting -into motion. - -"Pardon me!" said John Bruce a little grimly, and sat down on the back -seat. - -A woman! He had just been able to make out a woman's form as he had -stepped in. It was clever--damned clever! Of both the exquisite Monsieur -Henri de Lavergne and the money-lending spider at the other end of this -pleasant little jaunt into unexplored Persia! A woman in it--a luring, -painted, fair and winsome damsel, no doubt--to make the usurious pill -of illegal interest a little sweeter I Oh, yes, he quite understood now -that warning to beware of the conductor! - -"I did not anticipate such charming company," said John Bruce -facetiously. "Have we far to go?" - -There was no answer. - -Something like a shadow, deeper than the surrounding blackness, seemed -to pass before John Bruce's eyes, and then he sat bolt upright, startled -and amazed. In front of him, let down from the roof of the car, was a -small table covered with black velvet, and suspended some twelve inches -above the table, throwing the glow downward in a round spot of light -over the velvet surface, was a shaded electric lamp. A small white hand, -bare of any ornament, palm upward, lay upon the velvet table-top under -the play of the light. - -A voice spoke now softly from beside him: - -"You have something to pawn?" - -John Bruce stared. He still could not see her face. "Er--yes," he said. -He frowned in perplexity. "When we get to Persia, alias the pawn-shop." - -"This is the pawn-shop," she answered. "Let me see what you have, -please." - -"Well, I'm da----" John Bruce checked himself. - -There was a delicacy about that white hand resting there under the light -that rebuked him. "Er--pardon me," said John Bruce. - -He felt for his jeweled watch-fob, unfastened it, and laid it in the -extended palm. He laughed a little to himself. On with the game! The -lure was here, all right; the stage setting was masterly--and now the -piper would be paid on a basis, probably, that would relegate Shylock -himself to the kindergarten class of money lenders! - -And then, suddenly, it seemed to John Bruce as though his blood whipping -through his veins was afire. A face in profile, bending forward to -examine the diamonds and the setting of the fob-pendant, came under the -light. He gazed at it fascinated. It was the most beautiful face he had -ever seen. His eyes drank in the rich masses of brown, silken hair, -the perfect throat, the chin and lips that, while modelled in sweet -womanliness, were still eloquent of self-reliance and strength. He had -thought to see a pretty face, a little brazen perhaps, and artfully -powdered and rouged; what he saw was a vision of loveliness that seemed -to personify the unsullied, God-given freshness and purity of youth. - -He spoke involuntarily; no power of his could have kept back the words. - -"My God, you are wonderful!" he exclaimed in a low voice. - -He saw the color swiftly tinge the throat a coral pink, and mount -upwards; but she did not look at him. Her eyes! He wanted to see her -eyes--to look into them! But she did not turn her head. - -"You probably paid two thousand dollars for this," she said quietly, -"and----" - -"Nineteen hundred," corrected John Bruce mechanically. - -"I will allow you seventeen hundred on it, then," she said, still -quietly. "The interest will be at seven per cent. Do you wish to accept -the offer?" - -Seventeen hundred! Seven per cent! It was in consonance with the vision! -His mind was topsy-turvy. - -He did not understand. - -"It is very liberal," said John Bruce, trying to control his voice. "Of -course, I accept." - -The shapely head nodded. - -He watched her spellbound. The watch-fob had vanished, and in its place -now under the little conical shaft of light she was swiftly counting -out a pile of crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes. To these she added a -stamped and numbered ticket. - -"You may redeem the pledge at any time by making application to the same -person to whom you originally applied for a loan to-night," she said, as -she handed him the money. "Please count it." - -Her head was in shadow now. He could no longer even see her profile. She -was sitting back in her corner of the car. - -"I--I am quite satisfied," said John Bruce a little helplessly. - -"Please count it," she insisted. - -With a shrug of protest, John Bruce obeyed her. It was not at all the -money that concerned him, nor the touch of it that was quickening his -pulse. - -"It is quite correct," he said, putting money and ticket in his pocket. -He turned toward her. "And now----" - -His words ended in a little gasp. The light was out. In the darkness -that shadow passed again before his eyes, and he was conscious that the -table had vanished--also that the car had stopped. - -The door opened. - -"If you please, sir!" It was the chauffeur, holding the door open. - -John Bruce hesitated. - -"I--er--look here!" he said. "I----" - -"If you please, sir!" There was something of significant finality in the -man's patient and respectful tones. - -John Bruce smiled wryly. - -"Well, at least, I may say good-night," he said, as he backed out of the -car. - -"Certainly, sir--good-night, sir," said the chauffeur calmly--and closed -the door, and touched his hat, and climbed back to his seat. - -John Bruce glared at the man. - -"Well, I'm damned!" said John Bruce fervently. - - - - -CHAPTER THREE--SANCTUARY - - -|THE car started off. It turned the corner. John Bruce looked around -him. He was standing on precisely the same spot from which he had -entered the car. He had been driven around the block, that was all! - -He caught his breath. Was it real? That wondrous face which, almost as -though at the touch of some magician's wand, had risen before him out of -the blackness! His blood afire was leaping through his veins again. That -face! - -He ran to the corner and peered down the street. The car was perhaps -a hundred yards away--and suddenly John Bruce started to run again, -following the car. Madness! His lips had set grim and hard. Who was she -that prowled the night in that bizarre traveling pawn-shop? Where did -she live? Was it actually the Arabian Nights back again? He laughed at -himself--not mirthfully. But still he ran on. - -The car was outdistancing him. Fool! For a woman's face! Even though it -were a divine symphony of beauty! Fool? Love-smitten idiot? Not at -all! It was his job! Nice sound to that word in conjunction with that -haunting memory of loveliness--job! - -The traveling pawn-shop turned into Fourth Avenue, and headed downtown. -John Bruce caught the sound of a street car gong, spurted and swung -breathlessly to the platform of a car going in the same direction. - -Of course, it was his job! The exquisite Monsieur Henri de Lavergne was -mixed up in this. - -"Hell!" - -The street car conductor stared at him. John Bruce scowled. He swore -again--but this time under his breath. It brought a sudden wild, -unreasonable rage and rebellion, the thought that there should be -anything, even of the remotest nature, between the glorious vision in -that car and the mincing, silken-tongued manager of Larmon's gambling -hell. But there was, for all that, wasn't there? How else had she come -there? It was the usual thing, wasn't it? And--beware of the conductor! -The warning now appeared to be very apt! And how well he had profited by -it! A fool chasing a siren's beauty! - -His face grew very white. - -"John Bruce," he whispered to himself, "if I could get at you I'd pound -your face to pulp for that!" - -He leaned out from the platform. The traveling pawn-shop had increased -its speed and was steadily leaving the street car behind. He looked back -in the opposite direction. The street was almost entirely deserted as -far as traffic went. The only vehicle in sight was a taxi bowling along -a block in the rear. He laughed out again harshly. The conductor eyed -him suspiciously. - -John Bruce dropped off the car, and planted himself in the path of the -on-coming taxi. Call it his job, then, if it pleased him! He owed it to -Larmon to get to the bottom of this. How extremely logical he was! The -transaction in the traveling pawn-shop had been so fair-minded as almost -to exonerate Monsieur Henri de Lavergne on the face of it, and if it had -not been for a certain vision therein, and a fire in his own veins, -and a fury at the thought that even her acquaintance with the gambling -manager was profanity, he could have heartily applauded Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne for a unique and original---- - -The taxi bellowed at him, hoarsely indignant. - -John Bruce stepped neatly to one side--and jumped on the footboard. - -"Here, you! What the hell!" shouted the chauffeur. "You----" - -"Push your foot on it a little," said John Bruce calmly. "And don't lose -sight of that closed car ahead." - -"Lose sight of nothin'!" yelled the chauffeur. "I've got a fare, -an'----" - -"I hear him," said John Bruce composedly. He edged in beside the -chauffeur, and one of the crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes passed -into the latter's possession. "Keep that car in sight, and don't make it -hopelessly obvious that you are following it. I'll attend to your fare." - -He screwed around in his seat. An elderly, gray-whiskered gentleman, a -patently irate gentleman, was pounding furiously on the glass panel. - -"We should be turnin' down this street we're just passin'," grinned the -chauffeur. - -John Bruce lowered the panel. - -"What's the meaning of this?" thundered the fare. - -"I'm very sorry, sir," said John Bruce respectfully. - -"A little detective business." He coughed. It was really quite true. -His voice became confidential. "The occupants of that car ahead got away -from me. I--I want to arrest one of them. I'm very sorry to put you to -any inconvenience, but it couldn't be helped.. There was no other way -than to commandeer your taxi. It will be only for a matter of a few -minutes." - -"It's preposterous!" spluttered the fare. "Outrageous! I--I'll----" - -"Yes, sir," said John Bruce. "But there was nothing else I could do. You -can report it to headquarters, of course." - -He closed the panel. - -"Fly-cop--not!" said the chauffeur, with his tongue in his cheek. "Any -fly-cop that ever got his mitt on a whole fifty-dollar bill all at one -time couldn't be pried lose from it with a crowbar!" - -"It lets you out, doesn't it?" inquired John Bruce pleasantly. "Now -let's see you earn it." - -"I'll earn it!" said the chauffeur with unction. "You leave it to me, -boss!" - -The quarry, in the shape of the traveling pawn shop, directed its way -into the heart of the East Side. Presently it turned into a hiving, -narrow street, where hawkers with their push-carts in the light of -flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a thriving business. The -two cars went more slowly now. There was very little room. The -taxi almost upset a fish vendor's wheeled emporium. The vendor was -eloquent--fervently so. But the chauffeur's eyes, after an impersonal -and indifferent glance at the other, returned to the car ahead. The taxi -continued on its way, trailing fifty yards in the rear of the traveling -pawn-shop. - -At the end of the block the car ahead turned the corner. As the taxi, -in turn, rounded the corner, John Bruce saw that the traveling pawn-shop -was drawn up before a small building that was nested in between two -tenements. The blood quickened in his pulse. The girl had alighted, and -was entering the small building. - -"Hit it up a little to the next corner, turn it, and let me off there," -directed John Bruce. - -"I get you!" said the chauffeur. - -The taxi swept past the car at the curb. Another minute and it had swung -the next corner, and was slowing down. John Bruce jumped to the ground -before the taxi stopped. - -"Good-night!" he called to the chauffeur. - -He waved his hand debonairly at the scowling, whiskered visage that was -watching him from the interior of the cab, and hurriedly retraced his -way back around the corner. - -The traveling pawn-shop had turned and was driving away. John Bruce -moderated his pace, and sauntered on along the street. He smiled half -grimly, half contentedly to himself. The "trip to Persia" had led him -a little farther afield than Monsieur Henri de Lavergne had perhaps -counted on--or than he, John Bruce, himself had, either! But he knew now -where the most glorious woman he had ever seen in his life lived, or, at -least, was to be found again. No, it wasn't the _moon!_ To him, she was -exactly that. And he had not seen her for the last time, either! That -was what he was here for, though he wasn't so mad as to risk, or, -rather, invite an affront to begin with by so bald an act as to go to -the front door, say, and ring the bell--which would be tantamount to -informing her that he had--er--played the detective from the moment -he had left her in the car. To-morrow, perhaps, or the next day, or -whenever fate saw fit to be in a kindly mood, a meeting that possessed -all the hall-marks of being quite inadvertent offered him high hopes. -Later, if fate still were kind, he would tell her that he had followed -her, and what she would be thoroughly justified in misconstruing now, -she might then accept as the tribute to her that he meant it to be--when -she knew him better. - -John Bruce was whistling softly to himself. - -He was passing the house now, his scrutiny none the less exhaustive -because it was apparently casual. It was a curious little two-story -place tucked away between the two flanking tenements, the further one of -which alone separated the house from the corner he was approaching. Not -a light showed from the front of the house. Yes, it was quite a curious -place! Although curtains were on the lower front windows, indicating -that it was purely a dwelling, the windows themselves were of abnormal -size, as though, originally perhaps, the ground floor had once been a -shop of some kind. - -John Bruce turned the corner, and from a comparatively deserted street -found himself among the vendors' push-carts and the spluttering gasoline -torches again. He skirted the side of the tenement that made the corner, -discovered the fact that a lane cut in from the street and ran past the -rear of the tenement, which he mentally noted must likewise run past the -rear of the little house that was now so vitally interesting to him--and -halted on the opposite side of the lane to survey his surroundings. Here -a dirty and uninviting caf attracted his attention, which, if its dingy -sign were to be believed, was run by one Palasco Ratti, a gentleman of -parts in the choice of wines which he offered to his patrons. John Bruce -surveyed Palasco Ratti's potential clientele--the street was full of it; -the shawled women, the dark-visaged, ear-ringed men. He smiled a little -to himself. No--probably not the half-naked children who sprawled in the -gutter and crawled amongst the push-carts' wheels! How was it that _she_ -should ever have come to live in a neighborhood to which the designation -"foreign," as far as she was concerned, must certainly apply in -particularly full measure? It was strange that she---- - -John Bruce's mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. Half humorously, -half grimly his eyes were riveted on the push-cart at the curb directly -opposite to him, the proprietor of which dealt in that brand of -confection so much in favor on the East Side--a great slab of candy from -which, as occasion required, he cut slices with a large carving knife. -A brown and grimy fist belonging to a tot of a girl of perhaps eight or -nine years of age, who had crept in under the pushcart, was stealthily -feeling its way upward behind the vendor's back, its objective being, -obviously, a generous piece of candy that reposed on the edge of the -push-cart. There was a certain fascination in watching developments. It -was quite immoral, of course, but his sympathies were with the child. -It was a gamble whether the grimy little hand would close on the coveted -prize and disappear again victorious, or whether the vendor would turn -in time to frustrate the raid. - -The tot's hand crept nearer and nearer its goal. - -No one, save himself of the many about, appeared to notice the little -cameo of primal instinct that was on exhibition before them. The -small and dirty fingers touched the candy, closed on it, and -were withdrawn--but were withdrawn too quickly. The child, at the -psychological moment under stress of excitement, eagerness and probably -a wildly thumping heart, had failed in finesse. Perhaps the paper -that covered the surface of the push-cart and on which the wares were -displayed rattled; perhaps the sudden movement in itself attracted the -vendor's attention. The man whirled and made a vicious dive for the -child as she darted out from between the wheels. And then she screamed. -The man had hit her a brutal clout across the head. - -John Bruce straightened suddenly, a dull red creeping from his set -jaw to his cheeks. Still clutching the candy in her hand the child was -running blindly and in terror straight toward him. The man struck again, -and the child staggered, and, reeling, sought sanctuary between John -Bruce's legs. A bearded, snarling face in pursuit loomed up before -him--and John Bruce struck, struck as he had once struck before on a -white moon-flooded deck when a man, a brute beast, had gone down before -him--and the vendor, screaming shrilly, lay kicking in pain on the -sidewalk. - -It had happened quickly. Not one, probably, of those on the street -had caught the details of the little scene. And now the tiny thief had -wriggled through his legs, and with the magnificent irresponsibility -of childhood had darted away and was lost to sight. It had happened -quickly--but not so quickly as the gathering together of an angry, -surging crowd around John Bruce. - -Some one in the crowd shrieked out above the clamor of voices: - -"He kill-a Pietro! Kill-a da dude!" - -It was a fire-brand. - -John Bruce backed away a little--up against the door of Signor Pascalo -Ratti's wine shop. A glance showed him that, with the blow he had -struck, his light overcoat had become loosened, and that he was -flaunting an immaculate and gleaming shirt-front in the faces of the -crowd. And between their Pietro with a broken jaw and an intruder far -too well dressed to please their fancy, the psychology of the crowd -became the psychology of a mob. - -The fire-brand took. - -"Kill-a da dude!" It was echoed in chorus--and then a rush. - -It flung John Bruce heavily against the wine shop door, and the door -crashed inward--and for a moment he was down, and the crowd, like a -snarling wolf pack, was upon him. And then the massive shoulders heaved, -and he shook them off and was on his feet; and all that was primal, -elemental in the man was dominant, the mad glorying in strife upon him, -and he struck right and left with blows before which, again and again, a -man went down. - -But the rush still bore him backward, and the doorway was black and -jammed with reenforcements constantly pouring in. Tables crashed to the -floor, chairs were overturned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a -white-mustached Italian leap upon the counter and alternately wave his -arms and wring his hands together frantically. - -"For the mercy of God!" the man screamed--and then his voice added to -the din in a flood of impassioned Italian. - -It was Signor Pascalo Ratti, probably. - -John Bruce was panting now, his breath coming in short, hard gasps. It -was not easy to keep them in front of him, to keep his back free. He -caught the glint of knife blades now. - -He was borne back foot by foot, the space widening as he retreated from -the door, giving room for more to come upon him at the same time. A -knife blade lunged at him. He evaded it--but another glittering in -the ceiling light at the same instant, flashing a murderous arc in its -downward plunge, caught him, and, before he could turn, sank home. - -A yell of triumph went up. He felt no pain. Only a sudden sickening of -his brain, a sudden weakness that robbed his limbs of strength, and he -reeled and staggered, fighting blindly now. - -And then his brain cleared. He flung a quick glance over his shoulder. -Yes, there was one chance. Only one! And in another minute, with another -knife thrust, it would be too late. He whirled suddenly and raced down -the length of the caf. In the moment's grace earned through surprise at -his sudden action, he gained a door he had seen there, and threw himself -upon it. It was not fastened, though there was a key in the lock. He -whipped out the key, plunged through, locked the door on the outside -with the fraction of a second to spare before they came battering upon -it--and stumbled and fell headlong out into the open. - -It was as though he were lashing his brain into action and virility. It -kept wobbling and fogging. Didn't the damned thing understand that his -life, was at stake! He lurched to his feet. He was in a lane. - -In front of him, like great looming shadows, shadows that wobbled too, -he saw the shapes of two tenements, and like an inset between them, a -small house with a light gleaming in the lower window. - -That was where the vision lived. Only there was a fence between. -Sanctuary! He lunged toward the fence. He had not meant to--to make a -call to-night--she--she might have misunderstood. But in a second now -_they_ would come sweeping around into the lane after him from the -street. - -He clawed his way to the top of the fence, and because his strength was -almost gone fell from the top of the fence to the ground on the other -side. - -And now he crawled, crawled with what frantic haste he could, because he -heard the uproar from the street. And he laughed. The kid was -probably munching her hunk of candy now. Queer things--kids! Got her -candy--happy---- - -He reached up to the sill of an open window, clawed his way upward, -as he had clawed his way up the fence, straddled the sill unsteadily, -clutched at nothingness to save himself, and toppled inward to the floor -of the room. - -A yell from the head of the lane, a cry from the other end of the room, -spurred him into final effort. He gained his feet, and swept his hand, -wet with blood, across his eyes. That was the vision there running -toward him, wasn't it?--the wonderful, glorious vision! - -"Pardon me!" said John Bruce in a sing-song voice, and with a desperate -effort reached up and pulled down the window shade. He tried to smile -"Queer--queer things--kids--aren't they? She--she just ducked out from -under." - -The girl was staring at him wildly, her hands tightly clasped to her -bosom. - -"Pardon me!" whispered John Bruce thickly. He couldn't see her any more, -just a multitude of objects whirling like a kaleidoscope before his -eyes. "She--she got the candy," said John Bruce, attempting to smile -again--and pitched unconscious to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR--A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES - -|DEAD! The girl was on her knees beside John Bruce. Dead--he did not -move! It was the man who had pawned his watch-fob hardly half an hour -before! What did it mean? What did those angry shouts, that scurrying -of many feet out there in the lane mean? Hurriedly, her face as deadly -white as the face upturned to her from the floor, she tore open the once -immaculate shirt-front, that was now limp and wet and ugly with a great -crimson stain, and laid bare the wound. - -The sounds from without were receding, the scurrying footsteps were -keeping on along the lane. A quiver ran through the form on the floor. -Dead! No, he was not dead--not--not yet. - -A little cry escaped from her tightly closed lips, and for an instant -she covered her eyes with her hands. The wound was terrible--it -frightened her. It frightened her the more because, intuitively, she -knew that it was beyond any inexperienced aid that she could give. But -she must act, and act quickly. - -She turned and ran into the adjoining room to the telephone, but even as -she reached out to lift the receiver from the hook she hesitated. Doctor -Crang! A little shudder of aversion swept over her--and then resolutely, -even pleading with central to hurry, she asked for the connection. It -was not a matter of choice, or aversion, or any other consideration in -the world save a question of minutes. The life of that man in there on -the floor hung by a thread. Doctor Crang was nearby enough to respond -almost instantly, and there was no one else she knew of who she could -hope would reach the man in time. And--she stared frantically at the -instrument now--was even he unavailable? Why didn't he answer? Why -didn't---- - -A voice reached her. She recognized it. - -"Doctor Crang, this is Claire Veniza," she said, and it did not seem as -though she could speak fast enough. "Come at once--oh, at once--please! -There's a man here frightfully wounded. There isn't a second to lose, -so----" - -"My dear Claire," interrupted the voice suavely, "instead of losing one -you can save several by telling me what kind of a wound it is, and where -the man is wounded." - -"It's a knife wound, a stab, I think," she answered; "and it's in his -side. He is unconscious, and----" - -The receiver at the other end had been replaced on its hook. - -She turned from the telephone, and swiftly, hurrying, but in cool -self-control now, she obtained some cloths and a basin of warm water, -and returned to John Bruce's side. She could not do much, she realized -that--only make what effort she could to staunch the appalling flow of -blood from the wound; that, and place a cushion under the man's head, -for she could not lift him to the couch. - -The minutes passed; and then, thinking she heard a footstep at the front -door, she glanced in that direction, half in relief, and yet, too, in -curious apprehension. She listened. No, there was no one there yet. She -had been mistaken. - -Suddenly she caught her breath in a little gasp, as though startled. -Doctor Crang was clever; but faith in Doctor Crang professionally was -one thing, and faith in him in other respects was quite another. Why -hadn't she thought of it before? It wasn't too late yet, was it? - -She began to search hastily through John Bruce's pockets. Doctor Crang -would almost certainly suggest removing the man from the sitting room -down here and getting him upstairs to a bedroom, and then he would -undress his patient, and--and it was perhaps as well to anticipate -Doctor Crang! This man here should have quite a sum of money on his -person. She had given it to him herself, and--yes, here it was! - -The crisp new fifty-dollar bills, the stamped and numbered ticket that -identified the watch-fob he had pawned, were in her hand. She ran across -the room, opened a little safe in the corner, placed the money and -ticket inside, locked the safe again, and returned to John Bruce's side -once more. - -And suddenly her eyes filled. There was no tremor, no movement in the -man's form now; she could not even feel his heartbeat. Yes, she wanted -Doctor Crang now, passionately, wildly. John Bruce--that was the man's -name. She knew that much. But she had left him miles away--and he was -here now--and she did not understand. How had he got here, why had he -come here, climbing in through that window to fall at her feet like one -dead? - -The front door opened without premonitory ring of bell, and closed -again. A footstep came quickly forward through the outer room--and -paused on the threshold. - -Claire Veniza rose to her feet, and her eyes went swiftly, sharply, -to the figure standing there--a man of perhaps thirty years of age, -of powerful build, and yet whose frame seemed now woefully loose, -disjointed and without virility. Her eyes traveled to the man's clothing -that was dirty, spotted, and in dire need of sponging, to the necktie -that hung awry, to the face that, but for its unhealthy, pasty-yellow -complexion, would have been almost strikingly handsome, to the jet-black -eyes that somehow at the moment seemed to lack fire and life. And with a -little despairing shrug of her shoulders, Claire Veniza turned away her -head, and pointed to the form of John Bruce on the floor. - -"I--I am afraid it is very serious, Doctor Crang," she faltered. - -"That's all right, Claire," he said complacently. "That's all right, my -dear. You can leave it with confidence to Sydney Angus Crang, M.D." - -She drew a little away as he stepped forward, her face hardening into -tight little lines. Hidden, her hands clasped anxiously together. It--it -was what she had feared. Doctor Sydney Angus Crang, gold medalist from -one of the greatest American universities, brilliant far beyond his -fellows, with additional degrees from London, from Vienna, from Heaven -alone knew where else, was just about entering upon, or emerging from, -a groveling debauch with that Thing to which he had pawned his manhood, -his intellect and his soul, that Thing of gray places, of horror, of -forgetfulness, of bliss, of torture--cocaine. - -Halfway from the threshold to where John Bruce lay, Doctor Crang halted -abruptly. - -"Hello!" he exclaimed, and glanced with suddenly darkening face from -Claire Veniza to the form of John Bruce, and back to Claire Veniza -again. - -"Oh, _will_ you hurry!" she implored. "Can't you see that the wound----" - -"I am more interested in the man than in the wound," said Doctor Crang, -and there was a hint of menace in his voice. "Quite a gentleman of -parts! I had expected--let me see what I had expected--well, say, one of -the common knife-sticking breed that curses this neighborhood." - -Claire Veniza stamped her foot. - -"Oh, hurry!" she burst out wildly. "Don't stand there talking while the -man is dying! Do something!" - -Doctor Crang advanced to John Bruce's side, set down the little handbag -he was carrying, and began to examine the wound. - -"Yes, quite a gentleman of parts!" he repeated. His lips had thinned. -"How did he get here?" - -"I do not know," she answered. "He came in through that window there and -fell on the floor." - -"How peculiar!" observed Doctor Crang. "A _gentleman_ down here in this -locality, who is, yes, I will state it as a professional fact, in a very -critical state, climbs in through Miss Claire Veniza's window, and----" - -The telephone in the other room rang. Claire Veniza ran to it. Doctor -Crang's fingers nestled on John Bruce's pulse; he made no other movement -save to cock his head in a listening attitude in the girl's direction; -he made no effort either to examine further or to dress the wound. - -Claire Veniza's voice came distinctly: - -"Yes... No, I do not think he will return to-night"--she was -hesitating--"he--he met with an--an accident-----" - -Doctor Crang had sprung from the other room and had snatched the -receiver from the girl's hand. A wave of insensate fury swept his face -now. He pushed her roughly from the instrument, and clapped his hand -over the transmitter. - -"That's one lie you've told me!" he said hoarsely. "I'll attend to the -rest of this now." He withdrew his hand from the transmitter. "Yes, -hello!" His voice was cool, even suave. "What is it?... Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne speaking--yes... Mister--who?... Mister John Bruce--yes." He -listened for a moment, his lips twitching, his eyes narrowed on Claire -Veniza, who had retreated a few steps away. "No, not to-night," he said, -speaking again into the transmitter. "Yes, a slight accident.... Yes.., -Good-by." - -Doctor Sydney Angus Crang hung up the receiver, and with a placid smile -at variance with the glitter that suddenly brought life into his dulled -eyes, advanced toward the girl. She stepped backward quickly into the -other room, retreating as far as the motionless form that lay upon the -floor. Doctor Crang followed her. - -And then Claire Veniza, her face grown stony, her small hands clenched, -found her voice again. - -"Aren't you going to help him? Aren't you going to do something? Is he -to die there before your eyes?" she cried. - -Doctor Crang shrugged his shoulders. - -"What can I do?" he inquired with velvet softness. "I am helpless. How -can I bring the dead back to life?" - -"Dead!" All color had fled her face; she bent and looked searchingly at -John Bruce. - -"Oh, no; not yet," said Doctor Crang easily. "But very nearly so." - -"And you will do nothing!" She was facing him again. "Then--then I will -try and get some one else." - -She stepped forward abruptly. - -Doctor Crang barred her way. - -"I don't think you will, Claire, my dear!" His voice was monotonous; the -placid smile was vanishing. "You see, having spoken to that dear little -doll of a man, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, I'm very much interested in -hearing your side of the story." - -"Story!" the girl echoed wildly. "Story--while that man's life is lost! -Are you mad--or a murderer--or----" - -"Another lover," said Doctor Crang, and threw back his head and laughed. - -She shrank away; her hands tight against her bosom. She glanced around -her. If she could only reach the telephone and lock the connecting door! -No! She did not dare leave him _alone_ with the wounded man. - -"What--what are you going to do?" she whispered. - -"Nothing--till I hear the story," he answered. - -"If--if he dies"--her voice rang steadily again--"I'll have you charged -with murder." - -"What nonsense!" said Doctor Crang imperturbably. "Did I stab the -gentleman?" He took from his pocket a little case, produced a hypodermic -syringe, and pushed back his sleeve. "A doctor is not a magician. If he -finds a patient beyond reach of aid what can he be expected to do? My -dear Claire, where are your brains to-night--you who are usually so -amazingly clever?" - -"You are mad--insane with drug!" she cried out piteously. - -He shook his head, and coolly inserted the needle of the hypodermic in -his arm. - -"Not yet," he said. "I am only implacable. Shall we get on with the -story? Monsieur de Lavergne says he sent a gentleman by the name of John -Bruce out in your father's car a little while ago for the purpose of -obtaining a loan in order that the said John Bruce might return to the -gambling joint and continue to play. But Mr. Bruce did not return, -and the doll, for some reason being anxious, telephones here to make -inquiries. Of course"--there was a savage laugh in his voice--"it is -only a suspicion, but could this gentleman on the floor here by any -chance be Mr. John Bruce?" - -"Yes," she said faintly. "He is John Bruce." - -"Thanks!" said Doctor Crang sarcastically. He very carefully replaced -his hypodermic in his pocket. "Now another little matter. I happen to -know that your father is spending the evening uptown, so I wonder who -was in the car with Mr. John Bruce." - -She stared at him with flashing eyes. - -"I was!" she answered passionately. "I don't know what you are driving -at! I never did it before, but father was away, and Monsieur de Lavergne -was terribly insistent. He said it was for a very special guest. -I--I didn't, of course, tell Monsieur de Lavergne that father couldn't -go. I only said that I was afraid it would not be convenient to make any -loan to-night. But he wouldn't listen to a refusal, and so I went--but -Monsieur de Lavergne had no idea that it was any one but father in the -car." - -Doctor Crang's lips parted wickedly. - -"Naturally!" he snarled. "I quite understand that you took good care of -that! Who drove you?" - -"Hawkins." - -"Drunk as usual, I suppose! Brain too fuddled to ask questions!" - -"That's not true!" she cried out sharply. "Hawkins hasn't touched a drop -for a year." - -"All right!" snapped Doctor Crang. "Have it that way, then! Being in his -dotage, he makes a good blind, even sober. And so you went for a little -ride with Mr. John Bruce to-night?" - -Claire Veniza was wringing her hands as she glanced in an agony of -apprehension at the wounded man on the floor. - -"Yes," she said; "but--but won't you----" - -"And where did you first meet Mr. John Bruce, and how long ago?" he -jerked out. - -Claire Veniza's great brown eyes widened. - -"Why, I never saw him in my life until to-night!" she exclaimed. "And he -wasn't in the car ten minutes. Hawkins drove back to the corner just as -he always does with father, and Mr. Bruce got out. Then Hawkins drove me -home and went uptown to get father. I--I wish they were here now!" - -Doctor Crang was gritting his teeth together. A slight unnatural color -was tinging his cheeks. He moved a little closer to the girl. - -"I'm glad to hear you never saw Mr. Bruce before," he said cunningly. -"You must have traveled _fast_ then--metaphorically speaking. Love at -first sight, eh? A cooing exchange of confidences--or was it all on one -side? You told him who you were, and where you lived, and----" - -"I did nothing of the kind!" Claire Veniza interrupted angrily. "I did -not tell him anything!" - -"Just strictly business then, of course!" Doctor Crang moved a step -still nearer to the girl. "In that case he must have pawned something, -and as Lavergne sends nothing but high-priced articles to your father, -we shall probably find quite a sum of money in Mr. Bruce's pockets. -Eh--Claire?" - -She bit her lips. She still did not quite understand--only that she -bitterly regretted now, somehow, that she had removed the money from -John Bruce's person; only that the drug-crazed brain of the man in front -of her was digging, had dug, a trap into which she was falling. What -answer was she to make? What was she to---- - -With a sudden cry she shrank back--but too late to save herself. A face -alight with passion was close to hers now; hands that clamped like a -steel vise, and that hurt, were upon her shoulder and throat. - -"You lie!" Doctor Crang shouted hoarsely. "You've lied from the minute -I came into this room. John Bruce--hell! I know now why you have always -refused to have anything to do with me. That's why!" He loosened one -hand and pointed to the figure on the floor. "How long has this been -going on? How long have you been meeting him? To-night is nothing, -though you worked it well. Hawkins to take you for a little joy ride -with your lover while father's away. Damned clever! You left him on that -corner--and he's here wounded! How did he get wounded? You never saw him -before! You never heard of him! You told him nothing about yourself! He -didn't know where you lived--he could only find the private entrance! -Just knows enough about you to climb in through your back window like a -skewered dog! But, of course, your story is true, because in his pockets -will be the money you gave him for what he pawned! Shall we look and see -how much it was?" - -She tore herself free and caught at her throat, gasping for breath. - -"You--you beast!" she choked. "No; you needn't look! I took it from him, -and put it in the safe over there before _you_ came--to keep it away -from you." - -Doctor Crang swept a hand across his eyes and through his hair with a -savage, jerky movement, and then he laughed immoderately. - -"What a little liar you are! Well, then, two can play at the same game. -I lied to you about your lover there. I said there was nothing could -save him. Yes, yes, Claire, my dear, I lied." He knelt suddenly, and -suddenly intent and professional studied John Bruce's face, and felt -again for the pulse beat at John Bruce's wrist. "Pretty near the limit," -he stated coolly. "Internal bleeding." He threw back his shoulders in -a strangely egotistical way. "Not many men could do anything; but I, -Sydney Angus Crang, could! Ha, ha! In ten minutes he could be on the -road to recovery--but ten minutes, otherwise, is exactly the length of -time he has to live." - -An instant Claire Veniza stared at him. Her mind reeled with chaos, with -terror and dismay. - -"Then do something!" she implored wildly. "If you can save him, do it! -You must! You shall!" - -"Why should I?" he demanded. His teeth were clamped hard together. "Why -should I save your lover? No--damn him!" - -She drew away from him, and, suddenly, on her knees, buried her face in -her hands and burst into sobs. - -"This--this is terrible--terrible!" she cried out. "Has that frightful -stuff transformed you into an absolute fiend? Are you no longer even -human?" Flushed, a curious look of hunger in his eyes, he gazed at her. - -"I'm devilishly human in some respects!" His voice rose, out of control. -"I want you! I have wanted you from the day I saw you." - -She shivered. Her hands felt suddenly icy as she pressed them against -her face. - -"Thank God then," she breathed, "for this, at least--that you will never -get me!" - -"Won't I?" His voice rose higher, trembling with passion. "Won't I? By -God, I will! The one thing in life I will have some way or another! You -understand? I will! And do you think I would let _him_ stand in the way? -You drive me mad, Claire, with those wonderful eyes of yours, with that -hair, those lips, that throat----" - -"Stop!" She was on her feet, and in an instant had reached him, and -with her hands upon his shoulders was shaking him fiercely with all her -strength. "I hated you, despised you, loathed you before, but with that -man dying here, you murderer, I----" - -Her voice trailed off, strangled, choked. He had caught her in his -arms, his lips were upon hers. She struggled like a tigress. And as they -lurched about the room he laughed in mad abandon. She wrenched herself -free at last, and slipped and fell upon the floor. - -"Do you believe me now!" he panted. "I will have you! Neither this man -nor any other will live to get you. His life is a snap of my fingers--so -is any other life. It's you I want, and you I will have. And I'll tame -you! Then I'll show you what love is." - -She was moaning now a little to herself. She crept to John Bruce and -stared into his face. Dying! They were letting this man die. She tried -to readjust the cloths upon the wound. She heard Doctor Crang laugh at -her again. It seemed as though her soul were sinking into some great -bottomless abyss that was black with horror. She did not know this -John Bruce. She had told Doctor Crang so. It was useless to repeat it, -useless to argue with a drug-steeped brain. There was only one thing -that was absolute and final, and that was that a man's life was ebbing -away, and a fiend, an inhuman fiend who could save him, but whom -pleading would not touch, stood callously by, not wholly indifferent, -rather gloating over what took the form of triumph in his diseased mind. -And then suddenly she seemed so tired and weary. And she tried to pray -to God. And tears came, and on her knees she turned and flung out her -arms imploringly to the unkempt figure that stood over her, and who -smiled as no other man she had ever seen had smiled before. - -"For the pity of God, for anything you have ever known in your life that -was pure and sacred," she said brokenly, "save this man." - -He looked at her for a moment, still with that sardonic smile upon his -lips, and then, swift in its transition, his expression changed and -cunning was in his eyes. - -"What would you give?" he purred. - -"Give?" She did not look up. She felt a sudden surge of relief. It -debased the man the more, for it was evidently money now; but her father -would supply that. She had only to ask for it. "What do you want?" she -asked eagerly. - -"Yourself," said Doctor Crang. - -She looked up now, quickly, startled; read the lurking triumph in his -eyes, and with a sudden cry of fear turned away her head. - -"My--myself!" Her lips scarcely moved. - -"Yes, my dear! Yourself--Claire!" Doctor - -Crang shrugged his shoulders. "Edinburgh, London, Vienna, Paris, degrees -from everywhere--ha, ha!--am I a high-priced man? Well, then, why don't -you dismiss me? You called me in! That is my price--or shall we call it -fee? Promise to marry me, Claire, and I'll save that man." - -Her face had lost all vestige of color. She stood and looked at him, but -it did not seem as though she any longer had control over her limbs. -She did not seem able to move them. They were numbed; her brain was -mercifully numbed--there was only a sense of impending horror, without -that horror taking concrete form. A voice came to her as though from -some great distance: - -"Don't take too long to make up your mind. There isn't much time. It's -about touch and go with him now." - -The words, the tone, the voice roused her. Realization, understanding -swept upon her. A faintness came. She closed her eyes, swayed -unsteadily, but recovered herself. Something made her look at the -upturned face on the floor. She did not know this man. He was nothing -to her. Why was he pleading with her to pawn herself for him? What right -had he to ask for worse than death from her that he might live? Her soul -turned sick within her. If she refused, this man would die. Death! It -was a very little thing compared with days and months and years linked, -fettered, bound to a drug fiend, a coward, a foul thing, a potential -murderer, a man only in the sense of physical form, who had abused every -other God-given attribute until it had rotted away! Her hands pressed -to her temples fiercely, in torment. Was this man to live or die? In her -hands was balanced a human life. It seemed as though she must scream -out in her anguish of soul; and then it seemed as though she must fling -herself upon the drug-crazed being who had forced this torture upon her, -fling herself upon him to batter and pommel with her fists at his face -that smiled in hideous contentment at her. What was she to do? The -choice was hers. To let this man here die, or to accept a living -death for herself--no, worse than that--something that was abominable, -revolting, that profaned.... She drew her breath in sharply. She was -staring at the man on the floor. His eyelids fluttered and opened. Gray -eyes were fixed upon her, eyes that did not seem to see for there was a -vacant stare in them--and then suddenly recognition crept into them and -they lighted up, full of a strange, glad wonder. He made an effort to -speak, an effort, more feeble still, to reach out his hand to her--and -then the eyes had closed and he was unconscious again. - -She turned slowly and faced Doctor Crang. - -"You do not know what you are doing." She formed the words with a great -effort. - -"Oh, yes, I do!" he answered with mocking deliberation. "I know that if -I can't get you one way, I can another--and the way doesn't matter." - -"God forgive you, then," she said in a dead voice, "for I never can or -will! I--I agree." - -He took a step toward her. - -"You'll marry me?" His face was fired with passion. - -She retreated a step. - -"Yes," she said. - -He reached out for her with savage eagerness. - -"Claire!" he cried. "Claire!" - -She pushed him back with both hands. - -"Not yet!" she said, and tried to steady her voice. "There is another -side to the bargain. The price is this man's life. If he lives I will -marry you, and in that case, as you well know, I can say nothing of what -you have done to-night; but if he dies, I am not only free, but I will -do my utmost to make you criminally responsible for his death." - -"Ah!" Doctor Crang stared at her. His hands, still reaching out to touch -her, trembled; his face was hectic; his eyes were alight again with -feverish hunger--and then suddenly the man seemed transformed into -another being. He was on his knees beside John Bruce, and had opened his -handbag in an instant, and in another he had forced something from a -vial between John Bruce's lips; then an instrument was in his hands. The -man of a moment before was gone; one Sydney Angus Crang, of many -degrees, professional, deft, immersed in his work, had taken the other's -place. "More water! An extra basin!" he ordered curtly. - -Claire Veniza obeyed him in a mechanical way. Her brain was numbed, -exhausted, possessed of a great weariness. She watched him for a little -while. He flung another order at her. - -"Make that couch up into a bed," he directed. "He can't be moved even -upstairs to-night." - -Again she obeyed him; finally she helped him to lift John Bruce to the -couch. - -She sat down in a chair and waited--she did not know what for. Doctor -Crang had drawn another chair to the couch and sat there watching his -patient. John Bruce, as far as she could tell, showed no sign of life. - -Then Doctor Crang's voice seemed to float out of nothingness: - -"He will live, Claire, my dear! By God, I'd like to have done that piece -of work in a clinic! Some of 'em would sit up! D'ye hear, Claire, he'll -live!" - -She was conscious that he was studying her; she did not look at him, nor -did she answer. - -An eternity seemed to pass. She heard a motor stop outside in front of -the house. That would be her father and Hawkins. - -The front door opened and closed, footsteps entered the room--and -suddenly seemed to quicken and hurry forward. She rose from her chair. - -"What's this? What's the matter? What's happened?" a tall, white-haired -man cried out. - -It was Doctor Crang who answered. - -"Oh--this, Mr. Veniza?" He waved his hand indifferently toward the -couch. "Nothing of any importance." He shrugged his shoulders in cool -imperturbability, and smiled into the grave, serious face of Paul -Veniza. "The really important thing is that Claire has promised to be my -wife." - -For an instant no one moved or spoke--only Doctor Crang still smiled. -And then the silence was broken by a curious half laugh, half curse that -was full of menace. - -"You lie!" Hawkins, the round, red-faced chauffeur, had stepped from -behind Paul Veniza, and now faced Doctor Crang. "You lie! You damned -coke-eater! I'd kill you first!" - -"Drunk--again!" drawled Doctor Crang contemptuously. "And what have you -to do with it?" - -"Steady, Hawkins!" counselled Paul Veniza quietly. He turned to Claire -Veniza. "Claire," he asked, "is--is this true?" - -She nodded--and suddenly, blindly, started toward the door. - -"It is true," she said. - -"Claire!" Paul Veniza stepped after her. "Claire, - -"Not to-night, father," she said in a low voice. "Please let me go." - -He stood aside, allowing her to pass, his face grave and anxious--and -then he turned again to Doctor Crang. - -"She is naturally very upset over what has happened here," said Doctor -Crang easily--and suddenly reaching out grasped Hawkins' arm, and pulled -the old man forward to the couch. "Here, you!" he jerked out. "You've -got so much to say for yourself--take a look at this fellow!" - -The old chauffeur bent over the couch. - -"My God!" he cried out in a startled way. "It's the man we--I--drove -to-night!" - -"Quite so!" observed Doctor Crang. He smiled at Paul Veniza again. -"Apart from the fact that the fellow came in through that window with a -knife stab in his side that's pretty nearly done for him, Hawkins knows -as much about it as either Claire or I do. He's in bad shape. Extremely -serious. I will stay with him to-night. He cannot be moved." He nodded -suggestively toward the door. "Hawkins can tell you as much as I can. -It's got to be quiet in here. As for Claire"--he seemed suddenly to be -greatly disturbed and occupied with the condition of the wounded man on -the couch--"that will have to wait until morning. This man's condition -is critical. I can't put you out of your own room, but-----" Again he -nodded toward the door. - -For a moment Paul Veniza hesitated--but Doctor Crang's back was already -turned, and he was bending over the wounded man, apparently oblivious to -every other consideration. He motioned to Hawkins, and the two left the -room. - -Doctor Crang looked around over his shoulder as the door closed. A -malicious grin spread over his face. He rubbed his hands together. Then -he sat down in his chair again, and began to prepare a solution for his -hypodermic syringe. - -"Yes, yes," said Doctor Crang softly, addressing the unconscious form of -John Bruce, "you'll live, all right, my friend, I'll see to that, though -the odds are still against you. You're too--ha, ha!--valuable to die! -You played in luck when you drew Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., as your -attending physician!" - -And then Doctor Sydney Angus Crang made a little grimace as he punctured -the flesh of his arm with the needle of the hypodermic syringe and -injected into himself another dose of cocaine. - -"Yes," said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang very softly, his eyes lighting, -"too valuable, much too valuable--to die!" - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE--HAWKINS - -|IN the outer room, the door closed behind them, Paul Veniza and -Hawkins stared into each other's eyes. Hawkins' face had lost its ruddy, -weatherbeaten color, and there was a strained, perplexed anxiety in his -expression. - -"D'ye hear what she said?" he mumbled. "D'ye hear what he said? Going -to be married! My little girl, my innocent little girl, and--and that -dope-feeding devil! I--I don't understand, Paul. What's it mean?" - -Paul Veniza laid his hand on the other's shoulder, as much to seek, it -seemed, as to offer sympathy. He shook his head. - -"I don't know," he said blankly. - -Hawkins' watery blue eyes under their shaggy brows traveled miserably in -the direction of the staircase. - -"I--I ain't got the right," he choked. "You go up and talk to her, -Paul." - -Paul Veniza ran his fingers in a troubled way through his white hair; -then, nodding his head, he turned abruptly and began to mount the -stairs. - -Hawkins watched until the other had disappeared from sight, watched -until he heard a door open and close softly above; then he swung sharply -around, and with his old, drooping shoulders suddenly squared, strode -toward the door that shut him off from Doctor Crang and the man he had -recognized as his passenger in the traveling pawn-shop earlier that -night. But at the door itself he hesitated, and after a moment drew -back, and the shoulders drooped again, and he fell to twisting his hands -together in nervous indecision as he retreated to the center of the -room. - -And he stood there again, where Paul Veniza had left him, and stared -with the hurt of a dumb animal in his eyes at the top of the staircase. - -"It's all my fault," the old man whispered, and fell to twisting his -hands together once more. "But--but I thought she'd be safe with me." - -For a long time he seemed to ponder his own words, and gradually they -seemed to bring an added burden upon him, and heavily now he drew his -hand across his eyes. - -"Why ain't I dead?" he whispered. "I ain't never been no good to -her. Twenty years, it is--twenty years. Just old Hawkins--shabby old -Hawkins--that she loves 'cause she's sorry for him." - -Hawkins' eyes roved about the room. - -"I remember the night I brought her here." He was still whispering to -himself. "In there, it was, I took her." He jerked his hand toward the -inner room. "This here room was the pawn-shop then. God, all those years -ago--and--and I ain't never bought her back again, and she ain't known -no father but Paul, and----" His voice trailed off and died away. - -He sank his chin in his hands. - -Occasionally he heard the murmur of voices from above, occasionally the -sound of movement through the closed door that separated him from Doctor -Crang; but he did not move or speak again until Paul Veniza came down -the stairs and stood before him. - -Hawkins searched the other's face. - -"It--it ain't true, is it, what she said?" he questioned almost -fiercely. "She didn't really mean it, did she, Paul?" - -Paul Veniza turned his head away. - -"Yes, she meant it," he answered in a low voice. "I don't understand. -She wouldn't give me any explanation." - -Hawkins clenched his fists suddenly. - -"But didn't you tell her what kind of a man Crang is? Good God, Paul, -didn't you tell her what he is?" - -"She knows it without my telling her," Paul Veniza said in a dull tone. -"But I told her again; I told her it was impossible, incredible. Her -only answer was that it was inevitable." - -"But she doesn't love him! She can't love him!" Hawkins burst out. -"There's never been anything between them before." - -"No, she doesn't love him. Of course, she doesn't!" Paul Veniza said, as -though speaking to himself. He looked at Hawkins suddenly under knitted -brows. "And she says she never saw that other man in her life before -until he stepped into the car. She says she only went out to-night -because they were so urgent about it up at the house, and that she felt -everything would be perfectly safe with you driving the car. I can't -make anything out of it!" - -Hawkins drew the sleeve of his coat across his brow. It was cool in the -room, but little beads of moisture were standing out on his forehead. - -"I ain't brought her nothing but harm all my life," he said brokenly. -"I----" - -"Don't take it that way, old friend!" Paul Veniza's hands sought the -other's shoulders. "I don't see how you are to blame for this. Claire -said that other man treated her with all courtesy, and left the car -after you had gone around the block; and she doesn't know how he -afterwards came here wounded any more than we do--and anyway, it can't -have anything to do with her marrying Doctor Crang." - -"What's she doing now?" demanded Hawkins abruptly. "She's up there -crying her heart out, ain't she?" - -Paul Veniza did not answer. - -Hawkins straightened up. A sudden dignity came to the shabby old figure. - -"What hold has that devil got on my little girl?" he cried out -sharply. "I'll make him pay for it, so help me God! My little girl, my -little------" - -"S-sh!" Paul Veniza caught hurriedly at Hawkins' arm. "Be careful, old -friend!" he warned. "Not so loud! She might hear you." - -Hawkins cast a timorous, startled glance in the direction of the stairs. -He seemed to shrink again, into a stature as shabby as his clothing. His -lips twitched; he twisted his hands together. - -"Yes," he mumbled; "yes, she--she might hear me." He stared around the -room; and then, as though blindly, his hands groping out in front of -him, he started for the street door. "I'm going home," said Hawkins. -"I'm going home to think this out." - -Paul Veniza's voice choked a little. - -"Your hat, old friend," he said, picking up the old man's hat from the -table and following the other to the door. - -"Yes, my hat," said Hawkins--and pulling it far down over his eyes, -crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the driver's seat of the old, -closed car that stood at the curb. - -He started the car mechanically. He did not look back. He stared -straight ahead of him except when, at the corner, his eyes lifted and -held for a moment on the lighted windows and the swinging doors of a -saloon--and the car went perceptibly slower. Then his hands tightened -fiercely in their hold upon the wheel until the white of the knuckles -showed, and the car passed the saloon and turned the next corner and -went on. - -Halfway down the next block it almost came to a halt again when opposite -a dark and dingy driveway that led in between, and to the rear of, -two poverty-stricken frame houses. Hawkins stared at this uninviting -prospect, and made as though to turn the car into the driveway; then, -shaking his head heavily, he continued on along the street. - -"I can't go in there and sit by myself all alone," said Hawkins -hoarsely. "I--I'd go mad. It's--it's like as though they'd told me -to-night that she'd died--same as they told me about her mother the -night I went to Paul's." - -The car moved slowly onward. It turned the next corner--and the next. It -almost completed the circuit of the block. Hawkins now was wetting his -lips with the tip of his tongue. His hands on the wheel were trembling. -The car had stopped. Hawkins was staring again at the lighted windows -and the swinging doors of the saloon. - -He sat for a long time motionless; then he climbed down from his seat. - -"Just one," Hawkins whispered to himself. "Just one. I--I'd go mad if I -didn't." - -Hawkins pushed the swinging doors open, and sidled up to the bar. - -"Hello, Hawkins!" grinned the barkeeper. "Been out of town? I ain't seen -you the whole afternoon!" - -"You mind your own business!" said Hawkins surlily. - -"Sure!" nodded the barkeeper cheerily. "Same as usual?" He slid a -square-faced bottle and a glass toward the old man. - -Hawkins helped himself and drank moodily. He set his empty glass back -on the bar, jerked down his shabby vest and straightened up, his eyes -resolutely fixed on the door. Then he felt in his pocket for his pipe -and tobacco. His eyes shifted from the door to his pipe. He filled it -slowly. - -"Give me another," said Hawkins presently--without looking at the -barkeeper. - -Again the old man drank, and jerked down his vest, and squared his thin -shoulders. He lighted his pipe, tamping the bowl carefully with his -forefinger. His eyes sought the swinging doors once more. - -"I'm going home," said Hawkins defiantly to himself. "I've got to think -this out." He dug into his vest pocket for money, and produced a few -small bills. He stared at these for a moment, hesitated, started to -replace them in his pocket, hesitated again, and the tip of his tongue -circled his lips; then he pushed the money across the bar. "Take the -drinks out of that, and--and give me a bottle," he said. "I--I don't -like to be without anything in the house, and I got to go home." - -"You said something!" said the barkeeper. "Have one on the house before -you go?" - -"No; I won't." - -"No," said Hawkins with stern determination. - -Hawkins crowded the bottle into the side pocket of his coat, passed out -through the swinging doors, and resumed his seat on the car. And again -the car started forward. But it went faster now. Hawkins' face was -flushed; he seemed nervously and excitedly in haste. At the driveway -he turned in, garaged his car in an old shed at the rear of one of the -houses, locked the shed with a padlock, and, by way of the back door, -entered the house that was in front of the shed. - -It was quite dark inside, but Hawkins had been an inmate of the somewhat -seedy rooming-house too many years either to expect that a light should -be burning at that hour, or, for that matter, to require any light. -He groped his way up a flight of creaking stairs, opened the door of a -room, and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and -struck a match. A gas-jet wheezed asthmatically, and finally flung a -thin and sullen yellow glow about the place. It disclosed a cot bed, a -small strip of carpet long since worn bare of nap, a washstand, an old -trunk, a battered table, and two chairs. - -Hawkins, with some difficulty, extricated the bottle from his pocket, -and lifted the lid of his trunk. He thrust the bottle inside, and in the -act of closing the lid upon it--hesitated. - -"I--I ain't myself to-night, I ain't," said Hawkins tremulously. "It's -shook me, it has--bad. Just one--so help me God!--just one." - -Hawkins sat down at the table with the bottle in front of him. - -And while Hawkins sat there it grew very late. - -At intervals Hawkins talked to himself. At times he stared owlishly -from a half-emptied bottle to the black square of window pane above the -trunk--and once he shook his fist in that direction. - -"Crang--eh--damn you!" he gritted out. "You think you got her, do you? -Some dirty, cunning trick you've played her! But you don't know old -Hawkins. Ha, ha! You think he's only a drunken bum!" - -Hawkins, as it grew later still, became unsteady in his seat. Gradually -his head sank down upon the table. - -"I--hie!--gotta think this--out," said Hawkins earnestly--and fell -asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX--THE ALIBI - -|JOHN BRUCE opened his eyes dreamily, unseeingly; and then his eyelids -fluttered and closed again. There was an exquisite sense of languor -upon him, of cool, comfortable repose; a curious absence of all -material things. It seemed as though he were in some suspended state of -animation. - -It was very strange. It wasn't life--not life as he had ever known it. -Perhaps it was death. He did not understand. - -He tried to think. He was conscious that his mind for some long -indeterminate period had been occupied with the repetition of queer, -vague, broken snatches of things, fantastic things born of illusions, -brain fancies, cobwebby, intangible, which had no meaning, and were -without beginning or end. There was a white beach, very white, and a -full round moon, and the moon winked knowingly while he whittled with a -huge jack-knife at a quill toothpick. And then there was a great chasm -of blackness which separated the beach from some other place that seemed -to have nothing to identify it except this black chasm which was the -passageway to it; and here a man's face, a face that was sinister in -its expression, and both repulsive and unhealthy in its color, was -constantly bending over him, and the man's head was always in the same -posture--cocked a little to one side, as though listening intently -and straining to hear something. And then, in the same place, but less -frequently, there was another face--and this seemed to bring with it -always a shaft of warm, bright sunlight that dispelled the abominable -gloom, and before which the first face vanished--a beautiful, the -wondrously beautiful, face of a girl, one that he had seen somewhere -before, that was haunting in its familiarity and for which it seemed -he had always known a great yearning, but which plagued him miserably -because there seemed to be some unseen barrier between them, and because -he could not recognize her, and she could not speak and tell him who she -was. - -John Bruce opened his eyes again. Dimly, faintly, his mind seemed to be -grasping coherent realities. He began to remember fragments of the past, -but it was very hard to piece those fragments together into a concrete -whole. That white beach--yes, he remembered that. And the quill -toothpick. Only the huge jack-knife was absurd! It was at Apia with -Larmon. But he was in a room somewhere now, and lying on a cot of some -sort. And it was night. How had he come here? - -He moved a little, and suddenly felt a twinge of pain in his side. His -hand groped under the covering, and his fingers came into contact with -bandages that were wrapped tightly around his body. - -And then in a flash memory returned. He remembered the fight in Ratti's -wine shop, the knife stab, and how he had dragged himself along the lane -and climbed in through _her_ window. His eyes now in a startled way were -searching his surroundings. Perhaps this was the room! He could not -be quite sure, but there seemed to be something familiar about it. The -light was very low, like a gas-jet turned down, and he could not make -out where it came from, nor could he see any window through which he -might have climbed in. - -He frowned in a troubled way. It was true that, as he had climbed in -that night, he had not been in a condition to take much note of the -room, but yet it did seem to be the same place. The frown vanished. What -did it matter? He knew now beyond any question whose face it was that -had come to him so often in that shaft of sunlight. Yes, it _did_ -matter! He must have been unconscious, perhaps for only a few hours, -perhaps for days, but if this was the same place, then she was _here_, -not as a figment of the brain, not as one created out of his own -longing, but here in her actual person, a living, breathing reality. It -was the girl of the traveling pawn-shop, and---- - -John Bruce found himself listening with sudden intentness. Was he -drifting back into unconsciousness again, into that realm of unreal -things, where the mind, fevered and broken, wove out of its sick -imagination queer, meaningless fancies? It was strange that unreal -things should seem so real! Wasn't that an animal of some sort -scratching at the wall of the house outside? - -He lifted his head slightly from the pillow--and held it there. A voice -from within the room reached him in an angry, rasping whisper: - -"Damn you, Birdie, why don't you pull the house down and have done with -it? You clumsy hog! Do you want the police on us? Can't you climb three -feet without waking up the whole of New York?" - -John Bruce's lips drew together until they formed a tight, straight -line. This was strange! Very strange! It wasn't a vagary of his brain -this time. His brain was as clear now as it had ever been in his life. -The voice came from beyond the head of his cot. He had seen no one in -the room, but that was natural enough since from the position in which -he was lying his line of vision was decidedly restricted; what seemed -incomprehensible though, taken in conjunction with the words he had -just heard, was that his own presence there appeared to be completely -ignored. - -He twisted his head around cautiously, and found that the head of the -cot was surrounded by a screen. He nodded to himself a little grimly. -That accounted for it! There was a scraping sound now, and heavy, -labored breathing. - -John Bruce silently and stealthily stretched out his arm. He could just -reach the screen. It was made of some soft, silken material, and his -fingers found no difficulty in drawing this back a little from the edge -of that portion of the upright framework which was directly in front of -him. - -He scarcely breathed now. Perhaps he was in so weak a state that his -mind faltered if crowded, for there was so much to see that he could -not seem to grasp it all as a single picture. He gazed fascinated. The -details came slowly--one by one. It _was_ the room where he had crawled -in through the window and had fallen senseless to the floor--whenever -that had been! That was the window there. And, curiously enough, another -man was crawling in through it now! And there was whispering. And two -other men were already standing in the room, but he could not see their -faces because their backs were turned to him. Then one of the two swung -around in the direction of the window, bringing his face into view. John -Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, it must be that! His mind was -off wandering once more, painting and picturing for itself its fanciful -unrealities, bringing back again the character it had created, the man -with the sinister face whose pallor was unhealthy and repulsive. - -And then he opened his eyes and looked again, and the face was still -there--and it was real. And now the man spoke: - -"Come on, get busy, Birdie! If you take as long to crack the box as you -have taken to climb in through a low window, maybe we'll be invited to -breakfast with the family! You act just like a swell cracksman--not! But -here's the combination--so try and play up to the part!" - -The man addressed was heavy of build, with a pockmarked and forbidding -countenance. He was panting from his exertions, as, inside the room now, -he leaned against the sill. - -"That's all right, Doc!" he grunted. "That's all right! But how about -his nibs over there behind the screen? Ain't he ever comin' out of his -nap?" - -The man addressed as "Doc" rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and -produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. - -"There's the safe over there, Birdie," he drawled, as he pricked his arm -with the needle and pushed home the plunger. "Get busy!" - -The big man shuffled his feet. - -"I know you know your business, Doc," he said uneasily; "but I guess -me an' Pete here 'd feel more comfortable if you'd have put that shot of -coke into the guy I'm speakin' about instead of into yourself. Ain't I -right, Pete?" - -The third man was lounging against the wall, his back still turned to -John Bruce. - -"Sure," he said; "but I guess you can leave it to Doc. A guy that's -been pawin' the air for two days ain't likely to butt in much all of a -sudden." - -The man with the hypodermic, in the act of replacing the syringe in his -pocket, drew it out again. - -"Coming from you, Birdie," he murmured caustically, "that's a -surprisingly bright idea. I've been here for the last three hours -listening to his interesting addresses from the rostrum of delirium, and -I should say he was quite safe. Still, to oblige you, Birdie, and make -you feel more comfortable, we'll act on your suggestion." - -John Bruce's teeth gritted together. How weak he was! His arm ached from -even the slight strain of extending it beyond his head to the screen. - -And then he smiled grimly. But it wasn't a case of strength now, was it? -He was obviously quite helpless in that respect. This man they called -Doc believed him to be still unconscious, and--he drew his arm silently -back, tucked it again under the sheet and blanket that covered him, -and closed his eyes--and even if he could resist, which he couldn't, a -hypodermic injection of morphine, or cocaine, or whatever it was that -the supreme crook of the trio indulged in, could not _instantly_ take -effect. There ought to be time enough to watch at least---- - -John Bruce lay perfectly still. He heard a footstep come quickly around -the screen; he sensed the presence of some one bending over him; then -the coverings were pulled down and his arm was bared. He steeled himself -against the instinctive impulse to wince at the sharp prick of the -needle which he knew was coming--and felt instead a cold and curiously -merciless rage sweep over him as the act was performed. Then the -footstep retreated--and John Bruce quietly twisted his head around on -the pillow, reached out his arm, and his fingers drew the silk panel of -the screen slightly away from the edge of the framework again. - -He could see the safe they had referred to now. It was over at the far -side of the room against the wall, and the three men were standing in -front of it. Presently it was opened. The man called Doc knelt down in -front of it and began to examine its contents. He swung around to his -companions after a moment with a large pile of banknotes in his hands. -From this pile he counted out and handed a small portion to each of the -other two men--and coolly stuffed the bulk of the money into his own -pockets. - -The scene went blurry then for a moment before John Bruce's eyes, and -he lifted his free hand and brushed it across his forehead. He was so -beastly weak, anyhow, and the infernal dope was getting in its work -too fast! He fought with all his mental strength against the impulse -to relax and close his eyes. What was it they were doing now? It looked -like some foolish masquerade. The two companions of the man with the -sinister, pasty face were tying handkerchiefs over their faces and -drawing revolvers from their pockets; and then the big man began to -close the door of the safe. - -The Doc's voice came sharply: - -"Look out you don't lock it, you fool!" - -Once more John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. His brain must -be playing him tricks again. A din infernal rose suddenly in the room. -While the big man lounged nonchalantly against the safe, the other two -were scuffling all over the floor and throwing chairs about. And then -from somewhere upstairs, on the floor there too, John Bruce thought he -caught the sound of hurried movements. - -Then for an instant the scuffling in the room ceased, and the -pasty-faced man's voice came in a peremptory whisper: - -"The minute any one shows at the door you swing that safe open as though -you'd been working at it all the time, Birdie, and pretend to shove -everything in sight into your pockets. And you, Joe, you've got me -cornered and covered here--see? And you hold the doorway with your gun -too; and then both of you back away and make your getaway through the -window." The scuffling began again. John Bruce watched the scene, a -sense of drowsiness and apathy creeping upon him. He tried to rouse -himself. He ought to do something. That vicious-faced little crook who -had haunted him with unwelcome visitations, and who at this precise -moment had the bulk of the money from the safe in his own pockets, was -in the act of planting a somewhat crude, but probably none the less -effective, alibi, and---- - -John Bruce heard a door flung open, and then a sudden, startled cry, -first in a woman's and then in a man's voice. But he could not see any -door from the position in which he lay. He turned over with a great -effort, facing the other way, and reached out with his fingers for the -panel of the screen that overlapped the head of the cot. And then John -Bruce lay motionless, the blood pounding fiercely at his temples. - -He was conscious that a tall, white-haired man in scanty attire was -there, because the doorway framed two figures; but he _saw_ only a -beautiful face, pitifully white, only the slim form of a girl whose -great brown eyes were very wide with fear, and who held her dressing -gown tightly clutched around her throat. It was the girl of the -traveling pawn-shop, it was the girl of his dreams in the shaft of -sunlight, it was the girl he had followed here--only--only the picture -seemed to be fading away. It was very strange! It was most curious! She -always seemed to leave that way. This was Larmon now instead, wasn't it? -Larmon... and a jack-knife... and a quill toothpick... and.... - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN--THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING PAWN-SHOP - -|JOHN BRUCE abstractedly twirled the tassel of the old and faded -dressing gown which he wore, the temporary possession of which he -owed to Paul Veniza, his host. From the chair in which he sat his eyes -ventured stolen glances at the nape of a dainty neck, and at a great -coiled mass of silken brown hair that shone like burnished copper in the -afternoon sunlight, as Claire Veniza, her back turned toward him, busied -herself about the room. He could walk now across the floor--and a -great deal further, he was sure, if they would only let him. He had not -pressed that point; it might be taking an unfair advantage of an already -over-generous hospitality, but he was not at all anxious to speed his -departure from--well, from where he was at that precise moment. - -And now as he looked at Claire Veniza, his thoughts went back to the -night he had stepped, at old Hawkins' invitation, into the traveling -pawn-shop. That was not so very long ago--two weeks of grave illness, -and then the past week of convalescence--but it seemed to span a great -and almost limitless stretch of time, and to mark a new and entirely -different era in his life; an era that perplexed and troubled and -intrigued him with conditions and surroundings and disturbing elements -that he did not comprehend--but at the same time made the blood in his -veins to course with wild abandon, and the future to hold out glad and -beckoning hands. - -He loved, with a great, overwhelming, masterful love, the girl who stood -there just across the room all unconscious of the worship that he knew -was in his eyes, and which he neither tried nor wished to curb. Of his -own love he was sure. He had loved her from the moment he had first seen -her, and in his heart he knew he held fate kind to have given him the -wound that in its turn had brought the week of convalescence just past. -And yet--and yet---- Here dismay came, and his brain seemed to stumble. -Sometimes he dared to hope; sometimes he was plunged into the depths of -misery and despair. Little things, a touch of the hand as she had nursed -him that had seemed like some God-given tender caress, a glance when -she had thought he had not seen and which he had allowed his heart to -interpret to its advantage with perhaps no other justification than -its own yearning and desire, had buoyed him up; and then, at times, -a strange, almost bitter aloofness, it seemed, in her attitude toward -him--and this had checked, had always checked, the words that were ever -on his lips. - -A faint flush dyed his cheeks. But even so, and for all his boasted -love, did he not in his own soul wrong her sometimes? The questions -_would_ come. What was the meaning of the strange environment in which -she lived? Why should she have driven to a gambling hell late at night, -and quite as though it were the usual thing, to transact business alone -in that car with---- - -God! His hands clenched fiercely. He remembered that night, and how the -same thought had come then, mocking him, jeering him, making sport of -him. He was a cad, a pitiful, vile-minded cad! Thank God that he was at -least still man enough to be ashamed of his own thoughts, even if they -came in spite of him! - -Perhaps it was the strange, unusual characters that surrounded her, that -came and went in this curious place here, that fostered such thoughts; -perhaps he was not strong enough yet to grapple with all these confusing -things. He smiled a little grimly. The robbery of the safe, for -instance--and that reptile whom he now knew to be his own attending -physician, Doctor Crang! He had said nothing about his knowledge of the -robbery--yet. As nearly as he could judge it had occurred two or three -days prior to the time when his actual convalescence had set in, and as -a material witness to the crime he was not at all sure that in law his -testimony would be of much value. They must certainly have found him in -an unconscious state immediately afterward--and Doctor Crang would -as indubitably attack his testimony as being nothing more than the -hallucination of a sick brain. - -The luck of the devil had been with Crang! Why had he, John Bruce, gone -drifting off into unconsciousness just at the psychological moment when, -if the plan had been carried out as arranged and the other two had made -their fake escape, Crang would have been left in the room with Claire -and Paul Veniza--with the money in his pockets! He would have had Doctor -Crang cold then! It was quite different now. He was not quite sure what -he meant to do, except that he fully proposed to have a reckoning with -Doctor Crang. But that reckoning, something, he could not quite define -what, had prompted him to postpone until he had become physically a -little stronger! - -And then there was another curious thing about it all, which too had -influenced him in keeping silent. Hawkins, Paul Veniza, Claire and -Doctor Crang had each, severally and collectively, been here in this -room many times since the robbery, and not once in his presence had the -affair ever been mentioned! And--oh, what did it matter! He shrugged his -shoulders as though to rid himself of some depressing physical weight. -What did anything matter on this wonderful sunlit afternoon--save Claire -there in her white, cool dress, that seemed somehow to typify her own -glorious youth and freshness. - -How dainty and sweet and alluring she looked! His eyes were no longer -contented with stolen glances; they held now masterfully, defiant of any -self-restraint, upon the slim figure that was all grace from the trim -little ankles to the poise of the shapely head. He felt the blood -quicken his pulse. Stronger than he had ever known it before, straining -to burst all barriers, demanding expression as a right that would not be -denied, his love rose dominant within him, and---- - -The tassel he had been twirling dropped from his hand. She had -turned suddenly; and across the room her eyes met his, calm, deep and -unperturbed at first, but wide the next instant with a startled shyness, -and the color sweeping upward from her throat crimsoned her face, and in -confusion she turned away her head. - -John Bruce was on his feet. He stumbled a little as he took a step -forward. His heart was pounding, flinging a red tide into the pallor of -his cheeks that illness had claimed as one of its tolls. - -"I--I did not mean to tell you like that," he said huskily. "But I have -wanted to tell you for so long. It seems as though I have always wanted -to tell you. Claire--I love you." - -She did not answer. - -He was beside her now--only her head was lowered and averted and he -could not look into her face. Her fingers were plucking tremulously at a -fold of her dress. He caught her hand between both his own. - -"Claire--Claire, I love you!" he whispered. - -She disengaged her hand gently; and, still refusing to let him see her -face, shook her head slowly. - -"I--I-----" Her voice was very low. "Oh, don't you know?" - -"I know I love you," he answered passionately. "I know that nothing else -but that matters." - -Again she shook her head. - -"I thought perhaps he would have told you. I--I am going to marry Doctor -Crang." - -John Bruce stepped back involuntarily; and for a moment incredulity and -helpless amazement held sway in his expression--then his lips tightened -in a hurt, half angry way. - -"Is that fair to me, Claire--to give me an answer like that?" he said in -a low tone. "I know it isn't true, of course; it couldn't be--but--but -it isn't much of a joke either, is it?" - -"It is true," she said monotonously. - -He leaned suddenly forward, and taking her face between his hands, made -her lift her head and look at him. The brown eyes were swimming with -tears. The red swept her face in a great wave, and, receding, left it -deathly pale--and in a frenzy of confusion she wrenched herself free -from him and retreated a step. - -"My God!" said John Bruce hoarsely. "You--and Doctor Crang! I don't -understand! It is monstrous! You can't love that----" He checked -himself, biting at his lips. "You can't love Doctor Crang. It is -impossible! You dare not stand there and tell me that you do. Answer me, -Claire--answer me!" - -She seemed to have regained her self-control--or perhaps it was the one -defense she knew. The little figure was drawn up, her head held back. - -"You have no right to ask me that," she said steadily. - -"Right!" John Bruce echoed almost fiercely. His soul itself seemed -suddenly to be in passionate turmoil; it seemed to juggle two figures -before his consciousness, contrasting one with the other in most hideous -fashion--this woman here whom he loved, who struggled to hold herself -bravely, who stood for all that was pure, for all that he reverenced in -a woman; and that sallow, evil-faced degenerate, a drug fiend so lost to -the shame of his vice that he pricked himself with his miserable needle -quite as unconcernedly in public as one would smoke a cigarette--and -worse--a crook--a thief! Was it a coward's act to tell this girl _what_ -the man was whom she proposed to marry? Was it contemptible to pull a -rival such as that down from the pedestal which in some fiendish way he -must have erected for himself? Surely she did not know the man for what -he actually was! She could not know! "Right!" he cried out. "Yes, I have -the right--both for your sake and for my own. I have the right my love -gives me. Do you know how I came here that first night?" - -"Yes," she said with an effort. "You told me. You were in a fight in -Ratti's place, and were wounded." - -He laughed out harshly. - -"And I told you the truth--as far as it went," he said. "But do you know -how I came to be in this locality after leaving you in that motor car? I -followed you. I loved you from the moment I saw you that night. It seems -as though I have always loved you--as I always shall love you. That is -what gives me the right to speak. And I mean to speak. If it were an -honorable man to whom you were to be married it would be quite another -matter; but you cannot know what you are doing, you do not know this man -as he really is, or what he----" - -"Please! Please stop!" she cried out brokenly. "Nothing you could say -would tell me anything I do not already know." - -"I am not so sure!" said John Bruce grimly. "Suppose I told you he was a -criminal?" - -"He is a criminal." Her voice was without inflection. - -"Suppose then he were sent to jail--to serve a sentence?" - -"I would marry him when he came out," she said. "Oh, please do not -say any more! I know far more about him than you do; but--but that has -nothing to do with it." - -For an instant, motionless, John Bruce stared at Claire; then his hands -swept out and caught her wrists in a tight grip and held her prisoner. - -"Claire!" His voice choked. "What does this mean? You do not love him; -you say you know he is even a criminal--and yet you are going to marry -him! What hold has he got on you? What is it? What damnable trap has he -got you in? I am going to know, Claire! I will know! And whatever it is, -whatever the cause of it, I'll crush it, strangle it, sweep it out of -your dear life at any cost! Tell me, Claire!" - -Her face had gone white; she struggled a little to release herself. - -"You--you do not know what you are saying. You----" Her voice broke in a -half sob. - -"Claire, look at me!" He was pleading now with his soul in his eyes and -voice. "Claire, I----" - -"Oh, please let me go!" she cried out frantically. "You cannot say -anything that will make any difference. I--it only makes it harder." -The tears were brimming in her eyes again. "Oh, please let me -go--there's--there's some one coming." - -John Bruce's hands dropped to his sides. The door, already half open, -was pushed wide, and Hawkins, the old chauffeur, stood on the threshold. -And as John Bruce looked in that direction, he was suddenly and -strangely conscious that somehow for the moment the old man dominated -his attention even to the exclusion of Claire. There was something of -curious self-effacement, of humbleness in the bent, stoop-shouldered -figure there, who twisted a shapeless hat awkwardly in his hands; but -also something of trouble and deep anxiety in the faded blue eyes as -they fixed on the girl, and yet without meeting her eyes in return, held -upon her as she walked slowly now toward the door. - -"Dear old Hawkins," she said softly, and laid her hand for an instant on -the other's arm as she passed by him, "you and Mr. Bruce will be able -to entertain each other, won't you? I--I'm going upstairs for a little -while." - -And the old man made no answer; but, turning on the threshold, he -watched her, his attitude, it seemed to John Bruce, one of almost -pathetic wistfulness, as Claire disappeared from view. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHT--ALLIES - -|CLAIRE'S footsteps, ascending the stairs, died away. John Bruce -returned to his chair. His eyes were still on the old chauffeur. - -Hawkins was no longer twisting his shapeless hat nervously in his -fingers; instead, he held it now in one clenched hand, while with the -other he closed the door behind him as he stepped forward across the -threshold, and with squared shoulders advanced toward John Bruce. And -then, quite as suddenly again, as though alarmed at his own temerity, -the old man paused, and the question on his lips, aggressively enough -framed, became irresolute in tone. - -"What--what's the matter with Claire?" he stammered. "What's this mean?" - -It was a moment before John Bruce answered, while he eyed the other from -head to foot. Hawkins was not the least interesting by any means of the -queer characters that came and went and centered around this one-time -pawn-shop of Paul Veniza; but Hawkins, of them all, was the one he -was least able, from what he had seen of the man, to fathom. And yet, -somehow, he liked Hawkins. - -"That's exactly what I want to know," he said a little brusquely. -"And"--he eyed Hawkins once more with cool appraisal--"I think you are -the man best able to supply the information." - -Hawkins began to fumble with his hat again. - -"I--I--why do you say that?" he faltered, a sudden note of what seemed -almost trepidation in his voice. - -John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. - -"Possibly it is just a hunch," he said calmly. "But you were the one who -was driving that old bus on a certain night--you remember? And you seem -to hang around here about as you please. Therefore you must stand in on -a fairly intimate basis with the family circle. I'd like to know what -hold a rotten crook like Doctor Crang has got on Claire Veniza that she -should be willing to marry him, when she doesn't love him. I'd like to -know why a girl like Claire Veniza drives alone at night to a gambling -hell to----" - -"That's enough!" Hawkins' voice rose abruptly, peremptorily. He advanced -again threateningly oft John Bruce. "Don't you dare to say one word -against my--against--against her. I'll choke the life out of you, if you -do! Who are you, anyway? You are asking a lot of questions. How did you -get here in the first place? You answer that! I've always meant to ask -you. You answer that--and leave Claire out of it!" - -John Bruce whistled softly. - -"I can't very well do that," he said quietly, "because it was Claire who -brought me here." - -"Claire brought you!" The old blue eyes grew very hard and very steady. -"That's a lie! She never saw you after you got out at the corner that -night until you came in through the window here. She didn't tell you -where she lived. She didn't invite you here. She's not that kind, and, -sick though you may be, I'll not keep my hands off you, if----" - -"Steady, Hawkins--steady!" said John Bruce, his voice as quiet as -before. "We seem to possess a common bond. You seem to be pretty fond -of Claire. Well, so am I. That ought to make us allies." He held out his -hand suddenly to the old man. "I had just asked Claire to marry me when -you came to the door." - -Hawkins stared from the outstretched hand into John Bruce's eyes, and -back again at the outstretched hand. Bewilderment, hesitation, a curious -excitement was in his face. - -"You asked Claire to marry you?" He swallowed hard. "You--you want to -marry Claire? I--why?" - -"Why?" John Bruce echoed helplessly. "Good Lord, Hawkins, you _are_ a -queer one! Barring beasts like Crang, why does a man ordinarily ask a -woman to marry him? Because he loves her. Well, I love Claire. I loved -her from the moment I saw her. I followed her, or, rather, that old bus -of yours, here that night. And that is how, after that fight at Ratti's -when I got out the back door and into the lane, I crawled over here for -sanctuary. I said Claire brought me here. You understand now, don't you? -That's how she brought me here--because I loved her that night. But it -is because of Crang"--his voice grew hard--"that I am telling you this. -I love her now--and a great deal too much, whether she could ever care -for me or not, to see her in the clutches of a crook, and her -life wrecked by a degenerate cur. And somehow"--his hand was still -extended--"I thought you seemed to think enough of her to feel the same -way about this marriage--for I imagine you must know about it. Well, -Hawkins, where do you stand? There's something rotten here. Are you for -Claire, or the dope-eater?" - -"Oh, my God!" Hawkins whispered huskily. And then almost blindly he -snatched at John Bruce's hand and wrung it hard. "I--I believe you're -straight," he choked. "I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. I -wouldn't ask anything more in the world for her than a man's honest -love. And she ain't going to marry that devil! You understand?" His -voice was rising in a curious cracked shrillness. "She ain't! Not while -old Hawkins is alive!" - -John Bruce drew his brows together in a puzzled way. - -"I pass you up, Hawkins," he said slowly. "I can't make you out. But if -you mean what you say, and if you trust me----" - -"I'm going to trust you!" There was eagerness, excitement, a tremble in -the old man's voice. "I've got to trust you after what you've said. I -ain't slept for nights on account of this. It looks like God sent you. -You wait! Wait just a second, and I'll show you how much I trust you." - -John Bruce straightened up in his chair. Was the old man simply erratic, -or perhaps a little irresponsible--or what? Hawkins had pattered across -the floor, had cautiously opened the door, and was now peering with -equal caution into the outer room. Apparently satisfied at last, he -closed the door noiselessly, and started back across the room. And -then John Bruce knew suddenly an indefinable remorse at having somehow -misjudged the shabby old chauffeur, whose figure seemed to totter now a -little as it advanced toward him. Hawkins' face was full of misery, and -the old blue eyes were brimming with tears. - -"It--it ain't easy"--Hawkins' voice quavered--"to say--what I got to -say. There ain't no one on earth but Paul Veniza knows it; but you've -got a right to know after what you've said. And I've got to tell you for -Claire's sake too, because it seems to me there ain't nobody going to -help me save her the way you are. She--she's my little girl. I--I'm -Claire's father." John Bruce stared numbly at the other. He could find -no words; he could only stare. - -"Yes, look at me!" burst out the old man finally, and into his voice -there came an infinite bitterness. "Look at my clothes! I'm just what I -look like! I ain't no good--and that's what has kept my little girl and -me apart from the day she was born. Yes, look at me! I don't blame you!" - -John Bruce was on his feet. His hand reached out and rested on the old -man's shoulder. - -"That isn't the way to trust me, Hawkins," he said gently. "What do your -clothes matter? What do your looks matter? What does anything in the -world matter alongside of so wonderful a thing as that which you have -just told me? Straighten those shoulders, Hawkins; throw back that -head of yours. Her father! Why, you're the richest man in New York, and -you've reason to be the proudest!" - -John Bruce was smiling with both lips and eyes into the other's face. He -felt a tremor pass through the old man's frame; he saw a momentary flash -of joy and pride light up the wrinkled, weather-beaten face--and then -Hawkins turned his head away. - -"God bless you," said Hawkins brokenly; "but you don't know. She's all -I've got; she's the only kith and kin I've got in all the world, and -oh, my God, how these old arms have ached just to take her and hold her -tight, and--and----" He lifted his head suddenly, met John Bruce's eyes, -and a flush dyed his cheeks. "She's my little girl; but I lie when I say -I love her. It's drink I love. That's my shame, John Bruce--you've got -it all now. I pawned my soul, and I pawned my little girl for drink." - -"Hawkins," said John Bruce huskily, "I think you're a bigger man than -you've any idea you are." - -"D'ye mean that?" Hawkins spoke eagerly--only to shake his head -miserably the next instant. "You don't understand," he said. "I as -good as killed her mother with drink. She died when Claire was born. I -brought Claire here, and Paul Veniza and his wife took her in. And Paul -Veniza was right about it. He made me promise she wasn't to know I was -her father until--until she would have a man and not a drunken sot to -look after her. That's twenty years ago. I've tried.. God knows I've -tried, but it's beaten me ever since. Paul's wife died when Claire was -sixteen, and Claire's run the house for Paul--and--and I'm Hawkins--just -Hawkins--the old cab driver that's dropping in the harness. Just Hawkins -that shuffers the traveling pawn-shop now that Paul's quit the regular -shop. That's what I am--just old Hawkins, who's always swearing to God -he's going to leave the booze alone." - -John Bruce did not speak for a moment. He returned to his chair and sat -down. Somehow he wanted to think; somehow he felt that he had not quite -grasped the full significance of what he had just heard. He looked at -Hawkins. Hawkins had sunk into a chair by the table, and his face was -buried in his hands. - -And then John Bruce smiled. - -"Look here, Hawkins," he said briskly, "let's talk about something else -for a minute. Tell me about Paul Veniza and this traveling pawn-shop. -It's a bit out of the ordinary, to say the least." - -Hawkins raised his head, and his thoughts for the moment diverted into -other channels, his face brightened, and he scratched at the scanty -fringe of hair behind his ear. - -"It ain't bad, is it?" he said with interest. "I'm kind of proud of it -too, 'cause I guess mabbe, when all's said and done, it was my idea. You -see, when Paul's wife died, Paul went all to pieces. He ain't well now, -for that matter--nowhere near as well as he looks. I'm kind of scared -about Paul. He keeps getting sick turns once every so often. But when -the wife died he was just clean broken up. She'd been his right hand -from the start in his business here, and--I dunno--it just seemed to -affect him that way. He didn't want to go on any more without her. And -as far as money was concerned he didn't have to. Paul ain't rich, but -he's mighty comfortably off. Anyway, he took the three balls down from -over the door, and he took the signs off the windows, and in comes -the carpenters to change things around here, and there ain't any more -pawn-shop." - -Hawkins for the first time smiled broadly. - -"But it didn't work out," said Hawkins. "Paul's got a bigger business -and a more profitable one to-day than he ever had before in his life. -You see, he had been at it a good many years, and he had what you might -call a private connection--swells up on the Avenue, mostly ladies, but -gents too, who needed money sometimes without having it printed in the -papers, and they wouldn't let Paul alone. Paul ain't got a hair in his -head that ain't honest and fair and square and above-board--and they -were the ones that knew it better than anybody else. See?" - -"Yes," said John Bruce. "Go on, Hawkins," he prompted. - -"Well," said Hawkins, "I used to drive an old hansom cab in those days, -and I used to drive Paul out on those private calls to the swell houses. -And then when Mrs. Paul died and Paul closed up the shop here he kind of -drew himself into his shell all round, and mostly he wouldn't go out any -more, though the swells kept telephoning and telephoning him. He'd only -go to just a few people that he'd done business with since almost -the beginning. He said he didn't want to go around ringing people's -doorbells, and being ushered into boudoirs or anywhere else, and he was -settling down to shun everybody and everything. It wasn't good for Paul. -And then a sort of crazy notion struck me, and I chewed it over and over -in my mind, and finally I put it up to Paul. In the mood he was in, it -just caught his fancy; and so I bought a second-hand closed car, and -fitted it up like you saw, and learned to drive it--and that's how there -came to be the traveling pawn-shop. - -"After that, there wasn't anything to it. It caught everybody else's -fancy as well as Paul's, and it began to get him out of himself. The old -bus, as you called it, was running all the time. Lots of the swells -who really didn't want to pawn anything took a ride and did a bit of -business just for the sake of the experience, and the regular customers -just went nutty over it, they were that pleased. - -"And then some one who stood in with that swell gambling joint where -we picked you up must have tipped the manager off about it, and he -saw where he could do a good stroke of business--make it a kind of -advertisement, you know, besides doing away with any lending by the -house itself, and he put up a proposition to Paul where Paul was to -get all the business at regular rates, and a bit of a salary besides on -account of the all-night hours he'd have to keep sometimes. Paul said -he'd do it, and turned the salary over to me; and they doped out that -pass word about a trip to Persia to make it sound mysterious and help -out the advertising end, and--well, I guess that's all." - -John Bruce was twirling the tassel of his dressing gown again -abstractedly; but now he stopped as Hawkins rose abruptly and came -toward him. - -"No--it ain't all," said Hawkins, a curious note almost of challenge -in his voice. "You said something about Claire going to that gambling -joint. It was the first time she had ever been there. That night Paul -was out when they telephoned. You must be one of their big customers, -'cause they wouldn't listen to anything but a trip to Persia right on -the spot. They were so set on it that Claire said it would be all right. -She sent for me. At first I wasn't for it at all, but she said it seemed -to be of such importance, and that there wasn't anything else to do. -Claire knows a bit of jewelry or a stone as well as Paul does, and I -knew Claire could take care of herself; and besides, although she didn't -know it, it--it was her own old father driving the car there with her." - -"Thank you, Hawkins," said John Bruce simply; and after a moment: "It -doesn't make the love I said I had for her show up very creditably to -me, does it--that I should have had any questions?" - -Hawkins shook his head. - -"I didn't mean it that way," he said earnestly. "It would have been a -wonder if you hadn't. Anyway, you had a right to know, and it was only -fair to Claire." - - - - -CHAPTER NINE--THE CONSPIRATORS - -|JOHN BRUCE fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown and produced a -cigarette; but he was a long time in lighting it. - -"Hawkins," he demanded abruptly, "is Paul Veniza in the house now?" - -"He's upstairs, I think," Hawkins answered. "Do you want him?" - -"Yes--in a moment," said John Bruce slowly. "I've been thinking a good -deal while you were talking. I can only see things one way; and that -is that the time has come when you should take your place as Claire's -father." - -The old man drew back, startled. - -"Tell Claire?" he whispered. Then he shook his head miserably. "No, no! -I--I haven't earned the right. I--I can't break my word to Paul." - -"I do not ask you to break your word to Paul. I want you to earn the -right--now." - -Hawkins was still shaking his head. - -"Earn it now--after all these years! How can I?" - -"By promising that you won't drink any more," said John Bruce quietly. - -Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - -"Promise!" he said in a shamed way. "I've been promising that for twenty -years. Paul wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe myself. I went and -got drunker than I've been in all my life the night that dog said he was -going to marry Claire, and Claire said it was true, and wouldn't listen -to anything Paul could say to her against it." - -"I would believe you," said John Bruce gravely. - -For an instant Hawkins' face glowed, while tears came into the old blue -eyes--and then he turned hurriedly and walked to the window, his back to -John Bruce. - -"It's no use," he said, with a catch in his voice. "You don't know me. -Nobody that knows me would take my word for that--least of all Paul." - -"I know this," said John Bruce steadily, "that you have never been -really put to the test. The test is here now. You'd stop, and stop -forever, wouldn't you, if it meant Claire's happiness, her future, -her salvation from the horror and degradation and misery and utter -hopelessness that a life with a man who is lost to every sense of -decency must bring her? I would believe you if you promised under those -conditions. It seems to me to be the only chance there is left to save -her. It is true she believes Paul is her father and accepts him as -such, and neither his influence nor his arguments will move her from her -determination to marry Crang; but I think there is a chance if she is -told your story, if she is brought to her own father through this very -thing. I think if you are in each other's arms at last after all these -years from just that cause it might succeed where everything else -failed. But this much is sure. It has a chance of success, and you owe -Claire that chance. Will you take it, Hawkins? Will you promise?" - -There was no answer from the window, only the shaking of the old man's -shoulders. - -"Hawkins," said John Bruce softly, "wouldn't it be very wonderful if you -saved her, and saved yourself; and wonderful, too, to know the joy of -your own daughter's love?" - -The old man turned suddenly from the window, his arms stretched out -before him as though in intense yearning; and there was something almost -of nobility in the gray head held high on the bent shoulders, something -of greatness in the old wrinkled face that seemed to exalt the worn and -shabby clothes hanging so formlessly about him. - -"My little girl," he said brokenly. - -"Your promise, Hawkins," said John Bruce in a low voice. "Will you -promise?" - -"Yes," breathed the old man fiercely. "_Yes_--so help me, God! But"--he -faltered suddenly--"but Paul-----" - -"Ask Paul to come down here," said John Bruce. "I have something to say -to both of you--more than I have already said to you. I will answer for -Paul." - -The old cab driver obeyed mechanically. He crossed the room and went -out. John Bruce heard him mounting the stairs. Presently he returned, -followed by the tall, straight, white-haired figure of Paul Veniza. - -Hawkins closed the door behind them. - -Paul Veniza turned sharply at the sound, and glanced gravely from one to -the other. His eyebrows went up as he looked at John Bruce. John Bruce's -face was set. - -"What is the matter?" inquired Paul Veniza anxiously. - -"I want you to listen first to a little story," said John Bruce -seriously--and in a few words he told Paul Veniza, as he had told -Hawkins, of his love for Claire and the events of the night that had -brought him there a wounded man. "And this afternoon," John Bruce ended, -"I asked Claire to marry me, and she told me she was going to marry -Doctor Crang." - -Paul Veniza had listened with growing anxiety, casting troubled and -uncertain glances the while at Hawkins. - -"Yes," he said in a low voice. - -John Bruce spoke abruptly: - -"Hawkins has promised he will never drink again." - -Paul Veniza, with a sudden start, stared at Hawkins, and then a sort of -kindly tolerance dawned in his face. - -"My poor friend!" said Paul Veniza as though he were comforting a -wayward child, and went over and laid his hand affectionately on -Hawkins' arm. - -"I have told Hawkins," went on John Bruce, "that I love Claire, that I -asked her to marry me; and Hawkins in turn has told me he is Claire's -father, and how he brought her to you and Mrs. Veniza when she was a -baby, and of the pledge he made you then. It is because I love Claire -too that I feel I can speak now. You once told Hawkins how he could -redeem his daughter. He wants to redeem her now. He has promised never -to drink again." - -Paul Veniza's face had whitened a little. Half in a startled, half in a -troubled way, he looked once more at John Bruce and then at Hawkins. - -"My poor friend!" he said again. - -John Bruce's hand on the arm of his chair clenched suddenly. - -"You may perhaps feel that he should not have told me of his -relationship to Claire; but it was this damnable situation with Crang -that forced the issue." - -Paul Veniza left Hawkins' side and began to pace the room in an agitated -way. - -"No!" he said heavily. "I do not blame Hawkins. We--we neither of us -know what to do. It is a terrible, an awful thing. Crang is like some -loathsome creature to her, and yet in some way that I cannot discover -he has got her into his power. I have tried everything, used every -argument I can with her, pleaded with her--and it has been useless." -He raised his arms suddenly above his head, partly it seemed in -supplication, partly in menace. "Oh, God!" he cried out. "I, too, love -her, for she has really been my daughter through all these years. But I -do not quite understand." He turned to Hawkins. "Even if you kept your -promise now, my friend, what connection has that with Doctor Crang? -Could that in any way prevent this marriage?" - -It was John Bruce who answered. - -"It is the last ditch," he said evenly; "the one way you have not -tried--to tell her her own and her father's story. I do not say it will -succeed. But it is the great crisis in her life. It is the one thing -in the world that ought to sway her, win her. Her father! After twenty -years--her father!" - -Paul Veniza's hands, trembling, ruffled through his white hair. Hawkins' -fingers fumbled, now with the buttons on his vest, now with the brim of -his hat which He had picked up aimlessly from the table; and his eyes, -lifting from the floor, glanced timorously, almost furtively, at Paul -Veniza, and sought the floor again. - -John Bruce got up from his chair and stepped toward them. - -"I want to tell you something," he said sharply, "that ought to put an -end to any hesitation on your parts at _any_ plan, no matter what, that -offers even the slightest chance of stopping this marriage. Listen! -Devil though you both believe this Crang to be, you do not either of you -even know the man for what he is. While I was lying there"--he flung out -his hand impulsively toward the couch--"the safe here in this room was -opened and robbed one night. You know that. But you do not know that it -was done by Doctor Crang and his confederates. You know what happened. -But you do not know that while the 'burglars' pretended to hold Crang -at bay with a revolver and then made their 'escape,' Crang, with most -of the proceeds of that robbery in his own pockets, was laughing up his -sleeve at you." - -Hawkins' jaw had dropped as he stared at John Bruce. - -"Crang did it! You--you say Crang committed that robbery?" stammered -Paul Veniza. "But you were unconscious! Still you--you seem to know that -the safe was robbed!" - -"Apparently I do!" John Bruce laughed shortly. "Crang too thought I -was unconscious, but to make sure he jabbed me with his needle. It -took effect just at the right time--for Crang--just as you and Claire -appeared in the doorway. And"--his brows knitted together--"it seems a -little strange that none of you have ever mentioned it in my presence; -that not a word has ever been said to me about it." - -Paul Veniza coughed nervously. - -"You were sick," he said; "too sick, we thought, for any excitement." - -Hawkins suddenly leaned forward; his wrinkled face was earnest. - -"That is not true!" he said bluntly. "It might have been at first, -but it wasn't after you got better. It was mostly your money that was -stolen. Claire put it there the night you came here, and----" - -"Hawkins!" Paul Veniza called out sharply in reproof. - -"But he knows now it's gone," said the old cabman a little helplessly. -He blundered on: "Paul felt he was responsible for your money, and he -was afraid you might not want to take it if you knew he had to make it -up out of his own pocket, and----" - -John Bruce took a step forward, and laid his hand on Paul Veniza's -shoulder. He stood silently, looking at the other. - -"It is nothing!" said Paul Veniza, abashed. - -"Perhaps not!" said John Bruce. "But"--he turned abruptly away, his lips -tight--"it just made me think for a minute. In the life I've led men -like you are rare." - -"We were speaking of Doctor Crang," said Paul Veniza a little awkwardly. -"If you know that Doctor Crang is the thief, then that is the way out of -our trouble. Instead of marrying Claire, he will be sent to prison." - -John Bruce shook his head. - -"You said yourself I was unconscious at the time. You certainly must -have found me that way, and Crang would make you testify that for days I -had been raving in delirium. I do not think you could convict him on my -testimony." - -"But even so," said Paul Veniza, "there is Claire. If she knew that -Crang was a criminal, she----" - -"She does know," said John Bruce tersely. - -"Claire knows!" ejaculated Paul Veniza in surprise. "You--you told her, -then?" - -"No," John Bruce answered. "I said to her: 'Suppose I were to tell you -that the man is a criminal?' She answered: 'He is a criminal.' I said -then: 'Suppose he were sent to jail--to serve a sentence?' She answered: -'I would marry him when he came out.'" - -"My God!" mumbled the old cabman miserably. - -"I tell you this," said John Bruce through set teeth, and speaking -directly to Paul Veniza, "because it seems to me to be the final proof -that mere argument with Claire is useless, and that something more is -necessary. I do not ask you to release Hawkins from his pledge; I ask -you to believe his promise this time because back of it he knows it may -save Claire from what would mean worse than death to her. I believe him; -I will vouch for him. Do you agree, Paul Veniza?" - -For an instant the white-haired pawnbroker seemed lost in thought; then -he nodded his head gravely. - -"In the last few days," he said slowly, "I have felt that it was no -longer my province to masquerade as her father. I know that my influence -is powerless. As you have said, it is the crisis, a very terrible -crisis, in her life." He turned toward Hawkins, and held out his hand. -"My old friend"--his voice broke--"I pray Heaven to aid you--to aid us -all." - -Hawkins' blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. - -"You believe me, too, Paul, this time!" he said in a choking voice. -"Listen, Paul! I promise! So help me, God--I promise!" - -A lump had somehow risen in John Bruce's throat. He turned away, and for -a moment there was silence in the room. And then he heard Paul Veniza -speak: - -"She is dear to us all. Let us call her--unless, my old friend, you -would rather be alone." - -"No, no!" Hawkins cried hurriedly. "I--I want you both; but--but -not now, don't call her now." He swept his hands over his shabby, -ill-fitting clothes. "I--not like this. I----" - -"Yes," said Paul Veniza gently, "I understand--and you are right. This -evening then--at eight o'clock. You will come back here, my old friend, -at eight o'clock. And do you remember, it was in this very room, twenty -years ago, that----" He did not complete his sentence; the hot tears -were streaming unashamed down his cheeks. - -John Bruce was staring out of the window, the panes of which seemed -curiously blurred. - -"Come," he heard Paul Veniza say. - -And then, as the two men reached the door, John Bruce looked around. -Hawkins had turned on the threshold. Something seemed to have -transfigured the old cab driver's face. It was illumined. There seemed -something of infinite pathos in the head held high, in the drooped -shoulders resolutely squared. - -"My little girl!" said Hawkins tenderly. "To-night at eight o'clock--my -little girl!" - - - - -CHAPTER TEN--AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT - -|BEFORE the rickety washstand and in front of the cracked glass that -served as a mirror and was suspended from a nail driven into the wall, -Hawkins was shaving himself. Perhaps the light from the wheezing -gas-jet was over-bad that evening, or perhaps it was only in playful -and facetious mood with the mirror acting the rle of co-conspirator; -Hawkins' chin smarted and was raw; little specks of red showed here and -there through the repeated coats of lather which he kept scraping off -with his razor. But Hawkins appeared willing to sacrifice even the skin -itself to obtain the standard of smoothness which he had evidently set -before himself as his goal. And so over and over again he applied the -lather, and hoed it off, and tested the result by rubbing thumb and -forefinger critically over his face. He made no grimace, nor did he show -any irritation at the none-too-keen blade that played havoc with more -than the lather, nor did he wince at what must at times have been -anything but a painless operation. Hawkins' round, weatherbeaten face -and old watery blue eyes smiled into the mirror. - -On the washstand beside him lay a large, ungainly silver watch, its case -worn smooth with years of service. It had a hunting-case, and it was -open. Hawkins glanced at it. It was twenty minutes to eight. - -"I got to hurry," said Hawkins happily. "Just twenty minutes--after -twenty years." - -Hawkins laid aside the razor, and washed and scrubbed at his face until -it shone; then he went to his trunk and opened it. From underneath the -tray he lifted out an old black suit. Perhaps again it was the gas-jet -in either baleful or facetious mood, for, as he put on the suit, the -cloth in spots seemed to possess, here a rusty, and there a greenish, -tinge, and elsewhere to be woefully shiny. Also, but of this the gas-jet -could not have been held guilty, the coat and trousers, and indeed the -waistcoat, were undeniably most sadly wrinkled. - -And now there seemed to be something peculiarly congruous as between the -feeble gas-jet, the cracked mirror, the wobbly washstand, the threadbare -strip of carpet that lay beside the iron bed, and the old bent-shouldered -figure with wrinkled face in wrinkled finery that stood there knotting -with anxious, awkward fingers a large, frayed, black cravat about his -neck; there seemed to be something strikingly in keeping between the man -and his surroundings, a sort of common intimacy, as it were, with the -twilight of an existence that, indeed, had never known the full sunlight -of high noon. - -It was ten minutes to eight. - -Hawkins put the silver watch in his pocket, extinguished the spluttering -gas-jet, that hissed at him as though in protest at the scant ceremony -with which it was treated, and went down the stairs. He stepped briskly -out on the street. - -"Claire!" said Hawkins radiantly. "My little Claire! I'm her daddy, and -she's going to know it. I'm going to get her to call me that--daddy!" - -Hawkins walked on halfway along the block, erect, with a quick, firm -step, his head high, smiling into every face he met--and turning to -smile again, conscious that people as they passed had turned to look -back at him. And then very gradually Hawkins' pace slackened, and into -his face and eyes there came a dawning anxiety, and the smile was gone. - -"I'm kind of forgetting," said Hawkins presently to himself, "that it -ain't just that I'm getting my little girl. I--I'm kind of forgetting -her 'rouble. There--there's Crang." - -The old man's face was furrowed now deep with storm and care; he walked -still more slowly. He began to mutter to himself. At the corner of the -street he raised an old gnarled fist and shook it, clenched, above his -head, unconscious and oblivious now that people still turned and looked -at him. - -And then a little way ahead of him along the street that he must go to -reach the one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza, his eyes caught the patch -of light that filtered out to the sidewalk from under the swinging doors -of the familiar saloon, and from the windows in a more brilliant flood. - -Hawkins drew in a long breath. - -"No, no!" he whispered fiercely. "I will never go in there again--so -help me, God! If I did--and--and she knew it was her daddy, it would -just break her heart like--like Crang 'll break it." - -He went on, but his footsteps seemed to drag the more now as he -approached the saloon. His hand as he raised it trembled; and as he -brushed it across his brow it came away wet with sweat. - -The saloon was just a yard away from him now. - -There was a strange, feverish glitter in the blue eyes. His face was -chalky white. - -"So help me, God!" Hawkins mumbled hoarsely. - -It was five minutes of eight. - -Hawkins had halted in front of the swinging doors. - - - - -CHAPTER ELEVEN--THE RENDEZVOUS - -|PAUL VENIZA, pacing restlessly about the room, glanced surreptitiously -at his watch, and then glanced anxiously at John Bruce. - -John Bruce in turn stole a look at Claire. His lips tightened a little. -Since she had been told nothing, she was quite unconscious, of course, -that it mattered at all because it was already long after eight o'clock; -that Hawkins in particular, or any one else in general, was expected to -join the little evening circle here in what he, John Bruce, had by now -almost come to call his room. His forehead gathered in a frown. What was -it that was keeping Hawkins? - -Claire's face was full in the light, and as she sat there at the table, -busy with some sewing, it seemed to John Bruce that, due perhaps to the -perspective of what he now knew, he detected a weariness in her eyes and -in sharp lines around her mouth, that he had not noticed before. It -was Crang, of course; but perhaps he too--what he had said to her that -afternoon--his love--had not made it any easier for her. - -Paul Veniza continued his restless pacing about the room. - -"Father, do sit down!" said Claire suddenly. "What makes you so nervous -to-night? Is anything the matter?" - -"The matter? No! No, no; of course not!" said Paul Veniza hurriedly. - -"But I'm sure there is," said Claire, with a positive' little nod of her -head. "With both of you, for that matter. Mr. Bruce has done nothing but -fidget with the tassel of that dressing gown for the last half hour." - -John Bruce let the tassel fall as though it had suddenly burned his -fingers. - -"I? Not at all!" he denied stoutly. - -"Oh, dear!" sighed Claire, with mock plaintiveness. "What bores you two -men are, then! I wish I could send out--what do you call it?--a thought -wave, and inspire some one, and most of all Hawkins, to come over here -this evening. He, at least, is never deadly dull." - -Neither of the two men spoke. - -"You don't know Hawkins, do you, Mr. Bruce?" Claire went on. She was -smiling now as she looked at John Bruce. "I mean really know him, of -course. He's a dear, quaint, lovable soul, and I'm so fond of him." - -"I'm sure he is," said John Bruce heartily. "Even from the little I've -seen of him I'd trust him with--well, you know"--John Bruce coughed as -his words stumbled--"I mean, I'd take his word for anything." - -"Of course, you would!" asserted Claire. "You couldn't think of doing -anything else--nobody could. He's just as honest as--as--well, as father -there, and I don't know any one more honest." She smiled at Paul Veniza, -and then her face grew very earnest. "I'm going to tell you something -about Hawkins, and something that even you never knew, father. Ever -since I was old enough to remember any one, I remember Hawkins. And when -I got old enough to understand at all, though I could never get him to -talk about it, I knew his life wasn't a very happy one, and perhaps I -loved him all the more for that reason. Hawkins used to drink a great -deal. Everybody knew it. I--I never felt I had the right to speak to him -about it, though it made me feel terribly, until--until mother died." - -Claire had dropped her sewing in her lap, and now she picked it up again -and fumbled with it nervously. - -"I spoke to him then," she said in a low voice. "I told him how much you -needed him, father; and how glad and happy it would make me. And--and I -remember so well his words: 'I promise, Claire. I promise, so help me, -God, that I will never drink another drop.'" Claire looked up, her face -aglow "And I know, no matter what anybody says, that from that day to -this, he never has." - -Paul Veniza, motionless now in the center of the room, was staring at -her in a sort of numbed fascination. - -John Bruce was staring at the door. He had heard, he thought, a step in -the outer room. - -The door opened. Hawkins stood there. He plucked at his frayed, black -cravat, which was awry. He lurched against the jamb, and in groping -unsteadily for support his hat fell from his other hand and rolled -across the floor. - -Hawkins reeled into the room. - -"Good--hic!--good-evenin'," said Hawkins thickly. - -Claire alone moved. She rose to her feet, but as though her weight were -too heavy for her limbs. Her lips quivered. - -"Oh, Hawkins!" she cried out pitifully--and burst into tears, and ran -from the room. - -It seemed to John Bruce that for a moment the room swirled around before -his eyes; and then over him swept an uncontrollable desire to get his -hands upon this maudlin, lurching creature. Rage, disgust, a bitter -resentment, a mad hunger for reprisal possessed him; Claire's future, -her faith which she had but a moment gone so proudly vaunted, were -all shattered, swept to the winds, by this seedy, dissolute wreck. Her -father! No, her shame! Thank God she did not know! - -"You drunken beast!" he gritted in merciless fury, and stepped suddenly -forward. - -But halfway across the room he halted as though turned to stone. Hawkins -wasn't lurching any more. Hawkins had turned and closed the door; and -Hawkins now, with his face white and drawn, a look in his old blue eyes -that mingled agony and an utter hopelessness, sank into a chair and -buried his face in his hands. - -It was Paul Veniza who moved now. He went and stood behind the old -cabman. - -Hawkins looked up. - -"You are sober. What does this mean?" Paul Veniza asked heavily. - -Hawkins shook his head. - -"I couldn't do it," he said in a broken voice. "And--and I've settled -it once for all now. I got to thinking as I came along to-night, and -I found out that it wasn't any good for me to swear I wasn't going to -touch anything any more. I'm afraid of myself. I--I came near going into -the saloon. It--it taught me something, that did; because the only way -I could get by was to promise myself I'd go back there after I'd been -here." - -Hawkins paused. A flush dyed his cheeks. He turned around and looked at -Paul Veniza again, and then at John Bruce. - -"You don't understand--neither of you understand. Once I promised Claire -that I'd stop, and--and until just now she believed me. And I've -hurt her. But I ain't broken her heart. It was only old Hawkins, just -Hawkins, who promised her then; it would have been her _father_ who -promised her to-night, and--and it ain't any good, I'd have broken that -promise, I know it now--and she ain't ever going to share that shame." - -Hawkins brushed his hands across his eyes. - -"And then," he went on, A sudden fierceness in his voice, "suppose she'd -had that on top of Crang, 'cause it ain't sure that knowing who I am -would have saved her from him! Oh, my God, she'd better be dead! I'd -rather see her dead. You're wrong, John Bruce! It wasn't the way. You -meant right, and God bless you; but it wasn't the way. I saw it all so -clearly after--after I'd got past that saloon; and--and then it was all -right for me to promise myself that I'd go back. It wouldn't hurt her -none then." - -John Bruce cleared his throat. - -"I don't quite understand what you mean by that, Hawkins," he said a -little huskily. - -Hawkins rose slowly to his feet. - -"I dressed all up for this," said Hawkins, with a wan smile; "but -something's snapped here--inside here." His hand felt a little aimlessly -over his heart. "I know now that I ain't ever going to be worthy; and I -know now that she ain't ever to know that I--that I--I'm her old daddy. -And so I--I've fixed it just now like you saw so there ain't no going -back on it. But I ain't throwing my little girl down. It ain't Claire -that's got to be made change her mind--_it's Crang_." He raised a -clenched fist. "And Crang's going to change it! I can swear to _that_ -and know I'll keep it, so--so help me, God! And when she's rid of him, -she ain't going to have no shame and sorrow from me. That's what I -meant." - -"Yes," said John Bruce mechanically. - -"I'm going now," said Hawkins in a low voice. "Around by the other way," -said Paul Veniza softly. "And I'll go with you, old friend." - -For a moment Hawkins hesitated, and then he nodded his head. - -No one spoke. Paul Veniza's arm was around Hawkins' shoulders as they -left the room. The door closed behind them. John Bruce sat down on the -edge of his bed. - - - - -CHAPTER TWELVE--THE FIGHT - -|FOR a long time John Bruce stared at the closed door; first a little -helplessly because the bottom seemed quite to have dropped out of -things, and then with set face as the old cabman's words came back to -him: "Crang--not Claire." And at this, a sort of merciless joy crept -into his eyes, and he nodded his head in savage satisfaction. Yes, -Hawkins had been right in that respect, and--well, it would be easier to -deal with Crang! - -And then suddenly John Bruce's face softened. Hawkins! He remembered -the fury with which the old man had inspired him as the other had reeled -into the room, and Clare, hurt and miserable, had risen from her chair. -But he remembered Hawkins in a different way now. It was Hawkins, not -Claire, who had been hurt. The shabby old figure standing there had paid -a price, and as he believed for Claire's sake, that had put beyond his -reach forever what must have meant, what did mean, all that he cherished -most in life. - -John Bruce smiled a little wistfully. Somehow he envied Hawkins, so -pitifully unstable and so weak--his strength! - -He shook his head in a puzzled way. His thoughts led him on. What a -strange, almost incomprehensible, little world it was into which fate, -if one wished to call it fate, had flung him! It was an alien world to -him. His own life of the past rose up in contrast with it--> not of his -own volition, but because the comparison seemed to insist on thrusting -itself upon him. - -He had never before met men like Hawkins and Paul Veniza. He had met -drunkards and pawnbrokers. Very many of them! He had lived his life, -or, rather, impoverished it with a spendthrift hand, among just such -classes--but he was conscious that it would never have been the poorer -for an intimacy with either Hawkins or Paul Veniza. - -John Bruce raised his head abruptly. The front door had opened. A moment -later a footstep sounded in the outer room, and then upon the stairs. -That would be Paul Veniza returning of course, though he hadn't been -gone very long; or was it that he, John Bruce, had been sitting -here staring at that closed door for a far longer period than he had -imagined? - -He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the interruption from his mind, -and again the wistful smile flickered on his lips. - -So that was why nothing had been said in his hearing about the robbery! -Queer people--with their traveling pawn-shop, which was bizarre; and -their standards of honesty, and their unaffected hospitality which -verged on the bizarre too, because their genuineness and simplicity were -so unostentatious--and so rare. And somehow, suddenly, as he sat -there with his chin cupped now in his hands, he was not proud of this -contrast--himself on the one hand, a drunkard and a pawnbroker on the -other! - -And then John Bruce raised his head again, sharply this time, almost in -a startled way. Was that a cry--in a woman's voice? It was muffled -by the closed door, and it was perhaps therefore his imagination; but -it---- - -He was on his feet. It had come again. No door could have shut it out -from his ears. It was from Claire upstairs, and the cry seemed most -curiously to mingle terror and a passionate anger. He ran across the -room and threw the door open. It was strange! It would be Paul Veniza -in a new rle, if the gentle, white-haired old pawnbroker could inspire -terror in any one! - -A rasping, jeering oath--in a man's voice this time--reached him. -John Bruce, a sudden fury whipping his blood into lire, found himself -stumbling up the stairs. It wasn't Veniza! His mind seemed to convert -that phrase into a sing-song refrain: "It wasn't Veniza! It wasn't -Veniza!" - -Claire's voice came to him distinctly now, and there was the same terror -in it, the same passionate anger that he had distinguished in her cry: - -"Keep away from me! I loathe you! It is men like you that prompt a woman -to murder! But--but instead, I have prayed God with all my soul to let -me die before----" Her voice ended in a sharp cry, a scuffle of feet. - -It was Crang in there! John Bruce, now almost at the top of the -stairs, was unconscious that he was panting heavily from his exertions, -unconscious of everything save a new refrain that had taken possession -of his mind: "It was Crang in there! It was Crang in there!" - -It was the door just at the right of the landing. - -Crang's voice came from there; and the voice was high, like the squeal -of an enraged animal: - -"You're mine! I've got a right to those red lips, you vixen, and I'm -going to have them! A man's got the right to take the girl he's going to -marry in his arms! Do you think I'm going to be held off forever? You're -mine, and----" - -The words were lost again in a cry from Claire, and in the sound of a -struggle--a falling chair, the scuffle once more of feet. - -John Bruce flung himself across the hall and against the door, It -yielded without resistance, and the impetus of his own rush carried him, -staggering, far into the room. Two forms were circling there under the -gas light as though in the throes of some mad dance--only the face -of the woman was deathly white, and her small clenched fists beat -frantically at the face of the man whose arms were around her. John -Bruce sprang forward. He laughed aloud, unnaturally. His brain, his -mind, was whirling; but something soft was grasped in his two encircling -hands, and that was why he laughed--because his soul laughed. His -fingers pressed tighter. It was Crang's throat that was soft under his -fingers. - -Suddenly the room swirled around him. A giddiness seemed to seize -upon him--and that soft thing in his grip slipped from his fingers and -escaped him. He brushed his hand across his eyes. It would pass, of -course. It was strange that he should go giddy like that, and that his -limbs should be trembling as though with the ague! Again he brushed his -hand across his eyes. It would pass off. He could see better now. Claire -had somehow fallen to the floor; but she was rising to her knees now, -using the side of the bed for support, and---- - -Her voice rang wildly through the room. - -"Look out! Oh, look out!" she cried. - -To John Bruce it seemed as though something leaped at him out of -space--and struck. The blow, aimed at his side, which was still -bandaged, went home. It brought an agony that racked and tore and -twisted at every nerve in his body. It wrung a moan from his lips, it -brought the sweat beads bursting out upon his forehead--but it cleared -his brain. - -Yes, it was Doctor Crang--but disreputable in appearance as he had never -before seen the man. Crang's clothes were filthy and unkempt, as though -the man had fallen somewhere in the mire and was either unconscious -or callous of the fact; his hair draggled in a matted way over his -forehead, and though his face worked with passion, and the passion -brought a curious hectic rose-color to supplant the customary lifeless -gray of his cheeks, the eyes were most strangely glazed and fixed. - -And again John Bruce laughed--and with a vicious guard swept aside a -second blow aimed at his side, and his left fist, from a full arm swing, -crashed to the point of Doctor Crang's jaw. But the next instant they -had closed, their arms locked around each other's waists, their chins -dug hard into each other's shoulders. And they rocked there, and swayed, -and lurched, a curious impotence in their ferocity--and toppled to the -floor. - -John Bruce's grip tightened as Doctor Crang fought madly now to tear -himself free--and they rolled over and over in the direction of the -door. Hot and cold waves swept over John Bruce. He was weak, pitifully -weak, barely a convalescent. But he was content to call it an equal -fight. He asked for no other odds than Crang himself had offered. The -man for once had over-steeped himself with dope, and was near the point -of collapse. He had read that in the other's eyes, as surely as though -he had been told. And so John Bruce, between his gasping breaths, still -laughed, and rolled over and over--always toward the door. - -From somewhere Claire's voice reached John Bruce, imploringly, in -terror. Of course! That was why he was trying to get to the door, to -get out of her room--through respect for her--to get somewhere where he -could finish this fight between one man who could scarcely stand upon -his feet through weakness, and another whose drug-shattered body was -approaching that state of coma which he, John Bruce, had been made to -suffer on the night the robbery had been committed. And by the same -needle! He remembered that! Weak in body, his mind was very clear. And -so he rolled over and over, always toward the door, because Crang was -heedless of the direction they were taking, and he, John Bruce, was -probably not strong enough in any other way to force the other out of -the room where they could finish this. - -They rolled to the threshold--and out into the hall. John Bruce loosened -his hold suddenly, staggered to his feet, and leaned heavily for an -instant against the jamb of the door. But it was only for an instant. -Crang was the quicker upon his feet. Like a beast there was slaver -on the other's lips, his hands clawed the air, his face was contorted -hideously like the face of one demented, one from whom reason had flown, -and with whom maniacal passion alone remained--and from the banister -railing opposite the door Crang launched himself forward upon John Bruce -again. - -"She's mine!" he screamed. "I've been watching you two! I'll teach you! -She's mine--mine! I'll finish you for this!" - -John Bruce side-stepped the rush, and Crang pitched with his head -against the door jamb, but recovering, whirled again, and rushed again. -The man began to curse steadily now in a low, abominable monotone. It -seemed to John Bruce that he ought to use his fist as a cork and thrust -it into the other's mouth to bottle up the vile flow of epithets that -included Claire, and coupled his name with Claire's. Claire might hear! -The man was raving, insane with jealousy. John Bruce struck. His fist -found its mark on Crang's lips, and found it again; but somehow his arm -seemed to possess but little strength, and to sag back at the elbow from -each impact. He writhed suddenly as Crang reached him with another blow -on his side. - -And then they had grappled and locked together again, and were swaying -like drunken men, now to this side, and now to that, of the narrow hall. - -It could not last. John Bruce felt his knees giving way beneath him. He -had under-estimated Crang's resistance to the over-dose of drug. Crang -was the stronger--and seemed to be growing stronger every instant. Or -was it his own increasing weakness? - -Crang's fist with a short-arm jab smashed at John Bruce's wounded side -once more. The man struck nowhere else--always, with the cunning born -of hell, at the wounded side. John Bruce dug his teeth into his lips. -A wave of nausea swept over him. He felt his senses leaving him, and -he clung now to the other, close, tight-pressed, as the only means of -protecting his side. - -He forced himself then desperately to a last effort. There was one -chance left, just one. In the livid face, in the hot, panting breath -with which the other mouthed his hideous profanity, there was murder. -Over his shoulder, barely a foot away, John Bruce glimpsed the -staircase. He let his weight sag with seeming helplessness upon Crang. -It brought Crang around in a half circle. Crang's back was to the stairs -now. John Bruce let his hands slip slowly from their hold upon the -other, as though the last of his strength was ebbing away. He accepted -a vicious blow on his wounded side as the price that he must pay, a -blow that brought his chin crumpling down upon his breast--and then -with every ounce of remaining strength he hurled himself at Crang, and -Crang's foot stumbled out into space over the topmost stair, and with a -scream of infuriated surprise the man pitched backward. - -John Bruce grasped with both hands at the banister for support. -Something went rolling, rolling, rolling down the stairs with queer, -dull thumps like a sack of meal. His hands slipped from the banister, -and he sat limply down on the topmost step and laughed. He laughed -because that curious looking bundle at the bottom there began a series -of fruitless efforts to roll back up the stairs again. - -And then the front door opened. He could see it from where he sat, and -Paul Veniza--that was Paul Veniza, wasn't it?--stepped into the room -below, and cried out, and ran toward the bundle at the foot of the -stairs. - -John Bruce felt some one suddenly hold him back from pitching down the -stairs himself, but nevertheless he kept on falling and falling into -some great pit that grew darker and darker the farther he went down, and -this in spite of some one who tried to hold him back, and--and who had a -face that looked like Claire's, only it was as--as white as driven snow. -And as he descended into the blackness some one screamed at him: "I'll -finish you for this!" And screamed it again--only the voice kept growing -fainter. And--and then he could neither see nor hear any more. - -***** - -When John Bruce opened his eyes again he was lying on his cot. A little -way from him, their backs turned, Claire and Paul Veniza were whispering -earnestly together. He watched them for a moment, and gradually as his -senses became normally acute again he caught Claire's words: - -"He is not safe here for a moment. Father, we must get him away. I am -afraid. There is not a threat Doctor Crang made to-night but that he is -quite capable of carrying out." - -"But he is safe for to-night," Paul Veniza answered soothingly. "I -got Crang home to bed, and as I told you, he is too badly bruised and -knocked about to move around any before morning at least." - -"And yet I am afraid," Claire insisted anxiously. "Fortunately Mr. -Bruce's wound hasn't opened, and he could be moved. Oh, if Hawkins only -hadn't----" - -She stopped, and twisted her hands together nervously. - -Paul Veniza coughed, averted his head suddenly and in turning met John -Bruce's eyes--and stared in a startled way. - -"Claire!" John Bruce called softly. - -"Oh!" she cried, and ran toward him. "You----" - -"Yes," smiled John Bruce. "And I have been listening. Why isn't it safe -for me to stay here any longer? On account of Crang's wild threats?" - -"Yes," she said in a low voice. - -John Bruce laughed. - -"But you don't believe them, do you?" he asked. "At least, I mean, you -don't take them literally." Claire's lips were trembling. - -"There is no other way to take them." She was making an effort to steady -her voice. "It is not a question of believing them. I know only too well -that he will carry them out if he can. You are not safe here, or even in -New York now--but less safe here in this house than anywhere else." - -John Bruce came up on his elbow. - -"Then, Claire, isn't this the end?" he demanded passionately. "You know -him for what he is. You do not love him, for I distinctly heard you -tell him that you loathed him, as I went up the stairs. Claire, I am not -asking for myself now--only for you. Tell me, tell Paul Veniza here, -to whom it will mean so much, that you have now no further thought of -marriage with that"--John Bruce's voice choked--"with Crang." She shook -her head. - -"I cannot tell you that," she said dully, "for I am going to marry -Doctor Crang." - -John Bruce's face hardened. He looked at Paul Veniza. The old pawnbroker -had his eyes on the floor, and was ruffling his white hair helplessly -with his fingers. - -"Why?" John Bruce asked. - -"Because I promised," Claire said slowly. - -"But a promise like that!" John Bruce burst out. "A promise that you -will regret all your life is----" - -"No!" Her face was half averted; her head was lowered to hide the tears -that suddenly welled into her eyes. "No; it is a promise that I--that I -am glad now I made." - -"_Glad!_" John Bruce sat upright. She had turned her head away from the -cot. He could not see her face. "Glad!" he repeated incredulously. - -"Yes." Her voice was scarcely audible. - -For a moment John Bruce stared at her; then a bitter smile tightened his -lips, and he lay back on the cot, and turned on his side away from both -Claire and Paul Veniza. - -When John Bruce looked around again, only Paul Veniza was in the room. - -"I don't understand," said Paul Veniza--he was still ruffling his hair, -still with his eyes on the floor. - -"I do," said John Bruce grimly. "Claire is right. It isn't safe for me -to stay here, and I'll go to-night. If only Hawkins hadn't----" He -laughed a little harshly. "But I'll go to-night, just the same. A taxi -will do quite as well." - - - - -CHAPTER THIRTEEN--TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL - -|UNDER the shaded light on his table, in his private sitting room in -the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, John Bruce had been writing steadily for half an -hour--but the sheets of paper over which his pen had traveled freely and -swiftly were virgin white. He paused now, remained a moment in thought, -and then added a line to the last sheet. No mark was left, but from the -movement of the pen this appeared to be a signature. - -He gathered the sheets together, folded them neatly, and slipped them -into an envelope. He replaced the cap on the fountain pen he had been -using, placed the pen in his vest pocket, and from another pocket took -out another pen that was apparently identical with the first. With -this second pen, in black ink, he addressed the envelope to one Gilbert -Larmon in San Francisco. He sealed the envelope, stamped it, put it in -his pocket, returned the second fountain pen to his vest pocket, lighted -a cigarette leaned back in his chair, and frowned at the ascending -spirals of smoke from the cigarette's tip. - -The report which he had just written to Larmon, explaining his inaction -during the past weeks, had been an effort--not physical, but mental. He -had somehow, curiously, felt no personal regret for the enforced absence -from his "work," and he now felt no enthusiasm at the prospect of -resuming it. He had had no right to tinge or color his letter to Larmon -with these views; nor had he intended to do so. Perhaps he had not; -perhaps he had. He did not know. The ink originated by the old Samoan -Islander had its disadvantages as well as its advantages. He could not -now read the letter over once it was written! - -He flicked the ash irritably from his cigarette. He had been back here -in the hotel now for two days and that feeling had been constantly -growing upon him. Why? He did not know except that the cause seemed to -insist on associating itself with his recent illness, his life in the -one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza. But, logically, that did not hold -water. Why should it? He had met a pawnbroker who roamed the streets at -night in a fantastic motor car, driven by a drunkard; and he had fallen -in love with a girl who was glad she was going to marry a dope-eating -criminal. Good God, it was a spectacle to make---- - -John Bruce's fist crashed suddenly down on the desk beside him, and he -rose from his chair and stood there staring unseeingly before him. -That was not fair! What was uppermost now was the recrudescence of the -bitterness that had possessed him two nights ago when he had returned -from Paul Veniza's to the hotel here. Nor was it any more true than -it was fair! What of the days and nights of nursing, of care, of the -ungrudging and kindly hospitality they had given to an utter stranger? -Yes, he knew! Only--only she had said she was _glad!_ - -He began to pace the room. He had left Veniza's in bitterness. He had -not seen Claire. It was a strange sort of love he boasted, little of -unselfishness in it, much of impatience, and still more of intolerance! -That it was a hopeless love in so far as he was concerned did not place -him before himself in any better light. If he cared for her, if there -was any depth of feeling in this love he claimed to have, then at least -her happiness, her welfare and her future could not be extraneous -and indifferent considerations to him. And on the spur of the moment, -piqued, in spite of Paul Veniza's protestations, he had left that night -without seeing Claire again! - -He had been ashamed of himself. Yesterday, he had telephoned Claire. He -had begged her forgiveness. He had not meant to say more--but he had! -Something in her voice had--no, not invited; he could not say that--but -had brought the passion, pleading almost, back into his own. It had -seemed to him that she was in tears at the other end of the wire; at -least, bravely as she had evidently tried to do so, she had been unable -to keep her voice under control. But she had evaded an answer. There had -been nothing to forgive, she had said. He had told her that he must see -her, that he would see her again. And then almost hysterically, over -and over again, she had begged him to attempt nothing of the sort, but -instead to leave New York because she insisted that it was not safe for -him to stay even in the city. - -John Bruce hurled the butt of his cigarette in the direction of the -cuspidor, and clenched his fist. Crang! Safe from Crang! He laughed -aloud harshly. He asked nothing better than to meet Crang again. He -would not be so weak the next time! And the sooner the better! - -He gnawed at his under lip, as he continued to pace the room. To-day, he -had telephoned Claire again--but he had not spoken to her this time. He -had not been surprised at the news he had received, for he remembered -that Hawkins had once told him that the old pawnbroker was in reality -far from well. Some one, he did not know who, some neighbor probably, -had answered the phone. Paul Veniza had been taken ill. Claire had been -up with him all the previous night, and was then resting. - -John Bruce paused abruptly before the desk at which he had been writing, -and looked at his watch. It was a little after ten o'clock. He was -going back to "work" again to-night. He smiled suddenly, and a little -quizzically, as he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What would they -say--the white-haired negro butler, and the exquisite Monsieur Henri -de Lavergne, for instance--when the millionaire plunger, usually so -immaculate in evening clothes, presented himself at their door in a suit -of business tweeds? - -He shrugged his shoulders. Down at Ratti's that night his apparel--it -was a matter of viewpoint--had been a source of eminent displeasure, and -as such had been very effectively disposed of. He had had no opportunity -to be measured for new clothes. - -The smile faded, and he stood staring at the desk. The millionaire -plunger! It seemed to jar somehow on his sensibilities. Work! That was a -queer way, too, to designate it. He was going to take up his work again -to-night, pick up the threads of his life again where he had dropped -them. A bit ragged those threads, weren't they? Frayed, as it were! - -What the devil was the matter with him, anyway? - -There was money in it, a princely existence. What more could any one -ask? What did Claire, his love for a girl who was glad to marry some -one else infinitely worse than he was, have to do with it? Ah, she _did_ -have something to do with it, then! Nonsense! It was absurd! - -He took a key abruptly from his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers -of the desk. From the drawer he took out a large roll of bills. The -hotel management had sent to the bank and cashed a check for him that -afternoon. He had not forgotten that he would need money, and plenty of -it, at the tables this evening. Well, he was quite ready to go now, and -it was time; it would be halfpast ten before he got there, and---- - -"The devil!" said John Bruce savagely--and suddenly tossed the money -back into the drawer, and locked the drawer. "If I don't feel like -it to-night, why should I? I guess I'll just drop around for a little -convalescent visit, and let it go at that." - -John Bruce put on a light overcoat, and left the room. In the lobby -downstairs he posted his letter to Gilbert Larmon. He stepped out on the -street, and from the rank in front of the hotel secured a taxi. Twenty -minutes later he entered Gilbert Larmon's New York gambling hell. - -Here he received a sort of rhapsodical welcome from the exquisite -Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, which embraced poignant regret at the -accident that had befallen him, and unspeakable joy at his so-splendid -recovery. It was a delight so great to shake the hand of Mr. Bruce again -that Monsieur Henri de Lavergne complained bitterly at the poverty of -language which prevented an adequate expression of his true and sincere -feelings. Also, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, if he were not trespassing, -would be flattered indeed with Mr. Bruce's confidence, if Mr. Bruce -should see fit to honor him with an account of how the accident had -happened. He would be desolated if in any way it could be attributable -to any suggestion that he, Monsieur de Lavergne, on behalf of the house -which he had the honor to represent as manager, had made to Mr. Bruce -which might have induced---- - -"Not at all!" John Bruce assured him heartily. He smiled at Monsieur de -Lavergne. The other knew nothing of Claire's presence in the car that -night, and for Claire's sake it was necessary to set the man's mind so -completely at rest that the subject would lack further interest. The -only way to accomplish that was to appear whole-heartedly frank. John -Bruce became egregiously frank. "It was just my own damned curiosity," -he said with a wry smile. "I got out of that ingenious contraption at -the corner after going around the block, and, well, my curiosity, as I -said, got the better of me. I followed the thing, and found out where -Mr. Veniza lived. I started on my way back, but I didn't get very far. -I got into trouble with a rather tough crowd just around the corner, who -didn't like my shirt front, I believe they said. The fight ended by -my being backed into a wine shop where I was stabbed, but from which I -managed to escape into the lane. I was about all in, and the only chance -I could see was a lighted window on the other side of a low fence. I -crawled in the window, and flopped on the floor. It proved to be Mr. -Veniza's house." - -"_Pour l'amour du dieu!_" exclaimed Monsieur Henri de Lavergne -breathlessly. - -"And which also accounts," said John Bruce pleasantly, "for the apology -I must offer you for my appearance this evening in these clothes. The -mob in that respect was quite successful." - -"But that you are back!" Monsieur de Lavergne's hands were raised in -protest. "That is alone what matters. Monsieur Bruce knows that in any -attire it is the same here for monsieur as though he were at home." - -"Thank you!" said John Bruce cordially. "I have only dropped in through -the urge of old habits, I guess. I'm hardly on my feet yet, and I -thought I'd just watch the play for a little while to-night." - -"And that, too," said Monsieur Henri de Lavergne with a bow, as John -Bruce moved toward the staircase, "is entirely as monsieur desires." - -John Bruce mounted the stairs, and began a stroll through the roulette -and card rooms. The croupiers and dealers nodded to him genially; those -of the "guests" Whom he knew did likewise. He was treated with marked -courtesy and consideration by every attendant in the establishment. -Everything was exactly as it had been on his previous visits. There were -the soft mellow lights; the siren pur of the roulette wheel, the musical -_click_ of the ball as it spun around on its little fateful orbit; the -low, quiet voices of the croupiers and dealers; the well-dressed -players grouped around the tables, the hilarious and the grim, the -devil-may-care laugh from one, the thin smile from another. It was -exactly the same, all exactly the same, even to the table in the supper -room, free to all though laden with every wine and delicacy that money -could procure; but somehow, even at the end of half an hour, where he -was wont to be engrossed till daylight, John Bruce became excessively -bored. - -Perhaps it was because he was simply an on-looker, and not playing -himself. He had drawn close to a group around a faro bank. The play was -grim earnest and for high stakes. No, it wasn't that! He did not want -to play. Somehow, rather, he knew a slight sense both of contempt and -disgust at the eager clutch and grasp of hands, the hoarse, short laugh -of victory, the snarl of defeat, the trembling fingers of the more -timorous who staked with Chance and demanded that the god be charitable -in its omnipotence and toss them crumbs! - -Well, what was he caviling about? It was the life he had chosen. It was -his life work. Wasn't he pleased with it? He had certainly liked it well -enough in the old days to squander upon it the fair-sized fortune -his father had left him. He decidedly had not gone into that infernal -compact with Larmon blindfolded. Perhaps it was because in those days -he played when he wanted to; and in these, and hereafter, he would play -because he had to. Perhaps it was only that, to-night, there was upon -him the feeling, which was natural enough, and which was immeasurably -human too, that it was irksome to be a slave, to be fettered and -shackled and bound to anything, even to what one, with one's freedom his -own, was ordinarily out of choice most prone to do and delight in. Well, -maybe! But that was not entirely a satisfactory or conclusive solution -either. - -He looked around him. There seemed to be something hollow to-night in -these trappings of tinsel; and something not only hollow, but sardonic -in his connection with them--that he should act as a monitor over the -honesty of those who in turn acted as the agents of Larmon in an already -illicit traffic. - -"Oh, hell!" said John Bruce suddenly. - -The dealer looked up from the table, surprise mingling with polite -disapproval. Several of the players screwed around their heads. - -"That's what I say!" snarled one of the latter with an added oath, as a -large stack of chips was swept away from him. - -Some one touched John Bruce on the elbow. He turned around. It was one -of the attendants. - -"You are being asked for downstairs, Mr. Bruce," the man informed him. - -John Bruce followed the attendant. In the hall below the white-haired -negro doorkeeper came toward him. - -"I done let him in, Mistuh Bruce, suh," the old darky explained a little -anxiously, "'cause he done say, Mistuh Bruce, that it was a case of -most particular illness, suh, and----" - -John Bruce did not wait for more. It was Veniza probably--a turn for the -worse. He nodded, and passed hurriedly along the hall to where, near the -door, a poorly dressed man, hat in hand and apparently somewhat ill at -ease in his luxurious surroundings, stood waiting. - -"I am Mr. Bruce," he said quickly. "Some one is critically ill, you say? -Is it Mr. Veniza?" - -"No, sir," the man answered. "I don't know anything about Mr. Veniza. -It's Hawkins." - -"Hawkins!" ejaculated John Bruce. - -"Yes, sir," said the man. He shuffled his feet. "I--I guess you know, -sir." - -John Bruce for a moment made no comment. Hawkins! Yes, he knew! Hawkins -had even renounced his pledge, hadn't he? Not, perhaps, that that would -have made any difference! - -"Bad?" he asked tersely. - -"I'm afraid so, sir," the man replied. "I've seen a good bit of Hawkins -off and on in the last two years, sir, because I room in the same house; -but I've never seen him like this. He's been out of his head and clawing -the air, sir, if you know what I mean. He's over that now, but that weak -he had me scared once, sir, that he'd gone." - -"What does the doctor say?" John Bruce bit off his words. - -The man shook his head. - -"He wouldn't have one, sir. It's you he wants. You'll understand, sir, -that he's been alone. I don't know how long ago he started on this -spree. It was only by luck that I walked into his room to-night. I was -for getting a doctor at once, of course, but he wouldn't have it; he -wanted you. At times, sir, he was crying like a baby, only he hadn't -the strength of one left. Knowing I could run her, me being a motortruck -driver, he told me to take that car he drives and go to the hotel for -you, and if you weren't there to try here--which I've done, sir, as -you see, and I hope you'll come back with me. I don't know what to do, -though I'm for picking up a doctor on the way back whether he wants one -or not." - -John Bruce turned abruptly, secured his coat and hat, motioned the man -to lead the way, and followed the other out of the house and down the -steps to the sidewalk. - -The traveling pawn-shop was at the curb. The man opened the door, and -John Bruce stepped inside--and was instantly flung violently down upon a -seat. The door closed. The car started forward. And in a sudden glare of -light John Bruce stared into the muzzle of a revolver, and, behind the -revolver, into a bruised and battered face, which was the face of Doctor -Crang. - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTEEN--THE TWO PENS - -|JOHN BRUCE stared for a moment longer at the revolver that held a -steady bead between his eyes, and at the evil face of Crang that leered -at him from the opposite seat; then he deliberately turned his head and -stared at the face of still another occupant of the car--a man who sat -on the seat beside him. He was trapped--and well trapped! He recognized -the other to be the man known as Birdie, who had participated on a -certain night in the robbery of Paul Veniza's safe. It was quite plain. -The third man in that robbery, whose face he had not seen at the time, -was undoubtedly the man who had brought the "message" a few minutes ago, -and who was now, with almost equal certainty, engaged in driving the -car. Thieving, at least, was in the trio's line! They must somehow or -other have stolen the traveling pawn-shop from Hawkins! - -He smiled grimly. If it had been Birdie now who had brought the message -he would never have fallen into the trap! Crang had played in luck and -won by a very narrow margin, for Crang was naturally in ignorance that -he, John Bruce, had ever seen either of the men before. And then John -Bruce thought of the bulky roll of bills which by an equally narrow -margin was _not_ in his pocket at that moment, and his smile deepened. - -Crang spoke for the first time. - -"Take his gun away from him, if he's got one!" he gnarled tersely. - -"It's in the breast pocket of my coat," said John Bruce imperturbably. - -Birdie, beside John Bruce, reached over and secured the weapon. - -John Bruce leaned back in his seat. The car was speeding rapidly along -now. - -The minutes passed. None of the three men spoke. Crang sat like some -repulsive gargoyle, leering maliciously. - -John Bruce half closed his eyes against the uncanny fascination of that -round black muzzle which never wavered in its direction, and which was -causing him to strain too intently upon it. What was the game? How far -did Crang intend to go with his insane jealousy? How far would Crang -dare to go? The man wasn't doped to-night. Perhaps he was even the -more dangerous on that account. Instead of mouthing threats, there was -something ominous now, it seemed, in the man's silence. John Bruce's -lips drew together. He remembered Claire's insistence that Crang had -meant what he said literally--and Claire had repeated that warning over -the telephone. Well, if she were right, it meant--_murder_. - -From under his half closed lids, John Bruce looked around the car. The -curtains, as they always were, were closely drawn. The interior was -lighted by that same soft central light, only the light was high up now -near the roof of the car. Well, if it was to be murder, why not _now?_ -The little velvet-topped table was not in place, and there was nothing -between himself and that sneering, sallow face. Yes, why not now--and -settle it! - -He straightened almost imperceptibly in his seat, as impulse suddenly -bade him fling himself forward upon Crang. Why not? The sound of a -revolver shot would be heard in the street, and Crang might not even -dare to fire at all. And then John Bruce's glance rested on the man -beside him--and impulse gave way to common sense. He had no intention of -submitting tamely and without a struggle to any fate, no matter what it -might be, that Crang proposed for him, but that struggle would better -come when there was at least a chance. There was no chance here. Birdie, -on the seat beside him, held a deadlier and even more effective weapon -than was Crang's revolver, a silent thing--a black-jack. - -"Wait! Don't play the fool! You'll get a better chance than this!" the -voice of what he took to be common sense whispered to him. - -The car began to go slower. It swerved twice as though making sharp -turns; and then, running still more slowly, began to bump over rough -ground. - -Crang spoke again. - -"You can make all the noise you want to, if you think it will do you any -good," he said viciously; "but if you make a move you are not told to -make you'll be _carried_ the rest of the way! Understand?" - -John Bruce did not answer. - -The car stopped. Birdie opened the door on his side, and stepped to the -ground. He was joined by the man who had driven the car, and who, as -John Bruce now found he had correctly assumed, had acted as the decoy at -the gambling house. - -"Get out!" ordered Doctor Crang curtly. - -John Bruce followed Birdie from the car. It was dark out here, -exceedingly dark, but he could make out that the car had been driven -into a narrow lane, and that they were close to the wall of a building -of some sort. The two men gripped him by his arms. He felt the muzzle of -Crang's revolver pressed into the small of his back. - -"Mind your step!" cautioned Birdie gruffly. - -It was evidently the entrance to a cellar. John Bruce found himself -descending a few short steps; and then, on the level again, he was -guided forward through what was now pitch blackness. A moment more and -they had halted, but not before John Bruce's foot had come into contact -with a wall or partition of some kind in front of him. One of the -men who gripped his arms knocked twice with three short raps in quick -succession. - -A door opened in front of them, and for an instant John Bruce was -blinded by a sudden glare of light; but the next instant, his eyes grown -accustomed to the transition, he saw before him a large basement room, -disreputable and filthy in appearance, where half a dozen men sat at -tables drinking and playing cards. - -A shove from the muzzle of Crang's revolver urged John Bruce forward -into an atmosphere that was foul, hot and fetid, and thick with tobacco -smoke that floated in heavy, sinuous layers in mid-air. He was led down -the length of the room toward another door at the opposite end. The men -at the tables, as he passed them, paid him little attention other than -to leer curiously at him. They greeted Birdie and his companion with -blasphemous familiarity; but their attitude toward Crang, it seemed to -John Bruce, was one of cowed and abject respect. - -John Bruce's teeth closed hard together. This was a nice place, an -ominously nice place--a hidden den of the rats of the underworld, -where Crang was obviously the leader. He was not so sure now that the -promptings of so-called common sense had been common sense at all! His -chances of escaping, practically hopeless as they had been in the car, -would certainly have been worth trying in view of this! He began to -regret his "common sense" bitterly now. - -He was in front of the door toward which they had been heading now. -It was opened by Birdie, and John Bruce was pushed into a small, -dimly-lighted, cave-like place. Crang said something in a low voice to -the two men, and, leaving them outside, entered himself, closing the -door only partially behind him. - -For a moment they faced each other, and then Crang laughed--tauntingly, -in menace. - -John Bruce's eyes, from Crang's sallow face, and from Crang's revolver, -swept coolly over his surroundings. A mattress, a foul thing, lay on the -ground in one corner. There was no flooring here in the cellar. A small -incandescent bulb hung from the roof. There was one chair and a battered -table--nothing else; not even a window. - -"It was like stealing from a child!" sneered Crang suddenly. "You poor -mark!" - -"Quite so!" said John Bruce calmly. "And the more so since I was warned -that you were quite capable of--murder. I suppose that is what I am here -for." - -"Oh, you were warned, were you?" Crang took an abrupt step forward, his -lips working. An angry purple clouded the pallor of his face. "More of -that love stuff, eh? Well, by God, here's the end of it! I'll teach you -with your damned sanctimonious airs to fool around the girl I'm going to -marry! You snivelling hypocrite, you didn't tell her who _you_ were, did -you?" - -John Bruce stared blankly. - -"Who I am?" he repeated. "What do you mean?" - -Crang for the moment was silent. He seemed to be waging a battle with -himself to control his passion. - -"I'm too clever a man to lose my temper, now I've got you!" he rasped -finally. "That's about the size of your mentality! The sweet, nave, -innocent rle! Yes, I said a snivelling hypocrite! You don't eat dope, -but perhaps you've heard of a man named Larmon--Mr. Gilbert Larmon, of -San Francisco!" - -To John Bruce it seemed as though Crang's words in their effect were -something like one of those blows the same man had dealt him on his -wounded side in that fight of the other night. They seemed to jar him, -and rob his mind of quick thinking and virility--and yet he was quite -sure that not a muscle of his face had moved. - -"You needn't answer," Crang grinned mockingly. "If you haven't met him, -you'll have the opportunity of doing so in a few hours. Mr. Larmon will -arrive in New York to-night in response to the telegram you sent him." - -"I know you said you were clever," said John Bruce shortly, "and I have -no doubt this is the proof of it! But what is the idea? I did not send a -telegram to any one. - -"Oh, yes, you did!" Crang was chuckling evilly. - -"It was something to the effect that Mr. Larmon's immediate presence in -New York was imperative; that you were in serious difficulties. And in -order that Mr. Larmon might have no suspicions or anxiety aroused as to -his own personal safety, he was to go on his arrival to the Bayne-Miloy -Hotel; but was, at the same time, to register under the name of R. L. -Peters, and to make no effort to communicate with you until you gave -him the cue. The answer to the telegram was to be sent to a--er--quite -different address. And here's the answer." - -His revolver levelled, Crang laid a telegram on the table, and then -backed away a few steps. - -John Bruce picked up the message. It was dated from San Francisco -several days before, and was authentic beyond question. It was addressed -to John Bruce in the care of one William Anderson, at an address which -he took to be somewhere over on the East Side. He read it quickly: - -Leaving at once and will follow instructions. Arrive Wednesday night. Am -exceedingly anxious. - -Gilbert Larmon. - -"This is Wednesday night," sneered Crang. - -John Bruce laid down the telegram. That Crang in some way had discovered -his, John Bruce's connection with Larmon, was obvious. But how--and what -did it mean? He smiled coldly. There was no use in playing the fool by -denying any knowledge of Larmon. It was simply a question of exactly how -_much_ Crang knew. - -"Well?" he inquired indifferently. - -The door was pushed open, and Birdie came in. He carried pen and ink, a -large sheet of paper, and an envelope. - -Crang motioned toward the table. - -"Put them down there--and get out!" he ordered curtly; and then as the -man obeyed, he stared for an instant in malicious silence at John Bruce. -"I guess we're wasting time!" he snapped. "I sent the telegram to Larmon -a few days ago, and I know all about you and Larmon, and his ring -of gambling houses. You talked your fool head off when you were -delirious--understand? And----" - -John Bruce, his face suddenly white, took a step forward--and stopped, -and shrugged his shoulders. Crang's outflung revolver was on a level -with his eyes. And then John Bruce turned his back deliberately, and -walked to the far end of the little room. - -Crang laughed wickedly. - -"I am afraid I committed a breach of medical tiquette," he said. "I -sent to San Francisco and got the dope on the quiet about this Mr. -Larmon. I found out that he is an enormously wealthy man; and I also -found out that he poses as an immaculate pillar of society. It looks -pretty good, doesn't it, Bruce--for me? Two birds with one stone; you -for trying to get between me and Claire; and Larmon coughing up the -dough to save your hide and save himself from being exposed for what he -is!" - -John Bruce made no answer. They were not so fanciful now, not so unreal -and wandering, those dreams when he had been ill, those dreams in -which there had been a man with a quill toothpick, and another with a -sinister, loathsome face, whose head was always cocked in a listening -attitude. - -"Well, I guess you've got it now, all of it, haven't you?" Crang -snarled. "It's lucky for you Larmon's got the coin, or I'd pass you -out for what you did the other night. As it is you're getting out of it -light. There's paper on the table. You write him a letter that will get -him down here with a blank check in his pocket. I'll help you to word -it." Crang smiled unpleasantly. "He will be quite comfortable here while -the check is going through the bank; for it would be most unfortunate, -you know, if he had a chance to stop payment on it. And I might say that -I am not worrying at all about any reprisals through the tracing of the -check afterward, for if Mr. Larmon is paying me to keep my mouth shut -there is no fear of his opening his own." - -John Bruce turned slowly around. - -"And if I don't?" he asked quietly. - -Crang studied the revolver in his hand for a moment. He looked up -finally with a smile that was hideous in its malignancy. - -"I'm not sure that I particularly care," he said. "You are going to get -out of my path in any case, though my personal inclination is to snuff -you out, and"--his voice rose suddenly--"damn you, I'd like to see you -dead; but on the other hand, my business sense tells me that I'd be -better off with, say, a hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. Do you -get the idea, my dear Mr. Bruce? I am sure you do. And as your medical -advisor, for your health is still very much involved, I would strongly -urge you to write the letter. But at the same time I want to be -perfectly frank with you. There is a tail to it as far as you are -concerned. I have a passage in my pocket--a first-class passage, in fact -a stateroom where you can be secured so that I may make certain you -do not leave the ship prematurely at the dock--for South America, on a -steamer sailing to-morrow afternoon. The passage is made out in the name -of John Bruce." - -"You seem to have taken it for granted that I would agree to your -proposal," said John Bruce pleasantly. - -"I have," Crang answered shortly. "I give you credit in some respects -for not being altogether a fool." - -"In other words," said John Bruce, still pleasantly, "if I will trap Mr. -Larmon into coming here so that you will have him in your power, and can -hold him until you have squeezed out of him what you consider the fair -amount he should pay as blackmail, or do away with him perhaps, if he -is obstinate, I am to go free and sail for South America to-morrow -afternoon; failing this, I am to snuff out--I think you called it--at -the hands of either yourself or this gentlemanly looking band of apaches -you have gathered around you." - -"You haven't made any mistake so far!" said Crang evenly. He jerked his -hand toward the table. "It's that piece of paper there, or your hide." - -"Yes," said John Bruce slowly. He stared for an instant, set-faced, into -Crang's eyes. "Well, then, go ahead!" - -Crang's eyes narrowed. - -"You mean," his voice was hoarse with menace, "you mean----" - -"Yes!" said John Bruce tersely. "My hide!" - -Crang did not answer for a moment. The revolver in his hand seemed to -edge a little nearer to John Bruce as though to make more certain of its -aim. Crang's eyes were alight with passion. - -John Bruce did not move. It was over--this second--or the next. Crang's -threats were _literal_. Claire had said so. He knew it. It was in -Crang's eyes--a sort of unholy joy, a madman's frenzy. Well, why didn't -the man fire and have done with it? - -And then suddenly Crang's shoulders lifted in a mocking shrug. - -"Maybe you haven't got this--_straight_," he said between closed teeth. -"I guess I've paid you the compliment of crediting you with a quicker -intelligence than you possess! I'll give you thirty minutes alone to -think it over and figure out where you stand." - -Crang backed to the door. - -The door closed. John Bruce heard the key turn in the lock. He stared -about him at the miserable surroundings. Thirty minutes! He did not need -thirty minutes, or thirty seconds, to realize his position. He was not -even sure that he was thankful for the reprieve. It meant half an hour -more of life, but---- - -Cornered like a rat! To go out at the hands of a degenerate dope -fiend... the man had been cunning enough... Hawkins! - -John Bruce paced his little section of the cellar. His footsteps made -no sound on the soft earth. This was his condemned cell; his warders a -batch of gunmen whose trade was murder. - -Larmon! They had not been able to trick Larmon into their power so -easily, because there wasn't any Hawkins. No, there was--John Bruce. -John Bruce was the bait. Queer! Queer that he had ever met Larmon, and -queer that the end should come like this. - -Faustus hadn't had his fling yet. That quill toothpick with which he had -signed---- - -John Bruce stood stock still--his eyes suddenly fastened on the piece of -paper on the table. - -"My God!" John Bruce whispered hoarsely. - -He ran silently to the door and listened. He could hear nothing. He ran -back to the table, threw himself into the chair, and snatching the sheet -of paper toward him, took out a fountain pen from his pocket. Near the -lower edge of the paper, and in a minutely small hand, he began to write -rapidly. - -At the end of a few minutes John Bruce stood up. There was neither sign -nor mark upon the paper, save an almost invisible impression made by -his thumb nail, which he had set as a sign post, as it were, to indicate -where he had begun to write. It was a large sheet of unruled paper, -foolscap in size, and there was but little likelihood of reaching so far -down with the letter that Crang was so insistent upon having, but he did -not propose in any event to superimpose anything over what he had just -written. He could always turn the sheet and begin at the top on the -other side! Again he began to pace up and down across the soft floor, -but now there was a grim smile on his face. Behind Larmon and his -enormous wealth lay Lar-mon's secret organization, that, once set in -motion, would have little difficulty in laying a dozen Crangs, by the -heels. And Crang was yellow. Let Crang but for an instant realize that -his own skin was at stake, and he would squeal without hesitation--and -what had narrowly escaped being tragedy would dissolve into opera -bouffe. Also, it was very nice indeed of Crang to see that the message -reached Larmon's hands! - -And it was the way out for Claire, too! It was Crang who had mentioned -something about two birds with one stone, wasn't it? Claire! John -Bruce frowned. Was he so sure after all? There seemed to be something -unfathomable between Claire and Crang; the bond between them one that no -ordinary means would break. - -His brain seemed to go around in cycles now--Claire, Larmon, Crang; -Claire, Larmon, Crang.... He lost track of time--until suddenly he heard -a key rattle in the lock. And then, quick and silent as a cat in his -movements, he slipped across the earthen floor, and flung himself face -down upon the mattress. - -A moment more, and some one prodded him roughly. His hair was rumpled, -his face anxious and dejected, as he raised himself on his elbow. Crang -and two of his apaches were standing over him. One of the latter held an -ugly looking stiletto. - -"Stand him up!" ordered Crang. - -John Bruce made no resistance as the two men jerked him unceremoniously -to his feet. - -Crang came and stared into his face. - -"I guess from the look of you," Crang leered, "you've put in those -thirty minutes to good advantage. You're about ready to write that -letter, aren't you?" - -John Bruce looked around him miserably. He shook his head. - -"No--no; I--I can't," he said weakly. "For God's sake, Crang, you--you -know I can't." - -"Sure--I know!" said Crang imperturbably. He nodded to the man with the -stiletto. "He's more used to steel than bullets, and he likes it better. -Don't keep him waiting." - -John Bruce felt the sudden prick of the weapon on his flesh--it went a -little deeper. - -"Wait! Stop!" he screamed out in a well-simulated paroxysm of terror. -"I--I'll write it." - -"I thought so!" said Crang coolly. "Well, go over there to the -table then, and sit down." He turned to the two men. "Beat it!" he -snapped--and the room empty again, save for himself and John Bruce, -he tapped the sheet of paper with the muzzle of his revolver. "I'll -dictate. Pick up that pen!" - -John Bruce obeyed. He circled his lips with his tongue. - -"You--you won't do Larmon any harm, will you?" he questioned abjectly. -"I--my life's worth more than a little money, if it's only that, -and--and, if that's all, I--I'm sure he'd rather pay." - -"Don't apologize!" sneered Crang. "Go on now, and write. Address him as -you always do." - -John Bruce dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote in a small hand: - -"Dear Mr. Larmon:--" - -He looked up in a cowed way. - -"All right!" grunted Crang. "I guess we'll kill another bird, too, while -we're at it." He smiled cryptically. "Go on again, and write!" - -And John Bruce wrote as Crang dictated: - -"I'm here in my rooms in the same hotel with you, but am closely -watched. Our compact is known. I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing -so felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in. She----" - -John Bruce's pen had halted. - -"Go on!" prompted Crang sharply. "It's got to sound right for Larmon--so -that he will believe it. He's not a fool, is he?" - -"No," said John Bruce. - -"Well, go on then!" - -And John Bruce wrote: - -"She was all the time engaged to the head of a gang of crooks." Crang's -malicious chuckle interrupted his dictation. - -"I'm not sparing myself, you see. Go on!" - -John Bruce continued his writing: - -"They are after blackmail now, and threaten to expose you. I telegraphed -you to come under an alias because we are up against it and you should -be on the spot; but if they knew you were here they would only attach -the more importance to it, and the price would go up. They believe you -are still in San Francisco, and that I am communicating with you by -mail. They are growing impatient. You can trust the bearer of this -letter absolutely. Go with him. He will take you where we can meet -without arousing any suspicion. I am leaving the hotel now. If possible -we should not risk more than one conference together, so bring a blank -check with you. There is no other way out. It is simply a question of -the amount. I am bitterly sorry that this has happened through me. John -Bruce." - -Crang, with his revolver pressed into the back of John Bruce's neck, -leaned over John Bruce's shoulder and read the letter carefully. - -"Fold it, and put it in that envelope without sealing it, and address -the envelope to Mr. R. L. Peters at the Bayne-Miloy Hotel!" he -instructed. - -John Bruce folded the letter. As he did so, he noted that his signature -was a good two or three inches above the thumb nail mark. He placed the -letter in the envelope, and addressed the latter as Crang had directed. - -Crang moved around to the other side of the table, tucked the envelope -into his pocket, and grinned mockingly. - -And then without a word John Bruce got up from his chair, and flung -himself face down on the mattress again. - - - - -CHAPTER FIFTEEN--THE CLEW - -|PAUL VENIZA, propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his -eyes as she moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too -ill of late to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden -shock at Claire's appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her -movements seemed listless. - -"What's to-night?" he asked abruptly. - -"Wednesday, father," she answered. - -Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire. -Besides--besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two -nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house. - -"Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see -him," he smiled. - -Claire stared at the old pawnbroker. - -"Why, father," she protested, "it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides, -you would be all alone in the house." - -"Nonsense!" said Paul Veniza. "I'm all right. Much better. I'll be up -to-morrow. But I particularly want to see Hawkins to-night." He did not -particularly want to see Hawkins or any one else, but if he did not have -some valid excuse she would most certainly refuse to go out and leave -him alone. A little walk and a breath of fresh air would do Claire -a world of good. And as for the lateness of the hour, Claire in that -section of the city was as safe as in her own home. "Please do as I ask -you, Claire," he insisted. - -"Very well, father," she agreed after a moment's hesitation, and went -and put on her hat. - -From downstairs, as she opened the front door, she called up to him a -little anxiously: - -"You are sure you are all right?" - -"Quite sure, dear," Paul Veniza called back. "Don't hurry." - -Claire stepped out on the street. It was not far to go--just around the -first corner and halfway down the next block--and at first she walked -briskly, impelled by an anxiety to get back to the house again as soon -as possible, but insensibly, little by little, her footsteps dragged. - -What was it? Something in the night, the darkness, that promised a -kindly cloak against the breaking of her self-restraint, that bade her -let go of herself and welcome the tears that welled so spontaneously -to her eyes? Would it bring relief? To-day, all evening, more than ever -before, she had felt her endurance almost at an end. She turned her face -upward to the night. It was black; not a star showed anywhere. It seemed -as though something dense and forbidding had been drawn like a somber -mantle over the world. God, even, seemed far away to-night. - -She shivered a little. Could that really be true--that God was turning -His face away from her? She had tried so hard to cling to her faith. -It was all she had; it was all that of late had stood between her and -a despair and misery, a horror so overwhelming that death by contrast -seemed a boon. - -Her lips quivered as she walked along. It almost seemed as though she -did not want to fight any more. And yet there had been a great and -very wonderful reward given to her before she had even made the final -sacrifice that she had pledged herself to make. If her soul revolted -from the association that must come with Doctor Crang, if every instinct -within her rose up in stark horror before the contamination of the man's -wanton moral filth, one strange and wondrous thing sustained her. And -she had no right to mistrust God, for God must have brought her this. -She had bought an unknown life--that had become dearer to her than her -own, or anything that might happen to her. She knew love. It was no -longer a _stranger_ who would live on through the years because she -was soon to pay the price that had been set upon his life--it was John -Bruce. - -Claire caught her hands suddenly to her breast. John Bruce! She was -still afraid--for John Bruce. And to-night, all evening, that fear had -been growing stronger, chilling her with a sense of evil premonition and -foreboding. Was it only premonition? Crang had threatened. She had heard -the threats. And she knew out of her own terrible experience that Crang, -as between human life and his own desires, held human life as naught. -And yet, surely John Bruce was safe from him now--at least his life was -safe. That was how Crang had wrung the promise from her. No, she was -not so sure! There was personal enmity between them now. Besides, -if anything happened she would not be able to bring it to Crang's -door--Crang would take care of that--and her promise would still hold. -And so she was afraid. - -She had not seen Crang since the night that John Bruce had thrown him -down the stairs. She had thanked God for the relief his absence had -brought her--but now, here again, she was not so sure! What had kept him -away? Where was John Bruce? She began to regret that she had told John -Bruce he must not attempt to see her or communicate with her any -more, though she had only done so because she had been afraid for his -sake--that it would but arouse the very worst in Doctor Crang. Perhaps -John Bruce had yielded to her pleading and had left the city. She shook -her head. If she knew the man she loved at all, John Bruce would run -from no one, and---- - -Claire halted abruptly. She had reached the dingy rooming house where -Hawkins lived. She brushed her hand resolutely across her eyes as she -mounted the steps. The tears had come after all, for her lashes were -wet. - -It was not necessary either to ring or knock; the door was always -unfastened; and, besides, she had been here so many, many times that -she knew the house almost as well as her own home. She opened the door, -stepped into a black hallway, and began to feel her way up the creaking -staircase. There was the possibility, of course, that Hawkins was either -out or already in bed; but if he were out she would leave a note in his -room for him so that he would come over to the old pawn-shop when he -returned, and if he were already in bed her message delivered through -the door would soon bring Hawkins out of it again--Hawkins, since he had -been driving that old car which he had created, was well accustomed to -calls at all hours of the night. - -A thin, irregular streak of light, the only sign of light she had -seen anywhere in the house, showed now at the threshold under Hawkins' -ill-fitting door, as she reached the landing. She stepped quickly to -the door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. There was -still no answer. Claire smiled a little whimsically. Hawkins was growing -extravagant--he had gone out and left the light burning. She tried the -door, and, finding it unlocked, opened it, stepped forward into the -room--and with a sudden, low, half-hurt, half-frightened cry, stood -still. Hawkins was neither out, nor was he in bed. Hawkins was sprawled -partly on the floor and partly across a chair in which he had obviously -been unable to preserve his balance. Several bottles, all empty but one, -stood upon the table. There were two dirty glasses beside the bottles, -and another one, broken, on the floor. Hawkins was snoring stertorously. - -It seemed somehow to Claire standing there that this was the last -straw--and yet, too, there was only a world of pity in her heart for -the old man. All the years rolled before her. She remembered as a child -climbing upon his knee and pleading for the _tick-tick_--that great -cumbersome silver watch, which, fallen out of his pocket now, dangled by -its chain and swung in jerky rhythm to his breathing. She remembered the -days when, a little older, she had dressed herself in her best clothes, -and to Hawkins' huge delight had played at princess, while he drove her -about in his old ramshackle hansom cab; and, later still, his gentle -faithfulness to Paul Veniza in his trouble, and to her--and the love, -and a strange, always welcome, tenderness that he had ever shown her. -Poor frail soul! Hawkins had been good to every one--but Hawkins! - -She could not leave him like this, but she was not strong enough alone -to carry him to his bed. She turned and ran hurriedly downstairs. There -was the widow Hedges, of course, the old landlady. - -Back at the end of the lower hall, Claire pounded upon a door. Presently -a woman's voice answered her. A moment later a light appeared as the -door was opened, and with it an apparition in an old gingham wrapper and -curl papers. - -"Oh, it's you, Miss Claire!" the woman exclaimed in surprise. "What's -brought you over here to-night, dear? Is your father worse?" - -"No," Claire answered. "He wanted Hawkins, and----" - -Mrs. Hedges shook her head. - -"Hawkins ain't in," she said; "but I'll see that he gets the message -when he comes back. He went out with the car quite a little while ago -with some men he had with him." - -"With the car?" Claire found herself suddenly a little frightened, she -did not quite know why. "Well, he's back now, Mrs. Hedges." - -"Oh, no," asserted Mrs. Hedges positively. "I might not have heard him -going upstairs, but I would have heard the car coming in. It ain't come -back yet." - -"But Hawkins _is_ upstairs," said Claire a little heavily. "I--I've been -up." - -"You say Hawkins is upstairs?" Mrs. Hedges stared incredulously. "That's -very strange!" She turned and ran back into her room and to a rear -window. "Look, Miss Claire! Come here! You can see!" And as Claire -joined her: "The door of the shed, or the gradge as he calls it, is -open, and you can see for yourself it's empty. If he's upstairs what -could he have done with the car? It ain't out in front of the house, -is it, and--oh!" She caught Claire's arm anxiously. "There's been an -accident, you mean, and he's----" - -"I am sure he never left the house," said Claire, and her voice in -its composed finality sounded strange even in her own ears. She was -thoroughly frightened now, and her fears were beginning to take concrete -form. There were not many who would have any use for that queer old car -that was so intimately associated with Hawkins! She could think of -only one--and of only one reason. She pulled at Mrs. Hedges' arm. "Come -upstairs," she said. - -Mrs. Hedges reached the door of Hawkins' room first. - -"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Hedges cried out wildly. "He ain't dead, is he?" - -"No," said Claire in a strained voice. "He's--he's only had too much to -drink. Help me lift him on the bed." - -It taxed the strength of the two women. - -"And the car's stole!" gasped Mrs. Hedges, fighting for her breath. - -"Yes," said Claire; "I am afraid so." - -"Then we'll get the police at once!" announced Mrs. Hedges. - -Claire looked at her for a moment. - -"No," she said slowly, shaking her head. "You mustn't do that. It--it -will come back." - -"Come back?" Mrs. Hedges stared helplessly. "It ain't a cat! You--you -ain't quite yourself, are you, Miss Claire? Poor dear, this has upset -you. It ain't a fit thing for young eyes like yours to see. Me--I'm used -to it." - -"I am quite myself." Claire forced a calmness she was far from feeling -into her voice. "You mustn't notify the police, or do a thing, except -just look after Hawkins. It--it's father's car, you know; and he'll know -best what to do." - -"Well, maybe that's so," admitted Mrs. Hedges. - -"Do you know who the men were who were here with Hawkins?" Claire asked. - -"No, I don't," Mrs. Hedges answered excitedly. "The thieving devils, -coming here and getting Hawkins off like this! I just knew there were -some men up in his room with him because I heard them talking during the -evening, and then when I heard them go out and get the car I thought, of -course, that Hawkins had gone with them." - -"I--I see," said Claire, striving to speak naturally. "I--I'll go back -to father now. I can't leave him alone very long, anyhow. I'll tell him -what has happened, and--and he'll decide what to do. You'll look after -Hawkins, won't you, Mrs. Hedges?" - -"You run along, dear," said Mrs. Hedges reassuringly. "Who else but me -has looked after him these ten years?" - -Claire ran from the room and down the stairs, and out to the street. -The one thing left for her to do was to reach home and get to the -telephone--get the Bayne-Miloy Hotel--and John Bruce. Perhaps she was -already too late. She ran almost blindly along the street. Her -intuition, the foreboding that had obsessed her so heavily all evening, -was only too likely now to prove itself far from groundless. What -object, save one, could anybody have in obtaining possession of the -traveling pawn-shop, and at the same time of keeping Hawkins temporarily -out of the road? Perhaps her deduction would show flaws if it were -subjected to the test of pure logic, perhaps there were a thousand other -reasons that would account equally well, and even more logically, for -what had happened, but she _knew_ it was Crang--and Crang could have but -one object in view. The man was clever, diabolically clever. In some way -he was using that car and Hawkins' helplessness to trap the man he had -threatened. She must warn John Bruce. There was not an instant to lose! -To lose! How long ago had that car been taken? Was there even a chance -left that it was not already far too late? She had not thought to ask -how long ago it was when Mrs. Hedges had heard the car leave the garage. - -It had never seemed so far--just that little half block and halfway -along another. It seemed as though she had been an hour in coming that -little way when she finally reached her home. Her breath coming in hard, -short gasps, she opened the door, closed it, and, with no thought but -one in her mind, ran across the room to the telephone. She remembered -the number of the Bayne-Miloy. She snatched the telephone receiver from -the hook--and then, as though her arm had suddenly become incapable of -further movement, the receiver remained poised halfway to her ear. - -Doctor Crang was leaning over the banister, and looking down at her. - -With a stifled little cry, Claire replaced the receiver. - -Paul Veniza's voice reached her from above. - -"Is that you, Claire?" he called. - -"Yes, father," she answered. - -Doctor Crang came down the stairs. - -"I just dropped in a minute ago--not professionally"--a snarl crept into -his voice--"for I have never been informed that your father was ill." - -Claire did not look up. - -"It--it wasn't serious," she said. - -"So!" Crang smiled a little wickedly. "I wonder where you get the -_gambling_ spirit from? One of these days you'll find out how serious -these attacks are!" He took a step forward. "Your father tells me you -have been over to Hawkins' room." - -There was a curious hint of both challenge and perverted humor in his -voice. It set at rest any lingering doubt Claire might have had. - -"Yes," she said, and faced him now, her eyes, hard and steady, fixed on -his. - -"Poor Hawkins!" sighed Doctor Crang ironically. "Even the best of us -have our vices! It should teach us to be tolerant with others!" - -Claire's little form was rigidly erect. - -"I wonder if you know how much I hate you?" she said in a tense, low -voice. - -"You've told me often enough!" A savage, hungry look came into Crang's -eyes. "But you're mine, for all that! Mine, Claire! Mine! You understand -that, eh?" - -He advanced toward her. The door of the inner room, that for weeks, -until a few days ago, had been occupied by John Bruce, was just behind -her, and she retreated through it. He followed her. She did not want to -cry out--the sound would reach the sick room above; and, besides, she -dared not show the man that she had any fear. - -"Don't follow me like that!" she breathed fiercely. - -"Why not?" he retorted, as he switched on the light and closed the door. -"I've got the right to, even if I hadn't something that I came over here -particularly to-night to tell you about--quite privately." - -She had put the table between them. That he made no effort to come -nearer for the moment afforded her a certain relief, but there was -something in the smile with which he surveyed her now, a cynical, -gloating triumph, that chilled her. - -"Well, what is it?" she demanded. - -"I trapped that damned lover of yours to-night!" he announced coolly. - -Claire felt her face go white. It _was_ true, then! She fought madly -with herself for self-possession. - -"If you mean Mr. Bruce," she said deliberately, "I was just going to try -to warn him over the phone; though, even then, I was afraid I was too -late." - -"Ah!" he exclaimed sharply. "You knew, then?" - -Claire shrugged her shoulders. - -"Oh, yes!" she said contemptuously. "My faith in you where evil is -concerned is limitless. I heard your threats. I saw Hawkins a few -minutes ago. He was quite--quite helpless. You, or some of your -confederates, traded on his weakness, took the key of the car away from -him, and then stole the car. Ordinary thieves would not have acted like -that." An icy smile came to her lips. "His landlady thought the police -should be notified that the car had been stolen." - -"You always were clever, Claire," Crang grinned admiringly. "You've got -some brains--all there are around here, as far as I can make out. -You've got it straight, all right. Mr. John Bruce, Esquire, came out of -Lavergne's on being informed that Hawkins was in bad shape--no lie about -that!--and walked into the car without a murmur. Too bad to bother the -police, though--the car will have been left in front of Hawkins' door -again by now." - -It was hard to keep her courage; hard to keep her lips from trembling; -hard to keep the tears back; hard to pretend that she was not afraid. - -"What are you going to do with him?" Her voice was very low. "The -promise that I gave you was on the condition that he _lived_--not only -then, but now." Crang laughed outright. - -"Oh, don't worry about that! He'd never let it get that far. He thinks -too much of Mr. Bruce! He has already taken care of himself--at another -man's expense." - -Claire stared numbly. She did not understand. - -"I'll tell you," said Crang, with brutal viciousness. "He's a -professional gambler, this supposedly wealthy gentleman of leisure. He -works for a man in San Francisco named Larmon, who really is wealthy, -but who poses as a pillar of the church, or words to that effect. Never -mind how, but Larmon will be here to-night in New York--just at the -right moment. And Mr. Bruce has very kindly consented to assist in -convincing Mr. Larmon that exposure isn't worth the few dollars that -would buy him immunity." - -Claire did not speak. Still she did not understand. She sat down wearily -in the chair beside the table. - -Crang took a letter from his pocket abruptly, and, opening it, laid it -in front of Claire. - -"I thought perhaps you would like to read it," he said carelessly. - -Claire rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. -She stared at the letter. At first the words ran together, and she could -not make them out. Then a sentence took form, and then another--and she -read them piteously. "... I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so -felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in... She read -on to the end. - -"But it's not true!" she cried out sharply. "I don't believe it!" - -"Of course, it isn't true!" said Crang complacently. "And, of course, -you don't believe it! But Larmon will. I've only shown you the letter to -let you see what kind of a yellow cur this would-be lover of yours is. -Anything to save himself! But so long as he wrote the letter, I had no -quarrel with him if he wanted to fake excuses for himself that gave him -a chance of holding his job with Larmon afterwards." - -It couldn't be true--true that John Bruce had even written the letter, a -miserable Judas thing that baited a trap, for one who trusted him, with -the good name of a woman for whom he had professed to care. It couldn't -be true--but the signature was there, and--and it was genuine: "John -Bruce.... John Bruce.... John Bruce." It seemed to strike at her with -the cruel, stinging blows of a whip-lash: "John Bruce.... John Bruce.... -John----" - -The words became blurred. It was the infinite hopelessness of everything -that crushed her fortitude, and mocked it, and made of it at last a -beaten thing. A tear fell and splashed upon the page--and still another. -She kept looking at the letter, though she could only see it through a -blinding mist. And there was something ominous, and something that -added to her fear, that she should imagine that her tears made _black_ -splashes on the blurred letter as they fell, and----- - -She heard a sudden startled snarl from Crang, and the letter was -snatched up from the table. And then he seemed to laugh wildly, without -reason, as a maniac would laugh--and with the letter clutched in his -hand rushed from the room. Claire crushed her hands against her temples. -Perhaps it was herself who had gone mad. - -The front door banged. - - - - -CHAPTER SIXTEEN--A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS - -|OUTSIDE the house Crang continued to run. He was unconscious that he -had forgotten his hat. His face worked in livid fury. Alternately he -burst out into short, ugly gusts of laughter that made of laughter an -evil thing; alternately, racked with unbridled passion, he mouthed a -flood of oaths. - -He ran on for some three blocks, and finally dashed up the steps of a -small, drab-looking, cheap frame house. A brass sign, greenish with mold -from neglect, flanked one side of the door. Under the street light it -could just barely be deciphered: SYDNEY ANGUS CRANG, M.D. - -He tried the door. It was locked. He searched impatiently and hastily in -his pockets for his pass-key, and failing to find it instantly he rang -the bell; and then, without waiting for an answer to the summons, he -immediately began to bang furiously upon the panels. - -An old woman, his housekeeper, whose bare feet had obviously been -thrust hurriedly into slippers, and who clutched at the neck of a woolen -dressing gown that also obviously, and with equal haste, had been flung -around her shoulders over her nightdress, finally opened the door. - -"Get out of the road!" Crang snarled--and brushed his way roughly past -her. - -He stepped forward along an unlighted hall, opened a door, and slammed -it behind him. He switched on the light. He was in his consulting room. -The next instant he was standing beside his desk, and had wrenched -John Bruce's letter from his pocket. He spread this out on the desk and -glared at it. Beyond any doubt whatever, where Claire's tears had fallen -on the paper, traces of writing were faintly discernible. Here, out of -an abortive word, was a well-formed "e"; and there, unmistakably, was a -capital "L." - -Crang burst into a torrent of abuse and oaths; his fists clenched, and -he shook one of them in the air. - -"Double-crossed--eh?--damn him!" he choked. "He tried to double-cross -me--did he?" - -Carrying the letter, he ran now into a little room behind his office, -where he compounded his medicines, and that was fitted up as a sort of -small laboratory. - -"I'm a clever man," Crang mumbled to himself. "We'll see about this!" - -With sudden complacence he began to study the sheet of paper. He nodded -curtly to himself as he noted that the traces of the secret writing were -all on the lower edge of the paper. - -"We'll be very careful, _very_ careful"--Doctor Crang was still -mumbling--"it may be useful in more ways than one." - -He turned on the water faucet, wet a camel's-hair brush, and applied the -brush to the lower edge of the letter. The experiment was productive of -no result. He stared at the paper for a while with wrinkled brow, and -then suddenly he began to laugh ironically. - -"No, of course, not!" He was jeering at himself now. "Clever? You are -not clever, you are a fool! She _cried_ on the paper. Tears! Tears -possess a slight trace of"--he reached quickly for a glass container, -and began to prepare a solution of some sort--"a very slight trace... -that's why the characters that already show are so faint. Now we'll see, -Mr. John Bruce, what you've got to say.... Salt!... A little salt, eh?" - -He dipped the camel's-hair brush in the solution and drew it across the -bottom edge of the paper again. - -"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Doctor Crang in eager excitement. Letters, words and -sentences began to take form under the brush. "Ha, ha! He'd play that -game with me, would he? Damn him!" - -Very carefully Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., worked his brush upward on -the paper line by line, until, still well below the signature that John -Bruce had affixed in his, Crang's, presence, there failed to appear -any further trace of the secret writing. He read as fast as a word -appeared--like a starving beast snatching in ferocious greed at morsels -of food. It made whole and complete sense. His eyes feasted on it now in -its entirety: - -Keep away. This is a trap. Stall till you can turn tables. Information -obtained while I was delirious. Am a prisoner in hands of a gang whose -leader is a doctor named Crang. Veniza will tell you where Crang lives. -Get Veniza's address from Lavergne at the house. The only way to save -either of Us is to trick Crang. Look out for yourself. Bruce. - -He tossed the camel's-hair brush away, returned to his desk, spread the -letter out on a blotter to allow the lower edge to dry, and slumping -down in his desk chair, glued his eyes on the secret message, reading it -over and over again. - -"Trick Crang--eh?--ha, ha!" He began to chuckle low; then suddenly his -fingers, crooked and curved until they looked like claws, reached out -as though to fasten upon some prey at hand. And then he chuckled once -more--and then grew somber, and slumped deeper in his chair, and his -eyes, brooding, were half closed. "Not to-night," he muttered. "One job -of it to-morrow... squeal like a pair of rats that----" - -He sat suddenly bolt upright in his chair. It came again---a low tapping -on the window; two raps, three times repeated. He rose quickly, crossed -the room, opened the door, and stood motionless for a moment peering -out into the hall. It was a purely precautionary measure--he had little -doubt but that his old housekeeper had long since mounted the stairs and -returned to her bed. He stepped rapidly then along the hall, and opened -the front door. - -"That you, Birdie?" he called in a low voice. - -A man's form appeared from the shadow of the stoop. - -"Sure!" the man answered. - -"Come in!" Doctor Crang said tersely. - -He led the way back into the consulting room, and slumped down again in -his chair. - -"Well?" he demanded. - -"Peters arrived all right," Birdie reported. "He registered at the -Bayne-Miloy Hotel, and he's there now." - -"Good!" grunted Crang. - -For a full five minutes he remained silent and without movement in his -chair, apparently utterly oblivious of the other, who stood, shifting a -little awkwardly from foot to foot, on the opposite side of the desk. - -Then Crang spoke--more to himself than to Birdie. - -"He'll be anxious, of course, and growing more so," he said. "He might -make a break of some kind. I'll have to fix that. I'm not ready yet. -What?" - -Birdie, from staring inanely at the wall, came to himself with a sudden -start at what he evidently interpreted as a direct question. - -"Yes--sure!" he said hurriedly. "No--I mean, no, you're not ready." - -Crang glared at the man contemptuously. - -"What the hell do you know about it?" he inquired caustically. - -He picked up the telephone directory, studied it for a moment, then, -reaching for the desk telephone, asked for his connection. Presently the -Bayne-Miloy Hotel answered him, and he asked for Mr. R. L. Peters' room. -A moment more and a voice reached him over the phone. - -"Is that Mr. Peters?" Crang inquired quietly. "Mr. R. L. Peters, of San -Francisco?... Yes? Then I' have a message for you, Mr. Peters, from the -person who sent you a telegram a few days ago... I beg your pardon?... -Yes, I am sure you do... Myself? I'd rather not mention any names over -the phone. You understand, don't you? He told me to tell you that it is -absolutely necessary that no connection is known to exist between you, -and for that reason he does not dare take the chance of getting -into touch with you to-night, but he will manage it somehow by early -afternoon to-morrow... What say?... Yes, it is very serious, otherwise -he would hardly have telegraphed you to come on from San Francisco... -No, personally, I don't know. That was his message; but I was also to -warn you on no account to leave your rooms, or have communication -with anybody until you hear direct from him.... No, I do not know the -particulars. I only know that he is apparently in a hole, and a bad one, -and that he is now afraid that you will get into it too.... Yes. You are -sure you fully understand?... No, not at all I I am only too glad.... -Good-night." - -Crang, with a curious smile on his lips, hung up the receiver. He turned -abruptly to Birdie. - -"You get a taxi to-morrow," he said brusquely. "We'll want it for two or -three hours. Slip the chauffeur whatever is necessary, and change places -with him. See? You'll know where to find one that will fall for that. -Then you come here for me at--let's see--the boat sails at four--you -come here at half past one sharp. Get me?" - -"Sure!" said Birdie, with a grin. "That's a cinch!" - -"All right, then!" Crang waved his hand. "Beat it!" - -Birdie left the room. A moment later the front door closed behind him. - -Crang picked up the letter and examined it critically. The lower three -or four inches of the paper was slightly crinkled, but quite dry now; -the body of the original letter showed no sign whatever of his work upon -the lower portion. - -Doctor Crang nodded contentedly. - -He rose abruptly, secured his surgical bag, and from it selected a -lance. With the aid of a ruler and the keen-bladed little instrument, -he very carefully cut away the lower section of the paper. The slip -containing the erstwhile secret message he tucked away in his inside -pocket; then he examined the letter itself again even more critically -than before. For all evidence that it presented to the contrary, -it might have been the original size of the sheet. There was even a -generous margin of paper still left beneath John Bruce's signature. -He folded the letter, replaced it in its envelope--and now sealed the -envelope. - -"To-morrow!" said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang with a sinister smile, as he -produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket and rolled up the -sleeve of his left arm. He laughed as the needle pricked his flesh. -"To-morrow--John Bruce!" - -He slumped far down in his chair once more. For half an hour he sat -motionless, his eyes closed. Then he spoke again. - -"Damn you!" he said. - - - - -CHAPTER SEVENTEEN--ALIAS MR. ANDERSON - -DOCTOR Sydney Angus Crang looked at his watch, as he stepped from a taxi -the next afternoon, and entered the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. It was fifteen -minutes of two. He approached the desk and obtained a blank card. "From -J. B.," he wrote upon it. He handed it to the clerk. - -"Please send this up to Mr. R. L. Peters," he requested. - -He leaned nonchalantly against the desk as a bellboy departed with -the card. From where he stood the front windows gave him a view of the -street, and he could see Birdie parking the taxi a little way up past -the entrance. He smiled pleasantly as he waited. - -Presently the bell-boy returned with the information that Mr. Peters -would see him; and, following the boy upstairs, he was ushered into the -sitting room of one of the Bayne-Miloy's luxurious suites. A tall man -with a thin, swarthy face confronted him. Between his fingers the tall -man held the card that he, Crang, had sent up; and between his lips the -tall man sucked assiduously at a quill toothpick. - -"Mr. Peters, of course?" Crang inquired easily, as the door closed -behind the bell-boy. - -Mr. Peters, alias Gilbert Larmon, nodded quietly. "I was rather -expecting Mr. Bruce in person," he said. - -Crang looked cautiously around him. - -"It still isn't safe," he said in a lowered voice. "At least, not here; -so I am going to take you to him. But perhaps you would prefer that I -should explain my own connection with this affair first?" - -Again Larmon nodded. - -"Perhaps it would be just as well," he said. - -Once more Crang looked cautiously around him. - -"We--we are quite alone, I take it?" - -"Quite," said Larmon. - -"My name is Anderson, William Anderson," Crang stated smoothly. "I was -the one who telephoned you last night. I am a friend of John Bruce--the -only one he's got, I guess, except yourself. Bruce and I used to be boys -together in San Francisco. I hadn't seen him for years until we ran into -each other here in New York a few weeks ago and chummed up again. As I -told you over the phone, I don't know the ins and outs of this, but I -know he is in some trouble with a gang that he got mixed up with in the -underworld somehow." - -"_Tck!_" The quill toothpick flexed sharply against one of the -tall man's front teeth. "William Anderson"--he repeated the name -musingly--"yes, I remember. I sent a telegram in your care to Mr. Bruce -a few days ago." - -"Yes," said Crang. - -The quill toothpick appeared to occupy the tall man's full attention for -a period of many seconds. - -"Are you conversant with the contents of that telegram, Mr. Anderson?" -he asked casually at last. - -Crang suppressed a crafty smile. Mr Gilbert Larmon was no fool! Mr. -Gilbert Larmon stood here as Mr. R. L. Peters--the telegram had been -signed: "Gilbert Larmon." The question that Larmon was actually asking -was: How much do you really know? - -"Why, yes," said Crang readily. "I did not actually see the telegram, -but Bruce told me it was from a friend of his, a Mr. Peters, who would -arrive in New York Wednesday night, and whom he seemed to think he -needed pretty badly in his present scrape." Larmon took a turn or two up -and down the room. He halted again before Crang. - -"I am obliged to admit that I am both anxious and considerably at sea," -he said deliberately. "There seems to be an air of mystery surrounding -all this that I neither like nor understand. You did not allay my fears -last night when you telephoned me. Have you no more to tell me?" - -Crang shook his head slowly. - -"No," he said. "You've got everything I know. Bruce has been like a -clam as far as the nature of what is between himself and this gang is -concerned. He will have to tell you himself--if he will. He won't tell -me. Meanwhile, he sent you this." - -Crang reached into his pocket and took out the envelope addressed to Mr. -R. L. Peters, that he had taken pains to seal the night before. - -Larmon took the envelope, stepped over to the window, presumably for -better light, and opening the letter, began to read it. - -Crang watched the other furtively. The quill toothpick, from a series -of violent gyrations, became motionless between Larmon's lips. The thin -face seemed to mold itself into sharp, dogged lines. Again and again -Larmon appeared to read the letter over; and then the hand that held the -sheet of paper dropped to his side, and he stood for a long time staring -out of the window. Finally he turned slowly and came back across the -room. - -"This is bad, Mr. Anderson--far worse than I had imagined," he said in a -hard voice. "I believe you said you would take me to Bruce. This letter -asks me to accompany you, and I see we are to go at once." He motioned -toward a box of cigars on the table. "Help yourself to a cigar, Mr. -Anderson, and take a chair while I change and get ready. I will only be -a few minutes, if you will excuse me for that length of time?" - -Crang's face expressed concern. - -"Why, certainly, Mr. Peters," he agreed readily. He helped himself to a -cigar, and sat down in a chair. "I'm sorry if it's as bad as that." - -Larmon made no answer, save to nod his head gravely as he stepped -quickly toward the door of the apartment's adjoining room. - -Crang struck a match and lighted his cigar. The door of the connecting -room closed behind Larmon. A cloud of blue smoke veiled Crang's -face--and a leer that lighted his suddenly narrowed eyes. - -"So that's it, is it?" grinned Crang to himself. "I wondered how he was -going to work it! Well, I guess he would have got away with it, too--if -I hadn't got away with it first!" - -He sat motionless in his chair--and listened. And suddenly he smiled -maliciously. The sound of running water from a tap turned on somewhere -on the other side of the connecting door reached him faintly. - -"And now a little salt!" murmured Doctor Sydney - -Angus Crang. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it dissolve. -"And, presto!--like the smoke ring--nothing!" - -The minutes passed, perhaps five of them, and then the door opened again -and Larmon reappeared. - -"I'm ready now," he announced quietly. "Shall we go?" - -Crang rose from his chair. - -"Yes," he said. He glanced at Larmon, as he tapped the ash from the end -of his cigar. Larmon had _not_ forgotten to change his clothes. "I've -got a taxi waiting." - -"All right," agreed Larmon briskly--and led the way to the elevator. - -Out on the street, Crang led the way in turn--to the taxi. Birdie -reached out from his seat, and flung the door open. Crang motioned -Larmon to enter, and then leaned toward Birdie as though to give the man -the necessary address. He spoke in a low, quiet tone: - -"Keep to the decent streets as long as you can, so that he won't have -a chance to get leery until it won't matter whether he does or not. -Understand?" - -Birdie touched his cap. - -"Yes, sir," he said. - -The taxi jerked forward. - -"It's not very far," said Crang. He smiled engagingly as he settled -back in his seat--and his hand in his coat pocket sought and fondled his -revolver. - -Larmon, apparently immersed in his own thoughts, made no immediate -reply. The taxi traversed a dozen blocks, during which time Crang, quite -contented to let well enough alone, made no effort at conversation. -Larmon chewed at his quill toothpick until, following a savage little -click, he removed it in two pieces from his mouth. He had bitten it in -half. He tossed the pieces on the floor, and produced a fresh one from -his pocket. - -"My word!" observed Crang dryly. "You've got good teeth." - -Larmon turned and looked at him. - -"Yes, Mr. Anderson, I have!" His voice was level. "And I am going to -show them--when I get hold of Bruce." - -Crang's expression was instantly one of innocent bewilderment. - -"Why," he said, "I thought you----" - -"Have you ever met the lady?" Larmon asked abruptly. - -"The--lady?" Crang glanced out of the window. Birdie was making good -time, very good time indeed. Another five minutes at the outside and the -trick was done. - -"The woman in the case," said Larmon. - -"Oh!" Crang whistled low. "I see! No, I've never met her. I didn't know -there was one. I told you he had said nothing to me." - -Larmon was frowning heavily; his face was strained and worried. He -laughed out suddenly, jerkily. - -"I suppose I should give him credit for keeping you at least in the -dark," he said shortly; "though it strikes me as more or less of a case -of locking the stable door after the horse has gone." - -Crang's eyebrows were raised in well-simulated perplexity. - -"I don't quite get you, Mr. Peters," he said politely. - -"It's of no consequence." Larmon's eyes were suddenly fastened on the -window. From an already shabby street where cheap tenements hived a -polyglot nationality, the taxi had swerved into an intersection that -seemed more a lane than anything else, and that was still more shabby -and uninviting. "This is a rather sordid neighborhood, isn't it?" he -observed curiously. - -"It's safe," said Crang significantly. - -The taxi stopped. - -"We get out here, Mr. Peters," Crang announced pleasantly, as Birdie -opened the door. "It's a bit rough, I'll admit; but"--he shrugged his -shoulders and smiled--"you'll have to blame Bruce, not me. Just follow -me, Mr. Peters--it's down these steps." - -He began to descend the steps of a cellar entrance, which was -unprepossessingly black, and which opened from the rear of a seedy -looking building that abutted on the lane. He did not look behind him. -Larmon had made _sure_ that the letter was to be relied upon, hadn't -he?--and it was John Bruce, not anybody else, that Larmon was trusting -now. Certainly, it was much easier to _lead_ Larmon as long as Larmon -could be led; if Larmon hesitated about following, Birdie stood ready to -pitch the other headlong down the steps--the same end would be attained -in either case! - -But Larmon still showed no suspicion of the good faith of one William -Anderson. He was following without question. The daylight streaking down -through the entrance afforded enough light to enable Crang, over his -shoulder, to note that Larmon was always close behind him. At a door -across the cellar Crang gave two raps, three times repeated, and as the -door was opened, entered with Larmon beside him. - -The man who had let them in--one of three, who had evidently been -rolling dice at a table close to the entrance--closed the door behind -them, and resumed his game. - -"If you'll just wait here a minute, Mr. Peters," Crang said breezily, -"I'll find Bruce for you." - -He did not wait for a reply. It mattered very little as to what Larmon -said or did now, anyhow--Larmon's exit was barred by three men! He -walked up the length of the low-ceiled, evil-smelling place, and with a -key which he took from his pocket unlocked a door at the farther end. As -he stepped through the door his revolver was in his hand. - -He laughed in an ugly way, as John Bruce rose from the mattress and -faced him. - -"Salt is a great thing, isn't it?" he jeered. He drew from his pocket -the slip of paper he had cut from the bottom of the letter, and held -it so that John Bruce could see it. Then he put it back in his pocket -again. "Understand? He got the _rest_ of the letter, all right; and so -he has come down to pay you a little visit. He's outside there now." - -John Bruce made no answer. - -Crang laughed again. - -"You thought you'd double-cross me, did you? You poor fool! Well, it's a -showdown now. I'm going to bring him in here--and let you tell him what -he's up against. I guess you can convince him. He's got less than an -hour in which to come across--if you are going to sail on that steamer. -If you don't make yourself useful to that extent, you go out--for keeps; -and Larmon stays here until he antes up--or rots! Is that quite clear?" - -John Bruce's lips scarcely moved. - -"Yes; it is quite clear," he said. - -"I thought it would be!" snarled Crang--and backed out through the door. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHTEEN--THE HOSTAGE - -|AS Crang disappeared through the doorway, John Bruce stepped -noiselessly forward across the earthen floor. With the door half open -and swung inward, it left a generous aperture at the hinges through -which he could see down the length of the cave-like den outside. - -He was strangely calm. Yes, there was Larmon down there--and Crang was -walking toward him. And Crang had left the door open here. Well, -why not?--with those three apaches at that table yonder! Yes, why -not?--except that Crang had also left open the way to one last move, -left him, John Bruce, one last card to play! - -Strange, the cold, unnatural calmness that possessed him! His mind -seemed instantaneously to have conceived and created a project that -almost subconsciously he was now in the act of putting into effect. -He reached out, and extracting the key from the outside of the door, -inserted it on the inside of the lock. He smiled grimly. So far, it was -quite safe! The door was swung so far inward that the inner edge of it, -and therefore his act, certainly could not be seen by any one out there. - -A last card! His lips tightened. Well, perhaps! But it was more than -that. His unnatural composure had something deeper than that behind -it--a passionate fury smoldering on the verge of flame. Larmon was out -there--trapped! He could not put Larmon in greater jeopardy now, no -matter what he, John Bruce, did personally, because Larmon dead would -not be worth anything to them. But for himself--to stand and take it all -like a sheep at the hands of a damned, cringing---- - -He shook his head in quick, curious self-rebuke. Not yet! He needed that -cold composure a little longer since it was to be a showdown now. That -was what Crang had said--a showdown. And Crang was right! It meant the -end--one way or the other. But with luck, if Crang was as yellow as he -believed the man to be, the idea of the bluff that had leaped into his -mind would work successfully; and if it didn't work--well, then, there -was the end--and at least it would not be a scatheless one for Crang! - -The mind works swiftly. Had Crang had time only to walk down _half_ the -length of that room out there toward Larmon? Yes, he saw Crang halt now, -and heard Crang call out sharply to the three men at the table: - -"See if he's got a gun!" - -John Bruce, through the crack, saw Larmon whirl around suddenly, as -though aware for the first time that he was in danger; saw two of the -men grasp Larmon roughly, while the third searched through his clothes. - -And then Crang laughed out raucously: - -"This way, _Mr. Peters_--please! You three can stay where you are--I'll -call you if I need you!" - -For still another instant John Bruce watched through the crack. Larmon, -though his face was set and stern, advanced calmly to where Crang stood. -Crang, with a prod of his revolver, pushed him onward. They were coming -now--Larmon first, and Crang immediately behind the other. Without a -sound, John Bruce slipped around to the other side of the door; and, -back just far enough so that he would not be seen the instant the -threshold was reached, crouched down close against the wall. - -A second passed. - -"Go on in there!" he heard Crang order. - -Larmon's form crossed the threshold; and then Crang's--and John Bruce -hurled himself forward, striking, even while his hands flew upward to -lock like a vise around Crang's throat, a lightning blow at Crang's -wrist that sent the revolver to the soft earthen floor without a -sound--and a low, strangling, gurgling noise was alone the result of -Crang's effort at a shout of alarm. - -"Shut the door--_quietly!_ And lock it, Larmon!" John Bruce flung out. - -It was an impotent thing. It struck at the air blindly, its fists going -like disjointed flails. Strong! He had not just risen from a sick bed -this time! John Bruce and the soul within him seemed to chuckle In -unison together at this wriggling thing that he held up by the neck with -its feet off the ground. But he saw Larmon, though for the fraction of a -second held spellbound in amazement, spring and lock the door. - -"If you make a sound that reaches out there"--John Bruce was whispering -now with panting, labored breath, as he swung Crang over to the corner -and forced him down upon the mattress--"it will take too long to break -that door in to be of any use to you! Understand?" - -"Bruce!" - -It was Larmon standing over them. John Bruce scarcely turned his head. -His hands were still on Crang's throat, though the man lay cowed and -passive now. - -"His inside coat pocket!" John Bruce jerked out. "It will save a lot of -explanation." - -Larmon leaned over and thrust his hand into Crang's pocket. He produced -several envelopes and the slip of paper cut from John Bruce's letter. - -"Read the slip!" said John Bruce grimly. "He showed it to me a minute -ago when he came in to tell me you were here. It was written in our -invisible ink at the bottom of the letter he brought you." He laughed -shortly. "When you've read it, I'll introduce you." - -Larmon read the slip hurriedly. - -"Good God!" he cried out. - -"This is Crang," said John Bruce evenly. - -"But"--Larmon's face was tense and strained--"how------" - -"How did he discover there was anything there to begin with, and then -hit on the salt solution?" John Bruce interrupted. "I don't know. We'll -find out." He relaxed his hold a little on Crang's throat, and taking -the slip of paper from Larmon, thrust it into his own pocket. "Go on, -Crang! Tell us!" - -Crang's eyes roved from John Bruce to Larmon and back to John Bruce -again. His face was ashen. He shook his head. - -"You'll _talk!_" said John Bruce with ominous quiet. - -"And the less urging"--his grip began to tighten again--"the better for -you." - -"Wait!" Crang choked. "Yes--I--I'll tell you. I showed the letter to -Claire. She--she cried on it. A tear splash--black letter began to -appear. I took the letter home, and--trace of salt in tears--and----" - -Crang's voice died away in a strangling cry. Claire! John Bruce had -barely caught any other word but that. Claire! The face beneath him -began to grow livid. Claire! So the devil had brought Claire into this, -too. _Too!_ Yes, there was something else. Something else! He remembered -now. There was a reckoning to come that was beyond all other reckonings, -wasn't there? He would know now what hold this thing, that was beast, -not man, had upon her. He would know now--or it would end now! - -"Claire! D'ye hear?" John Bruce whispered hoarsely. "You know what I -mean! What trick of hell did you play to make her promise to marry you? -Answer me!" - -The thing on the mattress moaned. - -"Bruce! For God's sake, Bruce, what are you doing?" Larmon cried out -sharply. - -John Bruce raised his head and snarled at Larmon. Neither Larmon, nor -any other man, would rob him of this now! - -"You stand aside, Larmon!" he rasped out. "This is between me and Crang. -Keep out of the way!" - -He shook at Crang again. He laughed. The man's head bobbed limply. - -"Answer me!" He loosened his grip suddenly. Queer, he had forgotten -that--Crang couldn't speak, of course, if he wouldn't let him! - -The man gasped, and gasped again, for his breath. - -"I give you one second." John Bruce's lips did not move as he spoke. - -Twice Crang tried to speak. - -"Quick!" John Bruce planted his knees on the other's chest. - -"Yes--yes, yes, yes!" Crang gurgled out. "It's you--the night you--you -were stabbed. You were--were nearly gone. I--I gave her the--the -choice--to marry me, or--or I'd let you--go out." - -John Bruce felt his shoulders surge forward, felt his muscles grow taut -as steel, and he shook at something flabby that made no resistance, -and his knees rocked upon something soft where they were bedded. -_him_--Claire had faced that inhuman choice, born in this monster's -brain--to save _his_ life! Madness seized upon him. The room, everything -before him whirled around in great, red, pulsing circles. A fury that -shook at the roots of his soul took possession of him. He knew nothing, -saw nothing, was moved by nothing save an overwhelming lust for -vengeance that seemed to give him superhuman strength, that enabled him -to crush between his two bare hands this nauseous thing that----- - -He heard a voice. It seemed to come from some infinite distance: - -"You are killing the man! In the name of God, John Bruce, come away!" - -It was Larmon's voice. He looked up. He was vaguely conscious that it -was Larmon who was pulling at his shoulders, wrenching madly at his -hands, but he could not see Larmon--only a blurred red figure that -danced insanely up and down. Killing the man! Of course! What an inane -thing to say! Then he felt his hands suddenly torn away from a hold they -had had upon something, and he felt himself pulled to his feet. And -then for a little he stood swaying unsteadily, and he shuddered, then he -groped his way over to the chair by the table and dropped into it. - -He stared in front of him. Something on the floor near the door -glittered and reflected the light from the single, dim incandescent. He -lurched up from the chair, and going toward the object, snatched it up. -It was Crang's revolver--but Larmon was upon him _in_ an instant. - -"Not that way, either!" said Larmon hoarsely. - -John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. - -"No, not that way, either," he repeated like a child. - -He went back to the chair and sat down. He was aware that Larmon was -kneeling beside the mattress, but he paid no attention to the other. - -"The man's unconscious," Larmon said. - -John Bruce did not turn his head. - -The minutes passed. - -John Bruce's brain began to clear; but the unbalanced fury that had -possessed him was giving place now only to one more implacable in its -considered phase. He looked around him. Crang, evidently recovered, was -sitting up on the mattress. The letters Larmon had taken from Crang's -pocket lay on the table. John Bruce picked them up idly. From one -of them a steamer ticket fell out. He stared at this for a moment. A -passage for John Bruce to South America! Then low, an ugly sound, his -laugh echoed around the place. - -South America! It recalled him to his actual surroundings--that on the -other side of the door were Crang's apaches. There was still time -to catch the steamer, wasn't there--for South America? "If the bluff -worked"--he remembered his thoughts, the plan that had actuated him when -he had crouched there at the door, waiting for Crang to enter. Strange! -It wouldn't be a _bluff_ any more! All that was gone. What he would do -now, and carry it through to its end, was what he had intended to bluff -Crang into believing he would do. And Crang, too, would understand now -how little of bluff there was--or, misunderstanding, pay for it with his -life. - -He thrust the ticket suddenly into his pocket, stepped from his chair, -the revolver in his hand, and confronted Crang. The man shrank back, -trembling, his face gray with fear. - -"Stand up!" John Bruce commanded. - -Crang, groveling against the wall, got upon his feet. - -It was a full minute before John Bruce spoke again, and then the words -came choking hot from his lips. - -"You damned cur!" he cried. "That's what you did, was it? The price -Claire paid was for my life. Well, it's hers, then; it's no longer mine. -Can you understand that, and understand that I am going to pay it back, -if necessary, to rid her of you? We are going to walk out of here. You -will lead the way. We are going down to that steamer, and you are going -on John Bruce's ticket where you proposed to send me--to South America. -Either that--or you are going on a longer journey. I shall carry this -revolver in the pocket of my coat, and walk beside you. It is your -affair how we pass those men out there. If you make any attempt at -trickery in getting out of here, or later in the street attempt to -escape, I will fire instantly. It does not matter in the slightest -degree what happens to me at the hands of your men, or at the hands of -a thousand people in the most crowded street. You will have gone out -_first_. The only consideration that exists is that Claire shall be free -of you." - -"Tck!" It was the quill toothpick flexing against one of Larmon's teeth. - -John Bruce turned. - -"I did not understand," said Larmon in a low, grim way. "If I had, I am -not sure I should have stopped you from throttling him when I did." - -John Bruce nodded curtly. He spoke again to Crang. - -"I am not asking you whether you agree to this or not," he said with -level emphasis. "You have your choice at any moment to do as you -like--you know the consequences." He slipped his hand with his revolver -into the right-hand side pocket of his coat, and took his place at -Crang's left side. "Now, go ahead and open that door, and lead the way -out! Mr. Larmon, you follow close behind me." - -"Yes," Crang stammered, "yes--for God's sake--I--I'll do it--I---" - -"Open that door!" said John Bruce monotonously. "I didn't ask you to -talk about it!" - -Crang opened the door. The little procession stepped out into the long, -low cellar, and started down toward the lower end. The three men, from -playing dice at the table near the door, rose uncertainly to their feet. -John Bruce's revolver in his pocket pressed suggestively against Crang's -side. - -"It's all right, boys," Crang called out. "Open the door. I've got -Birdie outside." - -They passed the table, passed through the doorway, and the door closed -behind them. In the semi-darkness here, as they headed for the exit to -the lane, Larmon touched John Bruce's elbow. - -"He brought me down here in a taxi," Larmon whispered. "I suppose now it -was one of his men who drove it." - -"Birdie, he just told those rats," said John Bruce tersely. "Do you -hear, Crang? If he's still out there, send him away!" - -They emerged into the lane. A taxi-cab stood opposite the exit; Birdie -lounged in the driver's seat. - -John Bruce's revolver bored into Crang's side. - -"Beat it!" said Crang surlily to the man. "I won't want you any more." - -"You won't--what?" Birdie leaned out from his seat. He stared for a -moment in bewilderment, and then started to climb out of the taxi. - -The pressure of John Bruce's revolver increased steadily. - -"Damn it, you fool!" Crang screamed out wildly. "Beat it! Do you hear? -Beat it!" - -Birdie's face darkened. - -"Oh--sure!" he muttered, with a disgruntled oath. He shot the gears into -place with a vicious snap. "Sure--anything _you_ say!" The taxi -roared down the lane, and disappeared around the corner in a volley of -exhausts. - -"Go on!" John Bruce ordered. - -At the corner of the lane John Bruce turned to Larmon. - -"You are safe, and out of it now," he said. "I am going to ask you to -step into the first store we pass and get me some good light rope, but -after that I think you had better leave us. If anything happened between -here and the steamer, or on the steamer, you would be implicated." - -"Tck!" It was the quill toothpick again. "I'll get the rope with -pleasure," Larmon said calmly; "but I never lay down a good hand. I am -going to the steamer." - -John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. Larmon somehow seemed an abstract -consideration at the moment--but Larmon had had his chance. - -"What time does the steamer sail, Crang?" John Bruce bit off his words, -as he looked at his watch. - -"Four o'clock," Crang mumbled. - -"Walk faster!" - -They stopped for a moment in front of a store. Larmon entered, and came -out again almost immediately with a package under his arm. - -A block farther on John Bruce hailed a passing taxi. - -Fifteen minutes later, pushing through the throng on the dock, John -Bruce produced the ticket, they mounted the gangway, and a steward led -them to a stateroom on one of the lower decks. - -John Bruce closed the door and locked it. His revolver was in his hand -now. - -"There isn't much time left," he said coldly. "About ten minutes." - -At the end of five, Crang, bound hand and foot, and gagged, lay lashed -into his bunk. - -A bugle sounded the "All Ashore!" - -John Bruce tossed the ticket on the couch. - -"There's your ticket!" he said sternly. "I wouldn't advise you to come -back--nor worry any further about exposing Mr. Larmon, unless you -want to force a showdown that will place some very interesting details -connected with the life of Doctor Crang in the hands of the police!" - -The bugle rang out again. - -John Bruce, without a further glance in Crang's direction, opened the -cabin window slightly, then unlocking the door, he motioned Larmon to -pass out. He locked the door on the outside, stepped to the deck, tossed -the key through the window to the floor of Crang's cabin, and drew the -window shut again. A minute more, and with Larmon beside him, he was -standing on the dock. - -Neither John Bruce nor Larmon spoke. - -And presently the tugs caught hold of the big liner and warped her out -of her berth. - -"John Bruce" had sailed for South America. - - - - -CHAPTER NINETEEN--CABIN H-14 - -|FOR a time, Crang lay passive. Fear was dominant. He could move his -head a little, and he kept screwing it around to cast furtive glances -at the cabin door. He was sure that Bruce was still outside there, or -somewhere near--Bruce wouldn't leave the ship until the last moment, -and.... - -The craven soul of the man shrivelled within him. Bruce's eyes! Damn -Bruce's eyes, and that hideous touch of Bruce's pocketed revolver! The -fool would even have killed him back there in the cellar if it hadn't -been for Larmon! He could still feel those strangling fingers at his -throat. - -Mechanically he made to lift his hand to touch the bruised and swollen -flesh--but he could not move his hands because they were bound behind -his back and beneath him. The fool! The fool had _wanted_ to shoot. -Perhaps with Larmon out of the road, and just at the last minute, that -was what he still meant to do--to open the door there, and--and _kill_. -Terror swept upon him. He tried to scream--but a gag was in his mouth. - -What was that? He felt a slight jar, another, and another. He -listened intently. He heard a steady throbbing sound. The ship was -moving--moving! That meant that Bruce was ashore--that he need not fear -that door there. He snarled to himself, suddenly arrogant with courage. -To the devil's pit with John Bruce! - -He began to work at his bonds now--at first with a measure of contained -persistence; and then, as he made no progress, angry impatience came, -and he began to struggle. He tossed now, and twisted himself about on -the bunk, and strained with all his might. The gag choked him. The bonds -but grew the tighter and cut into his wrists. He became a madman in his -frenzy. Passion and fury lashed him on and on. He flogged himself into -effort beyond physical endurance--and finally collapsed through utter -exhaustion, a limp thing bathed in sweat. - -Then he began the struggle again, and after that again. The periods came -in cycles... the insensate fury... exhaustion... recuperation... - -After a time he no longer heard the throbbing of the engines or the -movement of the ship during those moments when he lay passive in -weakness, nor did the desire for freedom, for merely freedom's sake, any -longer actuate him; instead, beneath him, in his pocket, he had felt -the little case that held his hypodermic syringe, and it had brought -the craving for the drug. And the craving grew. It grew until it became -torture, and to satisfy it became the one incentive that possessed -him. It tormented, it mocked him. He could feel it there in his -pocket, always there in his pocket. Hell could not keep him from it. -He blasphemed at the ropes that kept it from his fingers' reach, and -he wrenched and tore at them, and sobbed and snarled--and after long -minutes of maniacal struggle would again lie trembling, drained of the -power either to move or think. - -It grew dark in the cabin. - -And now, in one of his series of struggles, something snapped beneath -him--a cord! One of the cords around his wrists had given away. He tore -one hand free. Yes, yes--he could reach his pocket! Ha, ha--his pocket! -And now his other hand was free. He snatched at the hypodermic syringe -with feverish greed--and the plunger went home as the needle pricked its -way beneath the skin of his forearm. - -He reached up then, unloosened the knots at the back of his head, and -spat the gag from his mouth. His penknife freed his legs. He stood -up--tottered--and sat down on the edge of his bunk. He remained -motionless for a few minutes. The drug steadied him. - -He looked around him. It was dark. The ship was very still; there was no -sense of movement, none of vibration from the engines. It seemed to him -that in a hazy, vague way he had noticed that fact a long time ago. But, -nevertheless, it was very curious! - -He stood up again. This was better! He felt secure enough now on his -feet. It was only as though a great fatigue were upon him, and that he -seemed to be weighted down with lead--nothing more than that. He crossed -to the window, drew the shade, and opened the window itself. - -And then, for a long time, puzzled, his brows drawn together, he stood -there staring out. Close at hand, though but faintly outlined in the -darkness, he could see the shore. And it was not imagination, for beyond -the shore line, he could see innumerable little lights twinkling. - -It was strange! He rubbed his eyes. Here was something else! The window -opened on a narrow, dimly lighted and deserted deck--one of the lower -decks, he remembered. Below this deck, and evidently alongside of the -steamer's hull, he could make out the upper-structure of some small -vessel. - -A figure came along the deck now from the forward end--one of the crew, -Crang could see from the other's dress, as the man drew nearer. Crang -thrust his head out of the window. - -"I say, look here!" he called, as the other came opposite to him. -"What's all this about? Where are we?" - -"Down the bay a bit, that's all, sir," the man answered. "We've had some -engine trouble." - -Crang pointed to the small vessel alongside. A sudden, wild elation -surged upon him. - -"That's a tug down there, isn't it?" he said. "They're going to tow us -back, I suppose?" - -"Oh, no, sir," the man replied. "It's the company's tug, all right, -that they sent down to us, but she'll be going back as soon as we're off -again. It's nothin' serious, and we won't be more'n another hour, sir." - -Crang snarled under his breath. - -"I beg your pardon, sir?" inquired the man. - -"Nothing!" said Crang. "I'm much obliged to you." - -"Thank you, sir," said the man, and went on along the deck. - -Crang returned to his bunk and sat down again on its edge. He could -still see the reflection of the shore lights. This seemed to obsess -him. He kept staring out through the window. Suddenly he chuckled -hoarsely--and then, as suddenly, his fist clenched and he shook it in -the air. - -"Another hour, eh?" he muttered. "Then, I'll get you yet, Bruce--ha, ha, -I'll get you yet! But I'll make sure of Claire _first_ this time! That's -where I made the mistake--but Doctor Sydney Angus Crang doesn't make two -mistakes alike!" - -He relapsed into silent meditation. At the end of five minutes he spoke -again. - -"I'm a clever man," said Doctor Crang between his teeth. "First -Claire--then you, Bruce. And I'll take good care that you know nothing, -Mr. John Bruce--not this time--not until it is too late--both ways! I'll -show you! I'll teach you to pit your clumsy wits against me!" - -He got up from the bunk and turned on a single incandescent light. Bruce -had thrown the key in through the window, he remembered. Yes, there it -was on the floor! He picked it up; and quickly and methodically he began -to work now. He gathered together the pieces of rope with which he -had been bound, tucked them under his coat, and running to the window, -thrust his head outside again. The deck was clear, there was not a soul -in sight. He unlocked the door now, stepped noiselessly out on the deck, -dropped the pieces of rope overboard, and then, returning to the cabin, -smiled ironically as he made a mental note of the number on the cabin -door. - -"H-14," observed Doctor Crang grimly. "Quite so--H-14!" - -He halted before the mirror and removed the more flagrant traces of his -dishevelled appearance; then he took off his coat, flung it on a chair, -pushed the electric button, and returned to his bunk. - -He was sitting up on the edge of the bunk, and yawning, as the steward -answered his summons. - -"Hello, steward!" said Crang somewhat thickly. "I guess I've overslept -myself. Overdid the send-off a little, I'm afraid. What are we stopping -for?" - -"A little engine trouble, sir," the steward answered. "It was right -after we started. We're only a little way down the bay. But it's all -right, sir. Nothing serious. We'll be off again shortly." - -"Humph!" Crang dismissed the subject with a grunt. "I suppose I've -missed my dinner, eh?" - -"Oh, no, sir," replied the steward. "It's only just a little after seven -now, sir." - -"That's better!" smiled Crang. "Well, get my traps right up here, like a -good fellow, and I'll clean up a bit. And hurry, will you?" - -The steward looked a little blank. - -"Your traps, sir?" - -"Luggage--traps--baggage," defined Crang with facetious terseness. - -"Oh, I knew what you meant, sir," said the steward. "It's where your -traps are, sir? I--I thought it a bit strange you didn't have anything -with you when you came aboard this afternoon." - -"Did you, now?" inquired Crang sweetly. "Well, then, the sooner you get -them here the less strange it will seem. Beat it!" - -"But where are they, sir?" persisted the man. "Where are they? Good God, -how do I know!" ejaculated Crang sarcastically. "I sent them down to the -ship early this morning to be put aboard--in your baggage room. You've -got a baggage room aboard, haven't you?" - -"Yes, sir; but----" - -"I would suggest the baggage room, then!" interrupted Crang crisply. -"And if they are not there, ask the captain to let you have any of the -crew who aren't too busy on this engine trouble, and get them to help -you search the ship!" - -The steward grinned. - -"Very good, sir. Would you mind describing the pieces?" - -"There are four," said Crang with exaggerated patience, as he created -the non-existent baggage out of his imagination. "And they have all got -your 'wanted on the voyage' labels, with my name and cabin written on -them--Mr. John Bruce; Cabin H-14. There is a steamer trunk, and two -brown alligator-leather--which I do not guarantee to be genuine in spite -of the price--suit-cases, and a hat box." - -"Very good, sir," said the steward again--and hurried from the cabin. - -Crang got up and went to the window. The tug alongside seemed to furnish -him with engrossing reflections, for he stood there, smiling queerly, -until he swung around in answer to a knock upon his door. - -A man in ship's uniform entered ahead of the steward. - -"The steward here, sir," said the man, "was speaking about your -baggage." - -"_Speaking_ about it!" murmured Crang helplessly. "I told him to get -it." - -"Yes, sir," said the man; "but I am sorry to say that no such baggage as -you describe has come aboard the ship. There has been no baggage at all -for Mr. Bruce, sir." - -"Not aboard!" gasped Crang. "Then--then where is it?" - -"I can't say, sir, of course," said the other sympathetically. "I am -only stating a fact to you." - -"But--but I sent it down to the dock early this morning." Crang's voice -was rising in well-affected excitement. "It must be here! I tell you, it -must be here!" - -The man shook his head. - -"It's my job, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I know positively your -baggage is not aboard this ship." - -"Then what's to be done?" Crang's voice rose louder. "You've left it on -the dock, that's what--fools, thundering idiots!" - -The man with the baggage job looked uncomfortable. - -Crang danced up and down on the floor of the cabin. - -"On the way to South America to stay six months," he yelled insanely, -"and my baggage left behind! I can't go on without my baggage, do you -hear?" - -There was a whispered conference between the two men. The steward -vanished through the doorway. - -"I've sent for the purser, sir," volunteered the other. - -Crang stormed up and down the floor. - -Presently the purser appeared. Crang swung on him on the instant. - -"You've left my baggage behind!" he shouted. "My papers, plans, -everything! I can't go on without them!" He shook his fist. "You'll -either get that baggage here, or get me ashore!" - -The purser eyed Crang's fist, and stiffened perceptibly. - -"I'm not a magician, Mr. Bruce," he said quietly. "I am very sorry -indeed that this should have happened; but it is quite impossible, of -course, to get your baggage here." - -"Then get me ashore!" Crang snatched up his coat and put it on. "There's -a tug, or something, out there, isn't there?" - -"Yes," said the purser, "that's the company's tug, and I suppose you -could go back on her, if you think you----" - -"Think!" howled Crang. "I don't _think_ anything about it! I know -that----" His eye suddenly caught the envelope on the couch containing -the ticket. "And what about this?" He picked it up, jerked out the -ticket, and waved it in the purser's face. - -The purser refused the document. - -"You'll have to see the New York office, sir, about that," he said. - -"I will, will I?" snapped Crang. "Well, that isn't all I'll see them -about!" - -"I am sure they will do what they can, sir, to make things right--if -they are to blame," said the purser a little sharply. "But it might -have been your teamer, you know, who made the mistake." He turned to the -door. "I will arrange about your going ashore, Mr. Bruce." - -"Yes!" growled Crang savagely--and five minutes later, swearing volubly -for the benefit of those within hearing, he wriggled his way down a rope -ladder to the tug's deck. - -A deck hand led him to the pilot house. - -"The captain 'll be along as soon as we start," the man informed him. - -Crang made himself comfortable in a cushioned chair. He sat chuckling -maliciously, as he stared up at the towering hull that twinkled with -lights above him--and then the chuckle died away, and little red spots -came and burned in his sallow cheeks, and his lips worked, and his hands -curled until the nails bit into the palms. - -He lost track of time. - -A man came into the pilot house, and gave the wheel a spin. - -"We're off!" said the man heartily. "You've had tough luck, I hear." - -Crang's fingers caressed his bruised and swollen throat. - -"Yes," said Crang with a thin smile; "but I think somebody is going to -pay the bill--in full." - -The tug was heading toward New York. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY--OUTSIDE THE DOOR - -|HAWKINS very cautiously got out of bed, and consulted his watch. It was -five minutes after nine. He stole to the door and listened. There was no -sound from below. Mrs. Hedges, who had been his jailor all day, had now, -he was fairly certain, finally retired for the night. - -The old blue eyes blinked in perplexity and he scratched at the -fringe of hair behind his ear in a perturbed way, as he began, still -cautiously, to dress. It had been a very dreary day, during which he -had suffered not a little physical discomfort. Mrs. Hedges had been -assiduous in her attentions; more than that, even--motherly. - -"God bless her!" said Hawkins to one of his boots, as he laced it up. -"Only she wouldn't let me out." - -He stopped lacing the boot suddenly, and sat staring in front of him. -Mrs. Hedges had been more than even motherly; she had been--been--yes, -that was it--been puzzling. If she had said Paul Veniza wanted to see -him, why had she insisted that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him? -Hawkins' gaze at the blank wall in front of him became a little more -bewildered. He tried to reconstruct certain fragments of conversation -that had taken place between Mrs. Hedges and himself. - -"Now, you just lie still," Mrs. Hedges had insisted during the -afternoon, when he had wanted to get up. "Claire told me----" - -He remembered the sinking of his heart as he had interrupted her. - -"Claire," he had said anxiously, "Claire ain't--she don't know about -this, does she?" - -"Certainly _not!_" Mrs. Hedges had assured him. - -"But you said she told you something"--Hawkins continued to reconstruct -the conversation--"so she must have been here." - -"Law!" Mrs. Hedges had returned. "I nearly put my foot in it, didn't -I--I--I mean starting you in to worry. Certainly she don't know anything -about it. She just came over to say her father wanted to see you, and I -says to her you ain't feeling very well, and she says it's all right." - -Hawkins resumed his dressing. His mind continued to mull over the -afternoon. Later on he had made another attempt to get up. He was -feeling quite well enough to go over and find out what Paul Veniza -wanted. And then Mrs. Hedges, as though she had quite forgotten what she -had said before, said that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him, or else -he'd send word. - -Hawkins scratched behind his ear again. His head wasn't quite clear. -Maybe he had not got it all quite straight. Suddenly he smiled. Of -course! There wasn't anything to be bewildered about. Mrs. Hedges was -just simply determined that he would not go out--and he was equally -determined that he would. Paul Veniza or not, he had been long enough in -bed! - -"Yes," said Hawkins; "God bless her, that's it!" - -Hawkins completed his toilet, and picking up his old felt hat, -reconnoitered the hallway. Thereafter he descended the stairs with -amazing stealth. - -"God bless her!" said Hawkins softly again, as he gained the front door -without raising any alarm and stepped outside--and then Hawkins halted -as though his feet had been suddenly rooted to the spot. - -At the curb in front of the house was an old closed motor car. Hawkins -stared at it. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at it again. He -stared for a long time. No; there was no doubt about it--it was the -traveling pawn-shop. - -Hawkins' mind harked back to the preceding evening. He had met two men -in the saloon around the corner, whom he had seen there once or twice -before. He had had several drinks with them, and then at some one's -suggestion, he could not recollect whose. There had followed the -purchase of a few bottles, and an adjournment to his room for a -convivial evening. After that his mind was quite blank. He could not -even remember having taken out the car. - -"I--I must have been bad," said Hawkins to himself, with a rueful -countenance. - -He descended the steps, and approached the car with the intention of -running it into the shed that served as garage behind the house. But -again he halted. - -"No," said Hawkins, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the front -door; "if I started it up, Mrs. Hedges would hear me. I guess I'll wait -till I come back." - -Hawkins went on down the street and turned the corner. He had grown a -little dejected. - -"I'm just an old bum," said Hawkins, "who ain't ever going to swear off -any more 'cause it don't do any good." - -He spoke aloud to himself again, as he approached the door of Paul -Veniza's house. - -"But I _am_ her daddy," whispered the old man fiercely; "and she is my -little girl. It don't change nothing her not knowing, except--except -she ain't hiding her face in shame, and"--Hawkins' voice broke a -little--"and that I ain't never had her in these arms like I'd ought to -have." A gleam of anger came suddenly into the watery blue eyes under -the shaggy brows. "But he ain't going to have her in _his!_ That -devil from the pit of hell ain't going to kill the soul of my little -girl--somehow he ain't--that's all I got to live for--old Hawkins--ha, -ha!--somehow old Haw-kins 'll----" - -Hawkins' soliloquy ended abruptly. He was startled to find himself in -the act of opening the front door of the one-time pawn-shop. He even -hesitated, holding the door ajar--and then suddenly he pushed the door -wider open and stepped softly inside, as the sound of a voice, angry and -threatening in its tones, though strangely low and muffled, reached him. -He knew that voice. It was Doctor Crang's. - -It was dark here in the room that had once been the office of the -pawn-shop, and upon which the front door opened directly; but from under -the door leading into the rear room there showed a thread of light, and -it was from there that Hawkins now placed the voice. - -He stood irresolute. He stared around him. Upstairs it was dark. -Paul Veniza, because he had not been well, had probably gone to bed -early--unless it was Paul in there with Crang. No! He caught the sound -of Claire's voice now, and it seemed to come to him brokenly, in a -strangely tired, dreary way. And then Crang's voice again, and an ugly -laugh. - -The wrinkled skin of Hawkins' old weather-beaten hands grew taut and -white across the knuckles as his fists clenched. He tiptoed toward the -door. He could hear distinctly now. It was Crang speaking: - -"... I'm not a fool! I did not speak about it to make you lie again. I -don't care where you met him, or how long you had been lovers before he -crawled in here. That's nothing to do with it. It's enough that I know -you were lovers before that night. But you belong to me now. Understand? -I spoke of it because the sooner you realize that _you_ are the one who -is the cause of the trouble between Bruce and me, the better--_for him!_ -I wasn't crowding you before, but I'm through fooling with it now for -keeps. I let you go too long as it is. To-day, for just a little while, -he won out--yes, by God, if you want the truth, he nearly killed me. He -got me tied in a cabin of a ship that sailed this afternoon for South -America; but the engines broke down in the harbor, and, damn him, I'm -back! You know what for. I've told you. There's one way to save him. -I've told you what that is, too. I'm waiting for your answer." - -"Why should it be me?" Claire's voice was dull and colorless. "Why -cannot you leave me alone--I, who hate and loathe you? Do you look for -happiness with me? There will be none." - -"Why should it be you?" Crang's voice was suddenly hoarse with passion. -"Because you have set my brain on fire, because you have filled me with -a madness that would mock God Himself if He stood between us. Do you -understand--Claire? Claire! Do you understand? Because I want you, -because I'm going to have you, because I'm going to own you--yes, -_own_ you, one way or another--by marriage, or----" - -A low cry came from Claire. It tore at Hawkins' heart in its bitter -shame and anguish. His face blanched. - -"Well, you asked for it, and you got it!" Crang snarled. "Now, I'm -waiting for your answer." - -There was a long pause, then Claire spoke with an obvious effort to -steady her voice: - -"Have I got to buy him _twice?"_ - -"You haven't bought him _once_ yet," Crang answered swiftly. "I -performed my part of the bargain. I haven't been paid." - -And Hawkins, standing there, listening, heard nothing for a long time; -and then he distinguished Claire's voice, but it was so low that he -could not catch the words. But he heard Crang's reply because it was -loud with what seemed like passionate savagery and triumph: - -"You're wise, my dear! At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, then. And -since Mr. John Bruce's skin is involved in this, you quite understand -that he is not to be communicated with in any way?" - -"I understand." Hawkins this time caught the almost inaudible reply. - -"All right!" Crang said. "There's a padre I know, who's down on Staten -Island now. We'll go down there and be married without any fuss. I'll be -here at eight o'clock. Your father isn't fit to ride in that rattle-trap -old bus of yours. I'll have a comfortable limousine for him, and you can -go with him. Hawkins can drive me, and"--he was laughing softly--"and be -my best man. I'll see that he knows about it in time to----" - -Like a blind man, Hawkins was groping his way toward the front door. -Married! They were to be married to-morrow morning! - -He found himself on the street. He hurried. Impulse drove him along. He -did not reason. His mind was a tortured thing. And yet he laughed as he -scurried around the corner, laughed in an unhinged way, and raised both -hands above his head and pounded at the air with his doubled fists. They -were to be married to-morrow morning, and he--he was to be _best man_. -And as he laughed, his once ruddy, weather-beaten face was white as a -winding-sheet, and in the whiteness there was stamped a look that it was -good on no man's face to see. - -And then suddenly two great tears rolled down his cheeks, opening the -flood gates of his soul. - -"My little girl!" he sobbed. "Daddy's little girl!" - -And reason and a strange calmness came. - -"John Bruce," he said. "He loves her too." - -And in front of Mrs. Hedges' rooming-house he climbed into the driver's -seat of the old traveling pawn-shop. - -It didn't matter now how much noise he made. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE--THE LAST CHANCE - -|JOHN BRUCE closed the door of Larmon's suite, and, taking the elevator, -went up to his own room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, two floors above. -Here, he flung himself almost wearily into a chair. Larmon had gone to -bed; but bed offered no appeal to him, John Bruce, in spite of the fact -that he was conscious of great mental fatigue. Bed without sleep was -a horror, and his spirits were too depressed to make sleep even a -possibility. - -From a purely selfish standpoint, and he admitted to utter selfishness -now, it had been a hollow victory. Crang was gone, disposed of, and as -far as Larmon was concerned the man no longer existed, for if Crang had -held certain intimate knowledge of Larmon's life over Larmon's head, -Larmon was now in exactly the same position in respect to Crang. And -Crang, too, for the time being at least, was no longer a factor in -Claire's life. - -He smiled grimly to himself. Hollow! The victory had been sweeping, -complete, conclusive--for every one but himself! He had not even waited -to leave the dock before he had telephoned Claire. And Claire had---- He -rose suddenly and began to walk feverishly up and down the room. Hollow! -He laughed out shortly. She had curtly refused to talk to him. - -He had only meant to telephone to say that he was on the way up to -her house, and he had managed to say that much--and she had coldly, -contemptuously informed him that she would not be at home, and had hung -up the receiver. She had given him no opportunity to say any more. - -It was not like Claire. It had been so unexpected that he had left the -dock mentally dazed. The sight of the liner out in the stream had seemed -to mock him ironically. After that, until now, he had followed the line -of least resistance. He had come back here to the hotel, and dined with -Larmon. - -He stood still in the middle of the room. Larmon! It had been a singular -evening that he had just spent with Larmon. He had got a new viewpoint -on Larmon--a strange, grave, sympathetic Larmon. He had given Larmon the -details of everything that had happened; and Larmon had led him on to -talk--of everything, and anything, it seemed now, as he looked back upon -it. And somehow, he could not tell why, even while he felt that Larmon -was drawing him out, urging him even to speak of Claire and the most -intimate things of the last few weeks, he had been glad to respond. It -was only when Larmon for a little while had discussed his great chain of -gambling houses that he, John Bruce, had felt curiously detached from it -all and estranged from the other, as though he were masquerading as -some one else, as some one whom Larmon believed to be John Bruce, and as -though he in his true self had no interest in these matters any -longer in a personal sense, as though his connection with them had -automatically ceased with the climax of Crang's removal. It was queer! -But then his mind had been obsessed, elsewhere. And yet here, too, he -had been frank with Larmon--frank enough to admit the feelings that -had prompted him to refrain from actual play only two nights before. He -remembered the quick little tattoo of Larmon's quill toothpick at this -admission, and Larmon's tight little smile. - -Yes, it had been a singular evening! In those few hours he seemed to -have grown to know Larmon as though he had known the man all his life, -to be drawn to Larmon in a personal way, to admire Larmon as a man. -There was something of debonair sang-froid about Larmon. He had made -no fuss over his escape that day, and much less been effusive in any -thanks. Larmon's philosophy of life was apparently definitely fixed and -settled; and, in so far as Larmon was concerned, satisfactorily so. The -whole world to Larmon was a gamble--and, consistently enough, his own -activities in that respect were on as vast a scale as possible. - -Larmon with his unemotional face and his quill toothpick! No; not -unemotional! When Larmon had finally pleaded fatigue and a desire to -go to bed, there had been something in Larmon's face and Larmon's -"good-night," that still lingered with him, John Bruce, and which even -now he could not define. - -John Bruce's brows gathered into tight furrows. His mind had flown off -at a tangent. There was Claire! It had not been like Claire. Nor had he -meant, nor did he intend now to accept her dismissal as final. But -what was it that had happened? What was it? He could think of only one -thing--the letter he had written to Larmon, and which, on that account, -he had asked for and received back from the other. - -It was a certainty that Crang's hand was in this somewhere, and Crang -had said that he had shown the letter to Claire, but---- - -The telephone rang. - -John Bruce stepped to the desk, and picked up the instrument. - -"Yes? Hello!" he said. - -The clerk's voice from the office answered him: - -"There's a man down here, Mr. Bruce, who insists on seeing you. He's -pretty seedy, and looks as though he had been on a bat for a week. I'm -sorry to bother you, but we can't get rid of him. He says his name is -Hawkins." - -"Send him up at once!" said John Bruce sharply. - -"Yes, sir." The clerk coughed deprecatingly. "Very well, Mr. Bruce. -Thank you." - -Hawkins! John Bruce walked to the door of his suite, and opened it. He -looked at his watch. It was getting on now to eleven o'clock. What on -earth had brought Hawkins up here to the Bayne-Miloy at this hour? He -smiled a little grimly as he stood waiting on the threshold, and the -recollection of the night before last came back to him. Well, at least, -he was safe to-night from any kidnaping through the medium of Hawkins! - -The elevator door clanged a little way down the corridor, and Hawkins, -followed by a bell boy, stepped out. - -"This way, Hawkins!" John Bruce called--and dismissed the bell boy with -a wave of his hand. - -And then, as Hawkins reached the door, John Bruce stared in amazement, -and for a moment absolved the clerk for his diagnosis. Hawkins' face -was like parchment, devoid of color; his hands, twisting at the old felt -hat, trembled as with the ague; and the blue eyes, fever-burned they -seemed, stared out in a fixed way from under the shaggy brows. - -John Bruce pulled the old man inside the apartment, and closed the door. - -"Good Lord, Hawkins!" he exclaimed anxiously. "What's the matter with -you?" - -Hawkins caught at John Bruce's arm. - -"It's to-morrow morning," he said hoarsely. "Tomorrow morning at eight -o'clock." - -"What is?" inquired John Bruce. He forced the old cabman gently into a -chair. "You're upset, Hawkins. Here--wait! I'll get you something." - -But Hawkins held him back. - -"I don't want a drink." There was misery, bitterness, in Hawkins' voice. -"I don't want a drink--for once. It's come! It--it's come to the end -now. Crang and--and my little girl are going to be married to-morrow -morning." - -And then John Bruce laughed quietly, and laid his hand reassuringly on -the old cabman's shoulder. - -"No, Hawkins," he said. "I don't know where you got that idea; but -it won't be to-morrow morning, nor for a good many to-morrow mornings -either. Crang at the present moment is on board a ship on his way to -South America." - -"I know," said Hawkins dully. "But half an hour ago I left him with -Claire in Paul Veniza's house." - -John Bruce's hand tightened on Hawkins' shoulder until the old man -winced. - -"You what?" John Bruce cried out. - -"Yes," said Hawkins. "I heard him talking about it in the back room. -They didn't know I was there. He said there was something the matter -with the engines." - -Crang back! John Bruce's face was set as chiselled marble. - -"Do you know what you are saying, Hawkins?" he demanded fiercely, as -though to trample down and sweep aside by the brute force of his own -incredulity the other's assertion. "Do you know what you are saying--_do -you?"'_ - -"Yes, I know," said Hawkins helplessly. "He said you nearly killed him -to-day, and----" - -John Bruce's laugh, with a savagery that had him now at its mercy and in -its grip, rang suddenly through the room. - -"Then, for once, he told the truth!" he cried. "He tricked me cold with -that old bus last night, and trapped me in the rats' hole where his gang -holds out, but----" - -Hawkins stumbled to his feet. His face seemed to have grown grayer -still, more haggard and full of abject misery. - -"That's it, then!" he whispered. "I--I understand now. I was drunk last -night. Oh, my God, I'm to blame for this, too!" - -John Bruce pushed Hawkins almost roughly back into his chair. Last night -was gone. It was of no significance any more. - -"Never mind about that!" he said between his teeth. "It doesn't matter -now. Nothing matters now except Claire. Go on, tell me! What does -it mean? To-morrow morning, you said. Why this sudden decision about -to-morrow morning?" - -Hawkins' lips seemed dry. He circled them again and again with his -tongue. - -"He said you nearly killed him to-day, as I--I told you," said Hawkins, -fumbling for his words. "And he said that you had been lovers before -that night when you were stabbed, and that he wasn't going to stand for -it any longer, and--and"--Hawkins' voice broke--"and that she belonged -to him. And he said she was the only one who could stop this trouble -between you and him before it was too late, and that was by marrying him -at once. And--and Claire said she would." - -Hawkins stopped. His old felt hat was on his knees, and he twisted at it -aimlessly with shaking fingers. - -John Bruce stood motionless. - -"Go on!" he bit off his words. - -"That's all," said Hawkins, "except he made her promise not to let -you know anything about it. They're going to leave the house to-morrow -morning, and are going down to Staten Island to get married because -there's some minister down there he knows, Crang said. And I'm to take -Crang, and--and"--the old man turned away his face--"I--I'm to be best -man. That--that's what he said--best man." - -John Bruce walked abruptly to the window, and stared blindly out into -the night. His brain seemed afire. - -For a time neither man spoke. - -"You said you loved her," said Hawkins at last. "I came to you. There -wasn't any other place to go. Paul Veniza can't do anything." - -John Bruce turned from the window, and walking to - -Hawkins, laid his two hands on the other's shoulders. He was calmer now. - -"Yes, I love her," he said huskily. "And I think--I am not sure--but I -think now there is a chance that she can be made to change her mind even -here at the last minute. But that means I must see her; or, rather, that -she must see me." - -Hawkins paused in the twisting of his felt hat to raise bewildered eyes. - -"I've got the car here," he said. "I'll take you down." - -"The car!" exclaimed John Bruce quickly. "Yes, I never thought of that! -Listen, Hawkins! Claire refused to see me this afternoon, or even to -talk to me over the telephone. I am not quite sure why. But no matter -what her reason was, I must see her now at once. I have something to -tell her that I hope will persuade her not to go on with this to-morrow -morning--or ever." His voice was growing grave and hard. "I hope you -understand, Hawkins. I believe it may succeed. If it fails, then neither -you nor I, nor any soul on earth can alter her decision. That's all that -I can tell you now." - -Hawkins nodded his head. A little color, eagerness, hope, had come into -his face. - -"That's enough," he said tremulously, "as long as you--you think there -is a chance even yet. And--and you do, don't you?" - -"Yes," said John Bruce, "I think there is more than a chance--if I can -see her alone and make her listen to me. The car will be just the thing. -But she would refuse to come out, if she knew I were in it. I depend -on you for that. We'll drive down there, and you will have to make some -excuse to get her to come with you. After that you can keep on driving -us around the block until I either win or lose." - -Hawkins rose hurriedly to his feet. - -"Let us go, John Bruce! For God's sake, let us go!" he cried eagerly. -"I'll--I'll tell her Mrs. Hedges--that's my landlady--has got to see her -at once. She'll come quick enough." - -John Bruce put on his hat and coat, and without a word led the way -to the door--but at the door he paused for an instant. There was -Larmon--and Crang was back. And then he shook his head in quick -decision. There was time enough later. It would serve no purpose to tell -Larmon now, other than the thankless one of giving Larmon a restless -night. - -John Bruce went on. He did not speak again until, outside the hotel, he -stepped into the traveling pawnshop as Hawkins opened the car door for -him. - -"You will have to make sure that Crang has gone," he said quietly. -"Don't stop in front of the house, Hawkins." - -"I'll make sure," whispered Hawkins, as he climbed to his seat. "Oh, my -God, my little girl!" - -The old car jolted forward. John Bruce's face was set again in hard, -chiselled lines. He tried to think--but now his brain seemed curiously -impotent, as though it groped through chaos and through turmoil only to -stagger back bewildered, defeated, a wounded thing. And for a time it -was like that, as he sat there swaying with the lurch of the speeding -car, one thought impinging fast upon another only to be swallowed up so -quickly in turn by still another that he could correlate-no one of them. - -And then, after a little time again, out of this strange mental strife -images began to take form, as sharply defined and distinct one from -the other as before they had been mingled in hopeless confusion--and he -cried out aloud in sudden agony of soul. It was to save his life that -this had happened. He had wrung that knowledge from Crang. That was the -lever he meant to use with Claire now, and it _must_ succeed. He must -make it succeed! It seemed to drive him mad now, that thought--that -to-morrow morning she should die for him. Not physical death--worse than -that! God! It was unthinkable, horrible, abominable. It seemed to flaunt -and mock with ruthless, hell-born sacrilege what was holiest in his -heart. It stirred him to a fury that brought him to his feet, his fists -clenched. Claire in her purity--at the mercy of a degenerate beast! - -He dropped back on the seat. He battled for calmness. In a little while -Claire would be here beside him--_for a little while_. He shook his -head. This was not real, nothing of his life had been real since that -moon-mad night on the sands of Apia. No; that was not true! Soul, -mind and body rose up in fierce denial. His love was real, a living, -breathing, actual reality, Claire---- - -John Bruce sank his face in his hands. Hours seemed to pass. And then he -was conscious that the car had stopped. He roused himself, and drawing -the window curtain slightly, looked out. Hawkins had stopped a few -houses down past the one-time pawnshop. - -John Bruce rose suddenly and changed his seat to the one in the far -opposite corner, his back to the front of the car. The time seemed -interminable. Then he heard a light footstep ring on the pavement, and -he heard Hawkins' voice. The car door was opened, a dark form entered, -sat down, the door closed, and the car started forward. - -It was strange! It was like that, here in this car, that he had stepped -in one night and found Claire--as she would now find him. That was -so long ago! And it seemed so long too since even he had last seen -her--since that night when, piqued so unwarrantably, he had left Paul -Veniza's house. He felt his hands tremble. He steadied himself. He did -not want to frighten or startle her now. - -"Claire!" he said softly. - -He heard a slight, quick rustle of garments--and then the light in the -car was flashed on. - -She was leaning tensely forward, a little figure with loose cloak flung -over her shoulders, without hat, a wondrous sheen from the light on the -dark, silken hair, her eyes wide, her finger still on the electric-light -button. - -"You!" she cried sharply. "And Hawkins, too, in this!" - -She reached for the door handle; but John Bruce caught her hand. - -"Claire!" he pleaded hoarsely. "Wait! If it is a trick, at least you -know that with Hawkins and me you will come to no harm. What else could -I do? You would not speak to me this afternoon, you would not let me see -you, and I must talk to you to-night." - -She looked at him steadily. - -_"Must?"_ she repeated coldly. "And to-night? Why to-night?" - -"Because," John Bruce answered quickly, "to-morrow would be too late. I -know about to-morrow morning. Hawkins told me. He was outside the door -of that room when Crang was talking to you to-night." She sank back -in her seat with a little cry. Her face had gone white--but again she -steadied herself. - -"And--and do you think that is any reason why you should have inveigled -me into this car?" she asked dully. "Do you think that anything you can -say will alter--to-morrow morning?" - -"Yes; I do!" said John Bruce earnestly. "But"--he smiled a little -bitterly--"I am afraid, too, that it will be hopeless enough if first -you will not tell me what has so suddenly come between us. Claire, what -is it?" - -The dark eyes lighted with a glint, half angry, half ironical. - -"Is _that_ what you brought me here for?" - -"No," he said quietly. - -"Then," she said coolly, "if you do not know, I will tell you. I read -a letter that you wrote to a certain Mr. Larmon." - -It was a long minute before he spoke. - -"I--I thought it might be that," he said slowly. "I knew you had -seen it. Crang told me so. And--and I was afraid you might believe -it--Claire." - -"Believe it!" she returned monotonously. "Had I any choice? Have I any -now? I knew you were in danger. I knew it was written to save your life. -I knew it was your handwriting. I knew you wrote it." She turned away -her head. "It was so miserable a lie, so cowardly a betrayal--to save -your life." - -"But so hard to believe, and so bitter a thing to believe"--there was a -sudden eager thrill in John Bruce's voice--"that you wept upon it. Look, -Claire!" he cried. "I have that letter here--and this, that I took from -Crang to-day when I turned the tables on him. See! Read them both!" He -took from his pocket the letter and the slip cut from the bottom of the -sheet, and laid them in her lap. "The bottom was written in invisible -ink--the way always communicated privately with Larmon. Salt brings it -out. I knew Larmon would subject it to the test, so I was willing to -write anything that Crang dictated. I wrote that secret message on the -bottom of the paper while Crang was out of the room where he had me a -prisoner. Oh, don't you see now, Claire? When your tears fell on the -paper faint traces of the secret writing began to appear. That gave -Crang the clew, and he worked at it until he had brought out the -message, and then he cut off the bottom before delivering the letter to -Larmon, and----" - -John Bruce stopped. Claire's face was buried in the cushions, and, -huddled in the corner of the car, she was sobbing bitterly. - -"Don't! Don't cry, Claire!" John Bruce whispered, and laid his hand over -hers where it crushed the letter in her lap. - -"I believed it," she said. "I did you that wrong. There is no -forgiveness for such meanness of soul as that." - -"No," John Bruce answered gently, "there is no forgiveness--because -there is nothing to forgive. It was only another piece of that miserable -hound's cunning that tricked us both. I did not appreciate what he was -after in that reference to you; I thought he was only trying to make the -letter bullet-proof in its plausibility for Larmon's benefit--I never -thought that he would show it to you." - -She had not drawn her hand away, but her face was still hidden; and for -a moment there was silence between them. - -"Claire," John Bruce said in a low voice, "the night I left your house -you said that, rather than regretting your promise to marry Crang, you -had come to be glad you had made it. Can you still say that?" - -She lifted her face now, tear-stained, the brown eyes strangely radiant -through the wet lashes. - -"Yes," she said. "I am glad. So glad--because I know now that it was -worth it all so many, many times over." - -"Claire"--his voice was lower still--"I left your house that night, -angry, jealous, misjudging you because you had said that. You asked for -forgiveness a minute ago when there was nothing to forgive; I asked for -forgiveness from you after that night, but even then I did not know how -far beyond the right to forgiveness I had gone." - -She stared at him in a startled way. - -"What--what do you mean?" she breathed. - -And now John Bruce's face was alight. - -"You have confessed your love, Claire!" he cried passionately. "It was -not fair, perhaps, but I am past all that now--and you would not have -confessed it in any other way. Glad! I was a stranger that night when -you bought my life--and to-night you are glad, not because my life is -now or ever could be worth such a sacrifice as yours, but because love -has come to make you think so, sweetheart, and you care--you care for -me." - -"You know!" Her face was deathly white. "You know about--about that -night?" she faltered. - -John Bruce had both her hands imprisoned now. - -"Yes; I know!" He laughed with a strange buoyancy; passion, triumph, -were vibrant in his voice. "Did Crang not tell you how near to death he -came to-day? I choked the truth out of him. Yes; I know! I know that it -was to save my life you made that promise, that you sold everything you -held dear in life for me--but it is over now!" - -He was beside her. He raised her two hands to draw her arms around his -neck. - -She struggled back. - -"No, no!" she cried wildly. "Oh, you must not--you must not!" - -"Must not!" His voice rang his challenge to the world. The blood was -pounding in mad abandon through his veins. His soul itself seemed -aflame. Closer, closer he drew her to him. "Must not! There is only you -and me--and our love--on all the earth!" - -But still she struggled---and then suddenly the tears came. - -"Oh, you are so strong--so strong," she sobbed--and like some weary -child finding rest her head dropped upon his shoulder and lay hidden -there. - -"Claire! Claire!" It was his soul that spoke. - -He kissed the silken hair, and fondled it; and kissed the tear-wet eyes; -and his cheek lay against hers; and she was in his arms, and he held her -there tight-clasped so that she might never go again. - -And after a time she sobbed no more; and her hand, lifting, found his -face and touched it gently, and creeping upward, brushed the hair back -from his forehead--and then suddenly she clung to him with all her -strength and drew his head down until her lips met his. - -And there was no world about them, and time was non-existent, and only -they two lived. - -It was Claire at last who put his arms from her in a wistful, lingering -way. - -"We have been mad for a little while," she whispered. "Take me back home -now, John--and--and you must never try to see me again." - -And something seemed to grow chill and cold within John Bruce's heart. - -"Not that, Claire!" he cried out. "You do not mean that--that, after -this, you will go on with--with tomorrow morning!" - -A brave little effort at a smile quivered on her lips. - -"We have had our hour, John," she said; "yours and mine. It can never be -taken from us, and I shall live in it all my life; but it is over now. -Yes; I shall go through with it to-morrow morning. There is no other -way. I must keep my promise." - -"No!" he cried out again. "It shall never be! Claire, you cannot -mean what you are saying! A promise like that! It was forced upon you -inhumanly, horribly. He would have murdered me." - -"But to-night you are alive," she answered quietly. - -"Alive! Yes!" he said fiercely. "I am alive, and----" - -"It is because you are alive that I promised," she broke in gently. "He -kept his word. I cannot break mine." - -"Alive!" John Bruce laughed now in sudden, bitter agony. "Alive--yes! -And do you think that I can walk about the streets, and talk, and -smile, and suck the honey out of life, while you have paid for it with a -tortured soul? Claire, you shall not! That man is---- No, wait! There is -myself. He called me a snivelling hypocrite. You shall know the worst of -me before you know the worst of him. There is not much to tell--because -he has told you. I am a gambler. All my life I've gambled. As far back -as I can remember I've been a rolling stone. My life has been useless, -utterly worthless. But I was never ashamed of it; I never saw any reason -to be ashamed until you came into my life. It hasn't been the same since -then '--and it will never be the same again. You have given me something -to live for now, Claire." - -She shook her head. "You do not argue well," she said softly. "If I have -brought this to you, John, I am so glad--so glad for this, too. Oh, I -cannot tell you how glad I am, for, because I loved you, the knowledge -of what your life was hurt me. But I had faith in you, John, as I always -shall have. So don't you see"--the brave little smile came again--"that -this is a reward, something tangible and great, to make still more worth -while the promise that I made?" - -He stared at her. He swept his hand across his eyes. She seemed--she -seemed to be slipping away from him--beyond--beyond his reach. - -"That man!" he said desperately. "You said you knew him--but you do not -know him. He is the head and front and brains of a gang of crooks. -I know! He held me a prisoner in their dirty lair, a hidden place, a -cellar over in the slums--like rats they were. He is a criminal, and a -dangerous one--while he masquerades with his medicine. God alone knows -the crimes, if there are any, that he has not committed. He is a foul, -unclean and filthy thing, debauched and dissolute, a moral leper. -Claire, do you understand all this--that his life is pollution and -defilement, that love to him is lust, that your innocence----" - -With a broken, piteous cry, Claire stopped him. - -And again he stared at her. She did not speak, but in her eyes he read -the torment of a far greater and fuller appreciation of the price than -he, he knew, though it turned his soul sick within him, could ever have. - -And suddenly he covered his face with his hands. - -"Bought!" he said brokenly in his agony. "Oh, my God, this has bought -me!" - -He felt his hands drawn away, and her two palms laid upon his cheeks. He -looked at her. How white she was! - -"Help me, John," she said steadily. "Don't--don't make it harder." - -She reached out and touched the bell button beside the seat. In a -subconscious way he remembered that was the signal for Hawkins to bring -the traveling pawn-shop to the end of its circuit around the block in -its old-time trips to Persia. He made no effort to stop her. There -was something of ultimate finality in her face and eyes that answered, -before it was uttered, the question that stumbled on his lips. - -"Claire! Claire!" he pleaded wildly. "Will nothing change you?" - -"There is no other way," she said. - -He stretched out his arms to draw her to him again, to lay her head once -more upon his shoulder--but now she held him back. - -"No!" she whispered. "Be merciful now, John--my strength is almost -gone." - -And there was something in her voice that held him from the act. - -The car stopped. - -And then, as the door was opened and she stood up, suddenly she leaned -swiftly forward and pressed her lips to his--and springing from the car, -was gone. - -John Bruce groped his way out of the car. Across the sidewalk the -door of Paul Veniza's house closed. Hawkins, standing by the car door, -clutched at his arm. And Hawkins' hand was trembling violently. Slowly -his eyes met Hawkins'. - -He shook his head. - -The old lined face seemed to gray even in the murky light of a distant -street lamp. - -"I'd rather see her dead," said the old cab driver brokenly. - -John Bruce made no answer. - -Then Hawkins, gulping his words, spoke again: - -"I--where'll I drive you?" - -John Bruce started blindly on past Hawkins down the street. - -"Nowhere," he said. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO--THROUGH THE NIGHT - -|A GAUNT and haggard figure stalked through the night; around him only -shuttered windows, darkened houses, and deserted streets. The pavements -rang hollow to the impact of his boot-heels. Where the way lay open -he went. But always he walked, walked incessantly, without pause, -hurrying--nowhere. - -There was a raw, biting chill in the air, and his hands, ungloved, as -they swung at his sides, were blue with cold. But sweat in great beads -stood out upon his forehead. At times his lips moved and he spoke aloud. -It was a hoarse sound. - -"Or him!" he said. "Or him!" - -On! Always on! There was no rest. It was ceaseless. The gray came into -the East. - -And then at last the figure halted. - -There was a large window with wire grating, and a light burned within. -In the window was a plate mirror, and a time-piece. It was a jeweler's -window. - -The man looked at the time-piece. It was five o'clock. He looked at the -mirror. It reflected the face of a young man grown old. The eyes burned -deep in their sockets; the lines were hard, without softness; the skin -was tightly drawn across the cheek bones, and was colorless. And he -stared at the face, stared for a time without recognition. And then -as he smiled and the face in the mirror smiled with him in a distorted -movement of the lips, he swept his hand across his eyes. - -"John Bruce," he said. - -It seemed to arouse him from some mental absorption in which his -physical entity had been lost. It was five o'clock, and he was John -Bruce. At eleven o'clock--or was it twelve?--last night he had left -Hawkins standing by the door of the traveling pawn-shop, and since -then---- - -He stared around him. He was somewhere downtown. He did not know where. -He began to walk in an uptown direction. - -Something had been born in those hours. Something cataclysmic. What was -it? - -"Or him!" The words came again--aloud--without apparent volition. - -What did that mean? It had something to do with Hawkins; with what -Hawkins had said, standing there by the traveling pawn-shop. What was it -Hawkins had said? Yes; he remembered: "I'd rather see her dead." - -"Or him!" - -With cold judicial precision now the hours unrolled themselves before -him. - -"Or him!" - -He was going to kill Crang. - -The hours of mental strife, of torment through which he had just passed, -were as the memory of some rack upon which his soul had been put to -torture. They came back vividly now, those hours--every minute of them a -living eternity. His soul had shrunk back aghast at first, and called it -murder; but it was not murder, or, if it was, it was imperative. It was -the life of a foul viper--or Claire's. It was the life of an unclean -thing that mocked and desecrated all decency, that flung its sordid -challenge at every law, both human and divine--or the life of a pure, -clean soul made the plaything of this beast, and dragged into a mire -of unutterable abomination to suffocate and strangle in its noxious -surroundings and die. - -And that soul was in jeopardy because at this moment he, John Bruce, had -the power of movement in his limbs, the sense of sight, the ability to -stretch out his hand and feel it touch that lamp-post there, and, if -he would, to speak aloud and designate that object for what it was--a -lamp-post. She had bought him these things with her life. Should she -die--and he live? - -And he remembered back through those hours since midnight, when his soul -had still faltered before the taking of human life, how it had sought -some other way, some alternative, _any_ alternative. A jail sentence -for Crang. There was enough, more than enough now with the evidence of -Crang's double life, to convict the man for the robbery of that safe. -But Claire had answered that in the long ago: "I will marry him when he -comes out." Or, then, to get Crang away again like this afternoon--no, -_yesterday_ afternoon. It was _this_ morning, in a few hours, that they -were to be married. There was no time left in which to attempt anything -like that; but, even if there were, he knew now, that it but postponed -the day of reckoning. Claire would wait. Crang would come back. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -If he didn't, Crang would kill him. He knew that, too. But his -decision was not actuated, or even swayed, by any consideration of -self-preservation. He had no thought of his future or his safety. That -was already settled. With his decision was irrevocably coupled the -forfeiting of his own life. Not his own life! It belonged to Claire. -Claire had bought it. He was only giving it back that the abysmal price -she had agreed to pay should not be extorted from her. Once he had -accomplished his purpose, he would give himself up to the police. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -That was what had been born out of the travail of those hours of the -night. But there were other things to do first. He walked briskly now. -The decision in itself no longer occupied his thoughts. The decision -was absolute; it was final. It was those "other things" that he must -consider now. There was Larmon. He could not tell Larmon what he, John -Bruce, was going to do, but he must warn Larmon to be on his guard -against any past or present connection with John Bruce coming to light. -Fortunately Larmon had come to New York and registered as Peters. He -must make Larmon understand that Larmon and John Bruce had never met, -even if he could not give Larmon any specific reason or explanation. -Larmon would probably refuse at first, and attribute it as an attempt to -break, for some ulterior reason, the bond they had signed together that -night on the beach at Apia. - -John Bruce smiled gravely. The bond would be broken in any case. -Faustus was at the end of the play. A few months in prison, the electric -chair--how apt had been his whistling of that aria _in his youth!_ - -Youth! Yes, he was old now; he had been young that night on the beach at -Apia. - -He took off his hat and let the sharp air sweep his head. He was not -thinking clearly. All this did not express what he meant. There was -Larmon's safety. He must take care of that; see to it, first of all, -that Larmon could not be implicated, held by law as an accomplice -through foreknowledge of what was to happen; then, almost of as great -importance for Larmon's sake and future, the intimacy between them, -their business relations of the past, must never be subjected to the -probe of the trial that was to come. - -John Bruce nodded his head sharply. Yes, that was better! But there was -still something else--that bond. He knew to-night, even if prison -walls and a death penalty were not about to nullify that bond far more -effectively than either he or Larmon ever could, that the one thing -he wanted now, while yet he was a free agent, while yet it was not -arbitrarily his choice, was to cancel that agreement which was so -typical of what his life up to the present time had always stood for; -and in its cancellation, for what little time was left, to have it -typify, instead, a finer manhood. The future, premonitive, grim in its -promise, seemed to hold up before him as in a mirror where no lines were -softened, where only the blunt, brutal truth was reflected, the waste -and worthlessness of the past. He had no wish to evade it, or temporize -with it, or seek to palliate it. He knew only a vain and bitter regret; -knew only the desire now at the end, in so far as he could, to face -death a changed man. - -He walked on and on. He was getting into the uptown section now. How -many miles he must have covered since he had left Hawkins, and since -the door of the one-time pawn-shop had closed on that little bare-headed -figure with the loose cloak clutched about her throat--the last sight -he had had of Claire! How many miles? He did not know. It must have been -many, very many. But he felt no weariness. It was strange! It was -as though his vitality and energy flowed into him from some wholly -extraneous source; and as though physically he were non-existent. - -He wondered what Larmon would say. Larmon alone had the right to cancel -the bond. That was the way it had been written. Would Larmon refuse? He -hoped not, because he wanted to part with Larmon as a friend. He hoped -not, though in the final analysis, in a practical way, Larmon's refusal -must be so futile a thing. Would Larmon laugh at him, and, not knowing, -call him a fool? He shook his head. He did not know. At least Larmon -would not be surprised. The conversation of last evening---- - -John Bruce looked up. He was at the entrance to the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. -He entered, nodded mechanically to the night clerk, stepped into the -elevator, and went up to his room. There was his revolver to be got. -Afterward he would go down to Larmon's room. Somehow, even in the face -of that other thing which he was to do, this interview which was to -come with Larmon obsessed him. It seemed to signify some vital line of -demarcation between the old life and the new. - -The new I He smiled grimly, without mirth, as, entering his room, -he switched on the light, stepped quickly to his desk, pulled open a -drawer, and took out his revolver. The new! There would be very little -of the new! He laughed now in a low, raucous way, as he slipped the -weapon into his pocket. The new! A few weeks, a few months of a prison -cell, and then---- His laugh died away, and a half startled, half -perplexed look settled on his face. For the first time he noticed that -a letter, most obviously placed to attract his attention, lay on the -center of the desk pad. Strange, he had not seen it instantly! - -He stared at it now. It was a plain envelope, unstamped, and addressed -to him. The writing was familiar too! Larmon's! He picked it up, opened -it--and from the folds of the letter, as he drew it from the envelope, -four torn pieces of paper fluttered to the desk. And for a long time, -in a dazed way, he gazed at them. The letter dropped from his hand. -Then mechanically he pieced the four scraps together. It was one of the -leaves torn from Larmon's notebook that night in Apia--and here was the -heavy scrawl where he, John Bruce, had signed with the quill toothpick. -It was Larmon's copy of the bond. - -And again for a long time he stared at it, then he picked up the letter -again. He read it slowly, for somehow his brain seemed only able to -absorb the words in a stunned way. Then he read it again: - -Dear Bruce:--11 P. M. - -Something has come into your life that was not there on a night you will -remember in the Southern Seas, and I know of no other way to repay you -for what you did for me to-day than to hand you this. I knew from what -you said to-night, or, rather perhaps, from what you did not say, that -this was in your heart. And if I were young again, and the love of a -good woman had come to me, I too should try--and fail, I fear, where you -will succeed--to play a man's part in life. - -And so I bid you good-by, for when you read this I shall be on my way -back West. What I lose another will gain. Amongst even my friends are -men of honorable callings and wide interests who need a John Bruce. You -will hear from one of them. Godspeed to you, for you are too good and -clean a man to end your days as I shall end mine--a gambler. - -Yours, - -Gilbert Larmon. - -The love of a good woman--and young again! John Bruce's face was white. -A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to surge upon him. There was -something fine and big in what Larmon had done, like the Larmon whose -real self he had come to glimpse for the first time last night; and -something that was almost ghastly in the unconscious irony that lay -behind it all. And for a little while he stood there motionless, holding -the letter in his hand; then with a quick, abrupt return to action, he -began to tear the letter into little shreds, and from his pocket he -took his own copy of the bond and tore that up, and the four pieces of -Larmon's copy he tore into still smaller fragments, and gathering all -these up in his hands, he walked to the window and let them flutter out -into the night. - -The way was clear. There was nothing to connect Gilbert Larmon with the -man who to-morrow--no, _to-day_--would be in the hands of the police -charged with murder. Nothing to bring to light Larmon's private affairs, -for nothing bearing Larmon's signature had ever been kept; it was always -destroyed. Larmon was safe--for, at least, they could never make John -Bruce _talk_. - -There was a strange relief upon him, a strange uplift; not only for -Larmon's sake, but for his own. The link that had bound him to the past -was gone, broken, dissolved. He stood free--for the little time that was -left; he stood free--to make a fresh start in the narrow confines of a -prison cell. He smiled grimly. There was no irony here where it seemed -all of irony. It meant everything--all. It was the only atonement he -could make. - -He switched off the light, left his room, and went down to the desk. -Here he consulted the directory. He requested the clerk to procure a -taxi for him. - -It was five minutes after six by the clock over the desk. - -He entered the taxi and gave the chauffeur the address. He was -unconscious of emotion now. He knew only a cold, fixed, merciless -purpose. - -He was going to kill Crang. - -The taxi stopped in front of a frame house that bore a dirty brass -name-plate. He dismissed the taxi, and mounted the steps. His right -hand was in the pocket of his coat. He rang the bell, and obtaining no -response, rang again--and after that insistently. - -The door was finally opened by an old woman, evidently aroused from bed, -for she clutched tightly at a dressing gown that was flung around her -shoulders. - -"I want to see Doctor Crang," said John Bruce. - -She shook her head. - -"The doctor isn't in," she answered. - -"I will wait for him," said John Bruce. - -Again she shook her head. - -"I don't know when he will be back. He hasn't been here since yesterday -morning." - -"I will wait for him," said John Bruce monotonously. - -"But----" - -John Bruce brushed his way past her into the hall. - -"I will wait for him," he repeated. - -A door was open off the hallway. John Bruce looked in. It was obviously -Crang's office. He went in and sat down by the window. - -The woman stood for a long time in the doorway watching him. Finally she -went away. - -John Bruce's mind was coldly logical. Crang was not aware that his -escape was known to any one except Claire, and he had been cunning -enough to keep under cover. That was why he had not been home. But he -would be home before he went out to be married. Even a man like Crang -would have a few preparations to make. - -John Bruce sat by the window. Occasionally the old woman came and stood -in the doorway--and went away again. - -There was no sign of Crang. - -At fifteen minutes of eight John Bruce rose from his chair and left the -house. - -"He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight," said John Bruce to himself -with cool precision. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE--THE BEST MAN - -|HAWKINS sat at the table in his room, and twined and twined one old -storm-beaten hand over the other. For hours he had sat like that. It was -light in the room now, for it was long after seven o'clock. His bed had -not been slept in. He was dressed in his shiny best suit; he wore his -frayed black cravat. He had been dressed like that since midnight; since -he had returned home after Claire had fled into her house, and John -Bruce had strode by him on the sidewalk with set, stony face and -unseeing eyes; since, on reaching his room here, he had found a note -whose signature was false because it read "Paul Veniza," when he knew -that it came from Crang. Crang was taking precautions that his return -should not leak out! The note only corroborated what he had heard -through the door. He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight o'clock with -the traveling pawn-shop.. - -The note had said nothing about any marriage; but, then, he knew! He -was to be the best man. And so he had dressed himself. After that he had -waited. He was waiting now. - -"The first," said Hawkins, with grave confidence to the cracked mirror. -"Yes, that's it--the first in line, because I _am_ her old father, and -there ain't nothing can change that." - -His own voice seemed to arouse him. He stared around the shabby room -that was his home, his eyes lingering with strange wistfulness on -each old battered, and long familiar object--and then suddenly, with a -choking cry, his head went down, buried in his arms outflung across the -table. - -"Pawned!" the old man cried brokenly. "It's twenty years ago, I pawned -her--twenty years ago. And it's come to this because--because I -ain't never redeemed her--but, oh God, I love her--I love my little -girl--and--and she ain't never going to know how much." - -His voice died away. In its place the asthmatic gas-jet spat venomous -defiance at the daylight that was so contumaciously deriding its puny -flame. - -And after a little while, Hawkins raised his head. He looked at his -watch. - -"It's time to go," said Hawkins--and cleared his throat. - -Hawkins picked up his hat and brushed it carefully with his coat sleeve; -his shoulders, and such of his attire as he could reach, he brushed -with his hands; he readjusted his frayed black cravat before the cracked -mirror. - -"I'm the best man," said Hawkins. - -Oblivious to the chattering gas-jet, he descended the stairs, and went -out to the shed in the rear that housed the traveling pawn-shop. - -"The first in line," said the old cab driver, as he climbed into the -seat. - -Five minutes later, he drew up in front of the onetime pawn-shop. He -consulted his watch as he got down from his seat and entered the house. -It was twenty-five minutes of eight. - -He twisted his hat awkwardly in his hands, as he entered the rear room. -He felt a sudden, wild rush of hope spring up within him because -there was no sign of Crang. And then the hope died. He was early; and, -besides, Claire had her hat on and was dressed to go out. Paul Veniza, -also dressed, lay on the cot. - -No one spoke. - -Then Paul Veniza's frame was racked with a fit of coughing, and out of a -face ashen in pallor his eyes met Hawkins' in silent agony--and then he -turned his head away. - -Hawkins twisted at his hat. - -"I came a little early;" he said wistfully, "because I thought mabbe -you might--that mabbe there might be some change--that mabbe you might -not----" - -He stopped. He was looking at Claire. Her face was very white too. Her -smile seemed to cut at his heart like a knife. - -"No, Hawkins," she said in a low voice; "there is no change. We -are going to Staten Island. You will drive Doctor Crang. There is a -limousine coming for father and me, that will be more comfortable for -father." - -Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - -"I--I didn't mean that kind of a change," he said. - -"I know you didn't, Hawkins. But--but I am trying to be practical." Her -voice broke a little in spite of herself. "Doctor Crang doesn't know -that you overheard anything last night, or that you know anything about -the arrangements, so--so I am explaining them to you now." - -Hawkins' eyes were still on the floor. - -"Ain't there nothing"--his voice was thick and husky--"ain't there -nothing in all the world that any of us can do to make you change your -mind? Claire, ain't there nothing, nothing at all? John Bruce said there -wasn't, and you love John Bruce, but----" - -"Don't, Hawkins!" she cried out pitifully. - -The old shoulders came slowly up, and the old head; and the old blue -eyes were of a sudden strangely flints like. - -"I've got to know," said Hawkins, in a dead, stubborn way. - -"There is nothing," she answered. - -Hawkins' eyes reverted to the floor. He spoke now without lifting them. - -"Then--then it's--it's like saying good-by," he said, and the broken -note was back again in his voice. "It's--it's so many years that mabbe -you've forgotten, but when you were a little girl, and before you grew -up, and--and were too big for that, I--I used to hold you in my arms, -and you used to put your little arms around my neck, and kiss me, -and--and you used to say that--Hawkins would never let the bugaboos get -you, and--and I wonder if--if----" - -"Oh, Hawkins!" Claire's eyes were full of tears. "I remember. Dear, dear -Hawkins! And I used to call you Daddy Hawkins. Do _you_ remember?" - -A tear found a furrow and trickled down the old weather-beaten face -unchecked, as Hawkins raised his head. - -"Claire! Claire!" His voice trembled in its yearning. "Will--will you -say that again, Claire?" - -"Dear Daddy Hawkins," she whispered. - -His arms stretched out to her, and she came to them smiling through her -tears. - -"You've been so good to me," she whispered again. "You _are_ so good to -me--dear, dear Daddy Hawkins." - -A wondrous light was in the old cabman's face. He held the slight form -to him, trying to be so tenderly careful that he should not hurt her -in his strength. He kissed her, and patted her head, and his fingers -lingered as they smoothed the hair back from where it made a tiny curl -about her ear. - -And then he felt her drawing him toward the couch--and he became -conscious that Paul Veniza was holding out his hands to them both. - -And Claire knelt at the side of the couch and took one of Paul Veniza's -hands, and Hawkins took the other. And no one of them looked into the -other's face. - -The outer door opened, and Doctor Crang came in. He stood for an instant -surveying the scene, a half angry, half sarcastic smile spreading over -his sallow face, and then he shrugged his shoulders. - -"Ah, you're here, like me, ahead of time, Hawkins, I see!" he said -shortly. "You're going to drive me to Staten Island where----" - -Claire rose to her feet. - -"I have told Hawkins," she said quietly. - -Hawkins' hand tightened over Paul Veniza's for a moment, and then he -turned away. - -"I--I'll wait outside," said Hawkins--and brushed has hand across his -eyes as he went through the doorway. - -Paul Veniza was racked with a sudden fit of cough ing again. Doctor -Crang walked quickly to the couch and looked at the other sharply. After -a moment he turned to Claire. - -"Are you ready to go?" he asked crisply. - -"Yes; I am ready," she answered steadily. - -"Very well, then," said Crang, "you had better go out and get into the -old bus. You can go with Hawkins and me." - -"But"--Claire looked in a bewildered way at Paul Veniza--"but you -said----" - -"I know I did," Crang interrupted brusquely, "but we're all here a -little early and there's lots of time to countermand the other car." He -indicated Paul Veniza with a jerk of his head. "He's far from as well as -he was last night. At least you'll admit that I'm a _good_ doctor, and -when I tell you he is not fit to go this morning that ought to be enough -for both of you. I'll phone and tell them not to send the limousine." - -Still Claire hesitated. Paul Veniza had closed his eyes. - -Crang shrugged his shoulders. - -"You can do as you like, but I don't imagine"--a snarl crept into his -voice--"that it will give him any joy to witness the ceremony, or you to -have him. Suit yourselves; but I won't answer for the consequences." - -"I'll go," said Claire simply--and as Paul Veniza lifted himself up -suddenly in protest, she forced him gently back upon the couch again. -"It's better that way," she said, and for a moment talked to him in low, -earnest tones, then kissed him, and rose, and walked out from the room. - -Crang, with a grunt of approval, started toward the telephone. - -"Wait!" Paul Veniza had raised himself on his elbow. - -Crang turned and faced the other with darkened face. - -"It is not too late even now at the last moment!" Paul Veniza's face was -drawn with agony. "I know you for what you are, and in the name of God -I charge you not to do this thing. It is foul and loathsome, the basest -passion--and whatever crimes lay at your door, even if murder be among -them, no one of them is comparable with this, for you do more than take -a human life, you desecrate a soul pure as the day God gave it life, -and----" - -The red surged into Crang's face, and changed to mottled purple. - -"Damn you!" he flung out hoarsely. "Hold your cackling tongue! This is -my wedding morning--understand?" He laughed out raucously. "My wedding -morning--and I'm in a hurry!" - -Paul Veniza raised himself a little higher. White his face was--white as -death. - -"Then God have mercy on your soul!" he cried. - -And Crang stared for a moment, then turned on his heel--and laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR--THE RIDE - -|JOHN BRUCE turned the corner, and, on the opposite side of the street, -drew back under the shelter of a door porch where he could command -a view of the entrance to Paul Veniza's house. And now he stood -motionless, waiting with cold patience, his eyes fixed on the doorway -across the street. He was there because Crang was either at the present -moment within the house, or presently would come to the house. It was -nearly eight o'clock. The old traveling pawn-shop was drawn up before -the door. - -He had no definite plan now. No plan was needed. He was simply waiting -for Crang. - -His eyes had not left the doorway. Suddenly, tense, he leaned a little -forward. The door opened. No; it was only Hawkins! He relaxed again. - -Only Hawkins! John Bruce's face grew a little sterner, his lips a little -more tightly compressed. Only Hawkins--only an old man who swayed there -outside the door, and whose face was covered with his hands. - -He watched Hawkins. The old cabman moved blindly along the sidewalk for -the few steps that took him to the corner, and turning the corner, out -of sight of the house, sat down on the edge of the curb, and with his -shoulders sunk forward, buried his face in his hands again. - -And John Bruce understood; and his fingers, in his pocket, snuggled -curiously around the revolver that was hidden there. He wanted to go to -that old bent figure there in its misery and despair, who was fighting -now so obviously to get a grip upon himself. But he did not move. He -could not tell Hawkins what he meant to do. - -Were they minutes or were they hours that passed? Again the front door -of Paul Veniza's house opened, and again John Bruce leaned tensely -forward. But this time he did not relax. Claire! His eyes drank in the -slim, little, dark-garbed figure, greedy that no smallest gesture, -no movement, no single line of face or form should escape him. It was -perhaps the last time that he would see her. He would not see her in his -prison cell--he would not let her go there. - -A queer sound issued from his throat, a strange and broken little cry. -She was gone now. She had crossed the sidewalk and entered the traveling -pawn-shop. The curtains were down, and she was hidden from sight. And -for a moment there seemed a blur and mist before John Bruce's eyes--then -Hawkins, still around the corner, still with crouched shoulders, still -with his face hidden in his hands, took form and grew distinct again. -And then after a little while, Hawkins rose slowly, and came back -along the street, and climbed into the driver's seat of the traveling -pawnshop, and sat fumbling at the wheel with his hands. - -The door of Paul Veniza's house opened for the third time--and now John -Bruce laughed in a low, grim 'way, and his hand, hugging the revolver in -his pocket, tightened and grew vise-like in its grip upon the weapon. It -was Crang at last! - -And then John Bruce's hand came out from his pocket--empty. - -_Not in front of Claire!_ - -He swept his hand across his forehead. It was as though a sudden shock -had aroused him to some stark reality to which he had been strangely -oblivious. Not in front of Claire! Claire was in the car there. He felt -himself bewildered for a moment. Hawkins had said nothing about driving -Claire too. - -Crang's voice reached him from across the street: - -"All right, Hawkins! Go ahead!" - -Where was Paul Veniza? Crang had got into the car, and the car was -moving forward. Wasn't Paul Veniza going too? - -Well, it did not matter, did it? Crang was there. And it was a long way -to Staten Island, and before then a chance would come, _must_ come; he -would make one somehow, and----- - -John Bruce ran swiftly out into the street, and, as the car turned the -corner, swung himself lightly and silently in beside Hawkins. Crang -would not know. The curtained panel at the back of the driver's seat hid -the interior of the car from view. - -Hawkins turned his head, stared into John Bruce's face for an instant, -half in a startled, half in a curiously perplexed way, made as though to -speak--and then, without a word, gave his attention to the wheel again. - -The car rattled on down the block. - -John Bruce, as silent as Hawkins, stared ahead. On the ferry! Yes, that -was it! It was a long way to Staten Island. Claire would not stay cooped -up in a closed car below; she would go up on deck to get the air. And -even if Crang accompanied her, it would not prove very difficult to -separate them. - -He looked around suddenly and intercepted a furtive, puzzled glance cast -at him by Hawkins. - -And then Hawkins spoke for the first time. - -"You'd better get off, John Bruce," he said in a choked voice. "You've -done all you could, and God bless you over and over again for it, but -you can't do anything more now, and it won't do you any good to come any -further." - -"No," said John Bruce, "I'm going all the way, Hawkins." - -Hawkins relapsed into silence. They were near the Battery when he spoke -again. - -"All the way," Hawkins repeated then, as though it were but a moment -gone since John Bruce had spoken. "All the way. Yes, that's it--after -twenty years. That's when I pawned her--twenty years ago. And I couldn't -never redeem her the way Paul Veniza said. And she ain't never known, -and thank God she ain't never going to know, that I--that I----" -A tear trickled down the old face, and splashed upon the wrinkled skin -of the hand upon the wheel. And then old Hawkins smiled suddenly, and -nodded toward the clock on the cowl-board--and the speed of the car -increased. "I looked up the ferry time," said Hawkins. - -They swung out in front of the ferry house, and the car stopped. A -ferry, just berthing, was beginning to disgorge its stream of motors and -pedestrians. - -"We're first in line," said Hawkins, nodding his head. "We'll have to -wait a minute or two." - -John Bruce nodded back indifferently. His eyes were fixed on the ferry -that he could just see through the ferry house. Certainly, Claire would -not stay down in the confined space of the ferry's run-way all the trip; -or if she did, Crang wouldn't. His face set. Quite unconsciously his -hand had gone to his pocket, and he found his fingers now snuggling -again around the weapon that lay there. - -And then he looked at Hawkins--and stared again at the other, startled. -Strange, he had not noticed it before! The smile on Hawkins' face did -not hide it. The man seemed to have aged a thousand years; the old face -was pinched and worn, and deep in the faded, watery blue eyes were hurt -and agony. And a great sympathy for the man surged upon John Bruce. He -could not tell Hawkins, but---- He reached out, and laid his hand on the -other's arm. - -"Don't take it too hard, Hawkins," he said gently. "I--perhaps--perhaps, -well, there's always a last chance that something may happen." - -"Me?" said Hawkins, and bent down over his gears as he got the signal to -move forward. "Do I look like that? I--I thought it all out last night, -and I don't feel that way. I'll tell you what I was thinking about. I -was just thinking that I did something to-day when I left my room that I -haven't done before--in twenty years. I've left the light burning." - -John Bruce stared a little helplessly. - -"Yes," said Hawkins. He smiled at John Bruce. "Don't you worry about -me. Mabbe you don't understand, but that's all I've been thinking about -since we've been waiting here. I've left the light burning." - -Sick at heart, John Bruce turned his head away. He made no response. - -Hawkins paid the fare, ran the car through the ferry house, and aboard -the ferry itself. He was fumbling with a catch of some kind behind his -seat, as he proceeded slowly up the run-way. - -"He'll want a little air in there," said Hawkins, "because it's close -down here. It opens back, you know--the whole panel. I had it made that -way when the car was turned into a traveling pawn-shop--didn't know what -tough kind of a customer Paul might run into sometime, and I'd want to -get in beside him quick to help, and I----" The old cabman straightened -up. - -The car was at the extreme forward end of the ferry--and suddenly it -leaped forward. "Jump, John Bruce! Jump clear!" old Hawkins cried. -"There's only two of us going all the way--and that's Crang and me! -Claire and Paul 'll be along in another car--tell them it was an -accident, and----" - -John Bruce was on his feet--too late. There was a crash, and the -collapsible steel gates went down before the plunging car, and the guard -chain beyond was swept from its sockets. He reeled and lost his balance -as something, a piece of wreckage from the gates or chain posts, struck -him. He felt the hot blood spurt from shoulder and arm. And then, as the -car shot out in mid-air, diving madly for the water below, and he -was thrown from his feet, he found himself clinging to the footboard, -fighting wildly to reach the door handle. Claire was in there! Claire -was in there! - -There was a terrific splash. A mighty rush of water closed over him. -Horror, fear, madness possessed his soul. Claire was in there! Claire -was in there--and somehow Hawkins had not known! Yes, he had the door -handle now! He wrenched and tore at the door. The pressure of the water -seemed to pit itself against his strength. He worked like a maniac. It -opened. He had it now! It opened. He could scarcely see in the murky -water--only the indistinct outlines of two forms undulating grotesquely, -the hands of one gripped around the throat of the other--only that, and -floating within his reach a woman's dress. He snatched at the dress. His -lungs were bursting. Claire! It was Claire! She was in his arms--then -blackness--then sunlight again--and then, faintly, he heard a cheer. - -He held her head above the water. She was motionless, inert. - -"Claire! Claire!" he cried. Fear, cold, horrible, seized upon him. He -swam in mad haste for the iron ladder rungs at the side of the slip. - -Faces, a multitude of them, seemed to peer at him from above, from the -brink of this abyss in which he was struggling. He heard a cheer again. -Why were they cheering? Were they cheering because two men were locked -in a death grip deep down there in the water below? - -"Claire!" he cried out again. - -And then, as his hand grasped the lower rung, she opened her eyes -slowly, and a tremor ran through her frame. - -She lived! Was he weak with the sudden revulsion that swept upon him -now? Was that it? He tried to carry her up--and found that it was beyond -his strength. And he could only cling there and wait for assistance from -above, thankful even for the support the water gave his weight. It was -strange! What were those red stains that spread out and tinged the water -around him? His arm! Yes, he remembered now! His shoulder and arm! It -was the loss of blood that must have sapped his strength, that must be -sapping it now so that--- - -"John!" Claire whispered. "You--John!" - -He buried his face in the great wet masses of hair that fell around her. -Weak? No, he was not weak! He could hold her here always--always. - -He felt her clutch spasmodically at his arm. - -"And--and Hawkins, John?" she faltered. - -He lifted his head and stared at the water. Little waves rippled across -its surface, gamboling inconsequentially--at play. There wasn't anything -else there. There never would be. He made no answer. - -A sob shook her shoulders. - -"How--how did it happen?" she whispered again. - -"I think a--a gear jammed, or something," he said huskily. - -He heard her speak again, but her voice was very low. He bent his head -until it rested upon hers to catch the words. - -She was crying softly. - -"Dear, dear Hawkins--dear Daddy Hawkins," she said. - -A great mist seemed to gather before John Bruce's eyes. A voice seemed -to come again, Hawkins' voice; and words that he understood now, -Hawkins' words: - -"I've left the light burning." - -THE END. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51965-8.zip b/old/51965-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c06b7b9..0000000 --- a/old/51965-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51965-h.zip b/old/51965-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3d8c926..0000000 --- a/old/51965-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51965-h/51965-h.htm b/old/51965-h/51965-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d7f431f..0000000 --- a/old/51965-h/51965-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11212 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - Pawned, by Frank L. Packard - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. Packard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Pawned - -Author: Frank L. Packard - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51965] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAWNED *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - PAWNED - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank L. Packard - </h2> - <h4> - The Copp, Clark Co., Limited Toronto - </h4> - <h3> - 1921 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> PAWNED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> HER STORY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TWENTY YEARS LATER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE—ALADDIN'S LAMP </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO—THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE—SANCTUARY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR—A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE—HAWKINS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX—THE ALIBI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN—THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING - PAWN-SHOP </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT—ALLIES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE—THE CONSPIRATORS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER TEN—AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVEN—THE RENDEZVOUS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELVE—THE FIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN—TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN—THE TWO PENS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE CLEW </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER SIXTEEN—A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—ALIAS MR. ANDERSON </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—THE HOSTAGE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER NINETEEN—CABIN H-14 </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER TWENTY—OUTSIDE THE DOOR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—THE LAST CHANCE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—THROUGH THE NIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—THE BEST MAN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—THE RIDE </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - PAWNED - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HER STORY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> HANSOM cab, - somewhat woebegone in appearance, threaded its way in a curiously dejected - manner through the heart of New York's East Side. A fine drizzle fell, - through which the street lamps showed as through a mist; and, with the - pavements slippery, the emaciated looking horse, the shafts jerking and - lifting up at intervals around its ears, appeared hard put to it to - preserve its footing. - </p> - <p> - The cabman on his perch drove with his coat collar turned up and his chin - on his breast. He held the reins listlessly, permitting the horse to - choose its own gait. At times he lifted the little trap door in the roof - of the cab and peered into the interior; occasionally his hand, - tentatively, hesitantly, edged toward a bulge in his coat pocket-only to - be drawn back again in a sort of panic haste. - </p> - <p> - The cab turned into a street where, in spite of the drizzle, hawkers with - their push-carts under flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a - thriving business. The horse went more slowly. There was very little room. - With the push-carts lining the curbs on both sides, and the overflow of - pedestrians from the sidewalks into the street, it was perhaps over-taxing - the horse's instinct to steer a safe course for the vehicle it dragged - behind it. Halfway along the block a wheel of the hansom bumped none too - gently into one of the push-carts, nearly upsetting the latter. The - hawker, with a frantic grab, saved his wares from disaster-by an - uncomfortably narrow margin, and, this done, hurled an impassioned flood - of lurid oratory at the two-wheeler. - </p> - <p> - The cabman lifted his chin from his breast, stared stonily at the hawker, - slapped the reins mechanically on the roof of the cab as an intimation to - the horse to proceed, and the cab wended its way along again. - </p> - <p> - At the end of the block, it turned the corner, and drew up before a small - building that was nested in between two tenements. The cabman climbed down - from his perch, and stood for a moment surveying the three gilded balls - that hung over the dingy doorway, and the lettering—“Paul Veniza. - Pawnbroker”—that showed on the dully-lighted windows which - confronted him. - </p> - <p> - He drew his hand across his eyes; then, reaching suddenly inside the cab, - lifted a bundle in his arms, and entered the shop. A man behind the - counter stared at him, and uttered a quick ejaculation. The cabman went on - into a rear room. The man from behind the counter followed. In the rear - room, a woman rose from a table where she had been sewing, and took the - bundle quickly from the cabman's arms, as it emitted a querulous little - cry. - </p> - <p> - The cabman spoke for the first time. - </p> - <p> - “She's dead,” he said heavily. - </p> - <p> - The woman, buxom, middle-aged, stared at him, white-faced, her eyes - filling suddenly with tears. - </p> - <p> - “She died an hour ago,” said the cabman, in the same monotonous voice. “I - thought mabbe you'd look after the baby girl for a bit, Mrs. Veniza—you - and Paul.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course!” said the woman in a choked voice. “I wanted to before, but—but - your wife wouldn't let the wee mite out of her sight.” - </p> - <p> - “She's dead now,” said the cabman. “An hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza, the pawnbroker, crossed to the cabman's side, and, placing - his hands on the other's shoulders, drew the man down into a chair. - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins,” he said slowly, “we're getting on in years, fifty each of us, - and we've known each other for a good many of those fifty.” He cleared his - throat. “You've made a mess of things, Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - The woman, holding the baby, started suddenly forward, a red flush dyeing - her cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “Paul!” she cried out sharply. “How can you be so cruel at such an hour as - this?” - </p> - <p> - The pawnbroker shook his head. He had moved to the back of the cabman's - chair. Tall, slight, grave and kindly-faced, with high forehead and the - dark hair beginning to silver at the temples, there seemed something - almost esthetic about the man. - </p> - <p> - “It is <i>the</i> hour,” he said deliberately; “the one hour in which I - must speak plainly to my old friend, the one hour that has come into his - life which may mean everything to him.” His right hand slipped from the - cabman's shoulder and started, tentatively, hesitantly, toward a bulge in - the cabman's coat pocket—but was drawn back again, and found its - place once more on the cabman's shoulder. “I was afraid, Hawkins, when you - married the young wife. I was afraid of your curse.” - </p> - <p> - The cabman's elbows were on the table; he had sunk his chin in his hands. - His blue eyes, out of a wrinkled face of wind-beaten tan, roved around the - little room, and rested finally on the bundle in the woman's arms. - </p> - <p> - “That's finished now,” he said dully. - </p> - <p> - “I pray God it is,” said Paul Veniza earnestly; “but you said that before—when - you married the young wife.” - </p> - <p> - “It's finished now—so help me, God!” The cabman's lips scarcely - moved. He stared straight in front of him. - </p> - <p> - There was silence in the little, plainly furnished room for a moment; then - the pawnbroker spoke again: - </p> - <p> - “I was born here in New York, you know, after my parents came from Italy. - There was no money, nothing—only misery. I remember. It is like - that, Hawkins, isn't it, where you have just come from, and where you have - left the young wife?” - </p> - <p> - “Paul!” his wife cried out again. “How can you say such things? It—it - is not like you!” Her lips quivered. She burst into tears, and buried her - face in the little bundle she snuggled to her breast. - </p> - <p> - The cabman seemed curiously unmoved—as though dazed, almost detached - from his immediate surroundings. He said nothing. - </p> - <p> - The pawnbroker's hands still rested on the cabman's shoulders, a strange - gentleness in his touch that sought somehow, it seemed, to offer sympathy - for his own merciless words. - </p> - <p> - “I have been thinking of this for a long time, ever since we knew that - Claire could not get better,” he said. “We knew you would bring the little - one here. There was no other place, except an institution. And so I have - been thinking about it. What is the little one's name?” - </p> - <p> - The cabman shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “She has no name,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Shall it be Claire, then?” asked the pawnbroker gently. - </p> - <p> - The cabman's fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold of - flesh and tightened until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. He - nodded his head. - </p> - <p> - Again the pawnbroker was silent for a little while. - </p> - <p> - “My wife and I will take little Claire—on one condition,” he said at - last, gravely. “And that condition is that she is to grow up as our child, - and that, though you may come here and see her as often as you like, she - is not to know that you are her father.” - </p> - <p> - The cabman turned about a haggard face. - </p> - <p> - “Not to know that I am her father—ever,” he said huskily. - </p> - <p> - “I did not say that,” said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, leaning - over the cabman. “I am a pawnbroker; this is a pawn-shop. There is a way - in which you may redeem her.” - </p> - <p> - The cabman pressed a heavy hand over his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “What is that way?” He swallowed hard as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “By redeeming yourself.” The pawnbroker's voice was low and earnest. “What - have you to offer her to-day, save a past that has brought only ruin and - misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no home. There was no - home for the young wife. You said when you married Claire, as you have - said to-night, that it was all finished. But it was not finished. And your - curse was the stronger. Well, little Claire is only a baby, and there - would be years, anyhow, before just a man could take care of her. Do you - understand, my old friend? If, at the end of those years, enough of them - to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you have changed your life and - overcome your weakness, then you shall have little Claire back again, and - she shall know you as her father, and be proud of you. But if you do not - do this, then she remains with us, and we are her parents, and you pledge - me your word that it shall be so.” - </p> - <p> - There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying—but - more softly now. The cabman's chin had sunk into his hands again. The - minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and, pushing - back his chair, stumbled to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “God—God bless you both!” he whispered. “It's all finished now for - good, as I told you, but you are right, Paul. I—I ain't fit to have - her yet. I'll stand by the bargain.” He moved blindly toward the door. - </p> - <p> - The pawnbroker interposed. - </p> - <p> - “Wait, Hawkins, old friend,” he said. “I'll go with you. You'll need some - help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things that - are to be done.” - </p> - <p> - The cabman shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Not to-night,” he said in a choked way. “Leave me alone to-night.” - </p> - <p> - He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside, - but, following, stood bareheaded in the doorway as the other clambered to - his perch on the hansom cab. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins slapped his reins on the roof of the cab. The horse started slowly - forward. - </p> - <p> - The drizzle had ceased; but the horse, left to his own initiative, was - still wary of the wet pavements and moved at no greater pace than a walk. - Hawkins drove with his coat collar still turned up and his chin on his - breast. - </p> - <p> - And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street—and the night - grew late. - </p> - <p> - And the cabman's hand reached tentatively, hesitantly, a great many times, - toward a bulge in his coat pocket, and for a great many times was - withdrawn as empty as it had set forth. And then, once, his fingers - touched a glass bottle neck... and then, not his fingers, but his lips... - and for a great many times. - </p> - <p> - It had begun to rain again. - </p> - <p> - The horse, as if conscious of the futility of its own movements, had - stopped, and, with head hanging, seemed to cower down as though seeking - even the slender protection of the shafts, whose ends now made half - circles above his ears. - </p> - <p> - Something slipped from the cabman's fingers and fell with a crash to the - pavement. The cabman leaned out from his perch and stared down at the - shattered glass. - </p> - <p> - “Broken,” said the cabman vacantly. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TWENTY YEARS LATER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was silver - light. Inside the reefs the water lay placid and still, mirroring in a - long, shimmering line the reflection of the full tropic moon; beyond, ever - and anon, it splashed against its coral barriers in little crystal - showers. It was a soundless night. No breeze stirred the palms that, - fringing white stretches of beach around the bay, stood out in serene - beauty, their irregular tops etched with divine artistry into the sky-line - of the night. - </p> - <p> - Out from the shore, in that harbor which holds no sanctuary in storm, the - mail boat, dark save for her riding lights, swung at her moorings; - shoreward, the perspective altered in the moonlight until it seemed that - Mount Vaea had lowered its sturdy head that it might hover in closer - guardianship over the little town, Apia straggled in white patches along - the road. And from these white patches, which were dwellings and stores, - there issued no light. - </p> - <p> - From a point on the shore nearest the mail boat, a figure in cotton - drawers and undershirt slipped silently into the water and disappeared. - Thereafter, at intervals, a slight ripple disturbed the surface as the - man, coming up to breathe, turned upon his back and lay with his face - exposed; for the rest he swam under water. It was as though he were in his - natural element. He swam superbly even where, there in the Islands, all - the natives were born to the sea; but his face, when visible on the few - occasions that it floated above the surface, was the face, not of a - native, but of a white man. - </p> - <p> - And now he came up in the shadow of the steamer's hull where, near the - stern, a rope dangled over the side, almost touching the water's edge. And - for a moment he hung to the rope, motionless, listening. Then he began to - swarm upward with fine agility, without a sound, his bare feet finding - silent purchase against the iron plates of the hull. - </p> - <p> - Halfway up he paused and listened intently again. Was that a sound as of - some one astir, the soft movement of feet on the deck above? No, there was - nothing now. Why should there be? It was very late, and Nanu, the man who - lisped, was no fool. The rope had hung from exactly that place where, of - all others, one might steal aboard without attracting the attention of the - watch. - </p> - <p> - He went on again, and finally raised his head above the rail. The deck, - flooded with moonlight, lay white and deserted below him. He swung himself - over, dropped to the deck—and the next instant reeled back against - the rail as a rope-end, swung with brutal force, lashed across his face, - raising a welt from cheek to cheek. Half stunned, he was still conscious - that a form had sprung suddenly at him from out of the darkness of the - after alleyway, that the form was one of the vessel's mates, that the form - still swung a short rope-end that was a murderous weapon because it was - little more flexible than iron and was an inch in thickness, and that, - behind this form, other forms, big forms, Tongans of the crew, pressed - forward. - </p> - <p> - A voice roared out, hoarse, profane, the mate's voice: - </p> - <p> - “Thought you'd try it again, did you, you damned beachcomber? I'll teach - you! And when I find the dog that left that rope for you, I'll give him a - leaf out of the same book! You bloody waster! I'll teach you! I'll——” - </p> - <p> - The rope-end hissed as it cut through the air again, aiming for the - swimmer's face. But it missed its mark. Perhaps it was an illusion of the - white moonlight, lending unreality to the scene, exciting the imagination - to exaggerate the details, but the swimmer seemed to move with incredible - speed, with the lithe, terrible swiftness of a panther in its spring. The - rope-end swished through the air, missing a suddenly lowered head by the - barest fraction of an inch, and then, driven home with lightning-like - rapidity, so quick that the blows seemed as one, the swimmer's fists - swung, right and left, crashing with terrific impact to the point of the - mate's jaw. And the mate's head jolted back, quivered grotesquely on his - shoulders for an instant like a tuning fork, sagged, and the great bulk of - the man collapsed and sprawled inertly on the deck. - </p> - <p> - There was a shuffle of feet from the alleyway, cries. The swimmer swung to - face the expected rush, and it halted, hesitant. It gave him time to - spring and stand erect upon the steamer's rail. On the upper deck faces - and forms began to appear. A man in pajamas leaned far out and peered at - the scene. - </p> - <p> - There was a shout from out of the dark, grouped throng in the alleyway; it - was chorused. The rush came on again for the rail; and the dripping figure - that stood there, with the first sound that he had made—a laugh, - half bitter, half of cool contempt—turned, and with a clean dive - took the water again and disappeared. - </p> - <p> - Presently he reached the shore. There were more than riding lights out - there on the steamer now. He gave one glance in that direction, shrugged - his shoulders, and started off along the road. At times he raised his hand - to brush it across his face where the welt, raw and swollen now, was a - dull red sear. He walked neither fast nor slow. - </p> - <p> - The moonlight caught the dripping figure now and then in the open spaces, - and seemed to peer inquisitively at the great breadth of shoulder, and the - rippling play of muscle under the thin cotton drawers and shirt, which, - wet and clinging, almost transparent, scarce hid the man's nakedness; and - at the face, that of a young man, whose square jaw was locked, whose gray - eyes stared steadily along the road, and over whose forehead, from the - drenched, untrimmed mass of fair hair, the brine trickled in little - rivulets as though persistent in its effort to torture with its salt - caress the raw, skin-broken flesh across the cheeks. - </p> - <p> - Then presently a point of land ran out, and, the road ignoring this, the - bay behind was shut out from view. And presently again, farther on, the - road came to a long white stretch of beach on the one hand, and foliage - and trees on the other. And here the dripping figure halted and stood - hesitant as though undecided between the moonlit stretch of sand, and the - darkness of a native hut that was dimly outlined amongst the trees on the - other side of the road. - </p> - <p> - After a moment he made his way to the hut and, groping around, secured - some matches and a box of cigarettes. He spoke into the empty blackness. - </p> - <p> - “You lose, Nanu,” he muttered whimsically. “They wouldn't stand water and - I left them for you. But now, you see, I'm back again, after all.” - </p> - <p> - He lighted a cigarette, and in the flame of the match stared speculatively - at the small, broken pieces of coral that made the floor of the hut, and - equally, by the addition of a thin piece of native matting, his bed. - </p> - <p> - “The sand is softer,” he said with a grim drawl. - </p> - <p> - He went out from the hut, crossed the road, flung himself upon his back on - the beach, and clasped his hands behind his head. The smoke from his - cigarette curled languidly upward in wavering spirals, and he stared for a - long time at the moon. - </p> - <p> - “Moon madness,” he said at last. “They say if you look long enough the old - boy does you in.” - </p> - <p> - The cigarette finished, he flung the stub away. After a time, he raised - his head and listened. A moment later he lay back again full length on the - sand. The sound of some one's footsteps coming rapidly along the road from - the direction of the town was now unmistakably audible. - </p> - <p> - “The jug for mine, I guess,” observed the young man to the moon. “Probably - a file of native constabulary in bare feet that you can't hear bringing up - the rear!” - </p> - <p> - The footsteps drew nearer, until, still some distance away, the white-clad - figure of a man showed upon the tree-fringed road. The sprawled figure on - the beach made no effort toward flight, and less toward concealment. With - a sort of studied insolence injected into his challenge, he stuck another - cigarette between his lips and deliberately allowed full play to the flare - of the match. - </p> - <p> - The footsteps halted abruptly. Then, in another moment, they crunched upon - the sand, and a tall man, with thin, swarthy face, a man of perhaps forty - or forty-five, who picked assiduously at his teeth with a quill toothpick, - stood over the recumbent figure. - </p> - <p> - “Found you, have I?” he grunted complacently. - </p> - <p> - “If you like to put it that way,” said the young man indifferently. He - raised himself on his elbow again, and stared toward the road. “Where's - the army?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - The tall man allowed the point of the quill toothpick to flex and strike - back against his teeth. The sound was distinctive. <i>Tck!</i> He ignored - the question. - </p> - <p> - “When the mate came out of dreamland,” he said, “he lowered a boat and - came ashore to lay a complaint against you.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't say I'm surprised,” admitted the young man. “I suppose I am to go - with you quietly and make no trouble or it will be the worse for me—I - believe that's the usual formula, isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - The man with the quill toothpick sat down on the sand. He appeared to be - absorbed for a moment in a contemplation of his surroundings. - </p> - <p> - “These tropic nights are wonderful, aren't they? Kind of get you.” He - plied the quill toothpick industriously. “I'm a passenger on the steamer, - and I came ashore with the mate. He's gone back—without laying the - complaint. There's always a way of fixing things—even injured - feelings. One of the native boat's-crew said he knew where you were to be - found. He's over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the road. - </p> - <p> - The young man sat bolt upright. - </p> - <p> - “I don't get you,” he said slowly, “except that you are evidently not - personifying the majesty of the law. What's the idea?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the other, “I had three reasons for coming. The first was - that I thought I recognized you yesterday when they threw you off the - steamer, and was sure of it to-night when—I am a light sleeper—I - came out on the upper deck at the sound of the row and saw you take your - departure from the vessel for the second time.” - </p> - <p> - “I had no idea,” said the young man caustically, “that I was so well - known. Are you quite sure you haven't made a mistake?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite!” asserted the other composedly. “Of course, I am not prepared to - say what your present name is—you may have considered a change - beneficial—so I will not presume in that respect. But you are, or - were, a resident of San Francisco. You were very nice people there. I have - no knowledge of your mother, except that I understand she died in your - infancy. A few years ago your father died and left you, not a fortune, but - quite a moderate amount of money. I believe the pulpits designate it as a - 'besetting sin.' You had one—gambling. The result was that you - traveled the road a great many other young men have traveled; the only - difference being that, in so far as I am competent to speak, you hold the - belt for speed and all-round proficiency. You went utterly, completely and - whole-heartedly to hell.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man became absorbed again in his surroundings. “And I take it,” - he said presently, “that in spite of the wonders of a tropic night, you are still there.” - </p> - <p> - The young man shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “You have put it very delicately,” he said, with a grim smile. “I'm sorry, - but I am obliged to confess that the recognition isn't mutual. Would you - mind telling me who you are?” - </p> - <p> - “We'll get to that in due course,” said the other. “My second reason was - that it appeared to me to be logical to suppose that, having once been the - bona fide article, you could readily disguise yourself as a gentleman - again, and your interpretation of the rôle would be beyond suspicion or——” - </p> - <p> - “By God!” The welt across the young man's face grew suddenly white, as - though the blood had fled from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose, - staring levelly into the other's eyes. - </p> - <p> - The tall man apparently was quite undisturbed. - </p> - <p> - “And the third reason is that I have been looking for just such a—there - really isn't any other word—gentleman, providing he was possessed of - another and very essential characteristic. You possess that characteristic - in a most marked degree. Your actions tonight are unmistakable evidence - that you have nerve.” - </p> - <p> - “It strikes me that you've got a little of it yourself,” observed the - young man evenly. - </p> - <p> - The quill toothpick under the adroit guidance of his tongue traveled from - the left- to the right-hand side of the other's mouth. - </p> - <p> - “It is equally as essential to me,” he said dryly. “You appear to fill the - bill; but there is always the possibility of a fly in the ointment; - complications—er—unpleasant complications, perhaps, you know, - that might have arisen since you left San Francisco, and that might—er—complicate - matters.” - </p> - <p> - The young man relapsed into a recumbent position upon the sand, his hands - clasped under his head again, and in his turn appeared to be absorbed in - the beauty of the night. - </p> - <p> - “Moon-madness!” he murmured pityingly. - </p> - <p> - “A myth!” said the tall man promptly. “Would you mind sketching in roughly - the details of your interesting career since you left the haunts of the - aristocracy?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't see any reason why I should.” The young man yawned. - </p> - <p> - “Do you see any reason why you shouldn't?” inquired the other composedly. - </p> - <p> - “None,” said the young man, “except that the steamer sails at daybreak, - and I should never forgive myself if you were left behind.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor forgive yourself, perhaps, if you failed to sail on her as a - first-class passenger,” said the tall man quietly. - </p> - <p> - “What?” ejaculated the young man sharply. - </p> - <p> - The other shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “It depends on the story,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I—I don't understand.” The young man frowned. “There's a chance for - me to get aboard the mail boat?” - </p> - <p> - “It depends on the story,” said the other again. - </p> - <p> - “Moon-mad!” murmured the young man once more, after a moment's silence. - “But it's cheap at the price, for it's not much of a story. Beginning - where you left off in my biography, I ducked when the crash came in San - Francisco, and having arrived in hell, as you so delicately put it, I - started out to explore. Mr. Dante had it right—there's no use - stopping in the suburbs. I lived a while in his last circle. It's too bad - he never knew the 'Frisco water-front; it would have fired his - imagination! I'm not sure, though, but Honolulu's got a little on 'Frisco, - at that! Luck was out. I was flat on my back when I got a chance to work - my way out to Honolulu. One place was as good as another by then.” - </p> - <p> - The young man lit a cigarette, and stared at the glowing tip reminiscently - with his gray eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You said something about gambling,” he went on; “but you didn't say - enough. It's a disease, a fever that sets your blood on fire, and makes - your life kind of delirious, I guess—if you get it chronic. I guess - I was born with it. I remember when I was a kid I—but I forgot, - pardon me, the mail boat sails at daybreak.” - </p> - <p> - “Go as far as you like,” said the tall man, picking at his teeth with the - quill toothpick. - </p> - <p> - The young man shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Honolulu is the next stopping place,” he said. “On the way out I picked - up a few odd dollars from my fellow-members of the crew, and——” - </p> - <p> - “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick. - </p> - <p> - The young man's eyes narrowed, and his jaw set challengingly. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever else I've done,” he stated in a significant monotone, “I've - never played crooked. It was on the level.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” agreed the tall man hastily. - </p> - <p> - “I sat in with the only stakes I had,” said the young man, still - monotonously. “A bit of tobacco, a rather good knife that I've got yet, - and a belt that some one took a fancy to as being worth half a dollar.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly! Of course!” reiterated the tall man in haste. - </p> - <p> - The quill toothpick was silent. - </p> - <p> - “A pal of mine, one of the stokers, said he knew of a good place to play - in Honolulu where there was a square deal,” continued the young man; “so, - a night or so after we reached there, we got shore leave and started off. - Perhaps you know that part of Honolulu. I don't. I didn't see much of it. - I know there's some queer dumps, and queer doings, and the scum of every - nationality under the sun to run up against. And I know it was a queer - place my mate steered me into. It was faro. The box was run by an old - Chinaman who looked as though he were trying to impersonate one of his - ancestors, he was so old. My mate and I formed the English-speaking - community. There were a Jap or two, and a couple of pleasant-looking - cutthroats who cursed in Spanish, and a Chink lying on a bunk rolling his - pill. Oh, yes, the place stunk! Every once in a while the door opened and - some other Godforsaken piece of refuse drifted in. By midnight we had a - full house of pretty bad stuff. - </p> - <p> - “It ended in a row, of course. Some fool of a tout came in chaperoning a - party of three men, who were out to see the sights; they were passengers, - I found out later, from one of the ships in port. I don't know what - started the rumpus; some private feud, I guess. The first thing I knew one - of the Spaniards had a knife out and had jumped for the tout. It was a - free-for-all in a minute. I saw the tout go down, and he didn't look good, - and the place suddenly struck me as a mighty unhealthy place to be found - in on that account. The stoker and I started to fight our way through the - jam to the door. There was a row infernal. I guess you could have heard it - a mile away. Anyway, before we could break from the clinches, as it were, - the police were fighting their way in just as eagerly as we were fighting - our way out. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't like the sight of that tout lying on the floor, or the thought - of what might happen in the police court the next morning if I were one of - the crowd to adorn the dock. And things weren't going very well. The - police were streaming in through the doorway. And then I caught sight of - something I hadn't seen before because it had previously been hidden by a - big Chinese screen—one of those iron-shuttered windows they seem so - fond of down there. Things weren't very rosy just at that moment because - about the worst hell-cat scramble on record was being made a little worse - by some cheerful maniac starting a bit of revolver practice, but I - remember that I couldn't help laughing to save my soul. In the mêlée one - of the folding wings of the screen had suddenly doubled up, and, besides - the window, I saw hiding behind there for dear life, his face pasty-white - with terror, a very courageous gentleman—one of the rubbernecks who - had come in with the tout. He was too scared, I imagine, even to have the - thought of tackling such formidable things as iron shutters enter his - head. I yelled to the stoker to get them open, and tried to form a sort of - rear guard for him while he did it. Then I heard them creak on their - hinges, and heard him shout. I made a dash for it, but I wasn't quite - quick enough. One of the policemen grabbed me, but I was playing in luck - then. I got in a fortunate swing and he went down for the count. I - remember toppling the screen and the man behind it over on the floor as I - jumped sideways for the window; and I remember a glimpse of his terrorized - face, his eyes staring at me, his mouth wide open, as I took a headlong - dive over the window sill. The stoker picked me up, and we started on the - run. - </p> - <p> - “The police were scrambling through the window after us. I didn't need to - be told that there wouldn't be a happy time ahead if I were caught. Apart - from that tout who, though I had nothing to do with it, gave the affair a - very serious aspect, I was good for the limit on the statute books for - resisting arrest in the first place, and for knocking out an officer in - the second. But the stoker knew his way about. We gave the police the - slip, and a little later on we landed up in a sailors' boarding-house run - by a one-eyed cousin of Satan, known as Lascar Joe. We lay there hidden - while the tout got better, and the Spanish hidalgo got sent up for a long - term for murderous assault. Finally Lascar Joe slipped the stoker aboard - some ship; and a week or so later he slipped me, the transfer being made - in the night, aboard a frowsy tramp, bound for New Zealand.” - </p> - <p> - The young man paused, evidently inviting comment. - </p> - <p> - “Go on,” prompted the man with the quill toothpick softly. - </p> - <p> - “There isn't very much more,” said the young man. He laughed shortly. “As - far as I know I'm the sole survivor from that tramp. She never got to New - Zealand; and that's how I got here to Samoa. She went down in a hurricane. - I was washed ashore on one of this group of islands about forty or fifty - miles from here. I don't know much about the details; I was past knowing - anything when the bit of wreckage on which I had lashed myself days before - came to port. There weren't any—I was going to say white people on - the island, but I'm wrong about that. The Samoans are about the whitest - people on God's green earth. I found that out. There were only natives on - that island. I lived with them for about two months, and I got to be - pretty friendly with them, especially the old fellow who originally picked - me up half drowned and unconscious on the beach, and who took me into the - bosom of his family. Then the missionary boat came along, and I came back - with it to Apia here.” - </p> - <p> - The young man laughed again suddenly, a jarring note in his mirth. - </p> - <p> - “I don't suppose you've heard that original remark about the world being - such a small place after all! I figured that back here in Apia a - shipwrecked and destitute white man would get the glad hand and at least a - chance to earn his stake. Maybe he would ordinarily; but I didn't. I - hadn't said anything to the missionary about that Honolulu escapade, and I - was keeping it dark when I got here and started to tell the shipwreck end - of my story over again. Queer, isn't it? Lined up in about the first - audience I had was the gentleman with the pasty face that I had toppled - over with the screen in the old Chink's faro dump. He was one of the big - guns here, and had been away on a pleasure trip, and Honolulu had been on - his itinerary. That settled it. The missionary chap spoke up a bit for me, - I'll give him credit for that, though I had a hunch he was going to use - that play as an opening wedge in an effort to reform me later on. But I - had my fingers crossed. The whites here turned their backs on me, and I - turned my back on the missionary. That's about all there was to it. That - was about two weeks ago, and for those two weeks I've lived in another of - Mr. Dante's delightful circles.” - </p> - <p> - He sat suddenly upright, a clenched fist flung outward. - </p> - <p> - “Not a cent! Not a damned sou-marquee! Nothing but this torn shirt, and - what's left of these cotton pants! Hell!” - </p> - <p> - He lay back on the sand quite as suddenly again, and fell to laughing - softly. - </p> - <p> - “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick. - </p> - <p> - “But at that,” said the young man, “I'm not sure you could call me a - cynic, though the more I see of my own breed as compared with the - so-called heathen the less I think of—my own breed! I still had a - card up my sleeve. I had a letter of introduction to a real gentleman and - landed proprietor here. His name was Nanu, and he gave me his house to - live in, and made me free of his taro and his breadfruit and all his - worldly possessions; and it was the old native who took care of me on the - other island that gave me the letter. It was a queer sort of letter, too—but - never mind that now. - </p> - <p> - “Splendid isolation! That's me for the last two weeks as a cross between a - pariah and a mangy cur! What amazes me most is myself. The gentleman of - the Chinese screen is still in the land of the living and walking blithely - around. Funny, isn't it? That's one reason I was crazy to get away—before - anything happened to him.” The tanned fist closed fiercely over a handful - of sand, then opened and allowed the grains to trickle slowly through the - fingers, and its owner laughed softly again. “I've lived through hell here - in those two weeks. I guess we're only built to stand so much. I was about - at the end of my rope when the mail steamer put in yesterday. I hope I - haven't idealized my sojourn here in a way that would cause you to - minimize my necessity for getting away, no matter to where or by what - means! Nanu and I went out to the ship in his outrigger. Perhaps I would - have had better luck if I had run into any other than the particular mate - I did. I don't know. I offered to work my passage. Perhaps my fame had - already gone abroad—or aboard. He invited me to make another - excursion into Dante-land. But when he turned his back on me I slipped - below, and tucked myself in behind some of the copra sacks they were - loading. Once the steamer was away I was away with her, and I was willing - to take what was coming. But I didn't get a chance. I guess the mate was - sharper than I gave him credit for. After about four hours of heat and - stink down there below decks that I had to grit my teeth to stand, he - hauled me out as though he knew I had been there all the time. I was - thrown off the steamer. - </p> - <p> - “But I wasn't through. Steamers do not call here every day. I wonder if - you'll know what I mean when I say I was beginning to be afraid of myself - and what might happen if I had to stick it out much longer? That mangy cur - I spoke of had me lashed to the mast from a social standpoint. I tried it - again—to-night. Nanu fixed it for me with one of the crew to hang - that rope over the side, and—well, I believe you said you had seen - what happened. I believe you said, too, that a chance still existed of my - sailing with the mail boat, depending upon my story.” He laughed a little - raucously. “I hope it's been interesting enough to bail me out; anyway, - that's all of it.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man sat for a moment in silence. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said at last; “I am quite satisfied. Dressed as a gentleman, - with money in your pockets, and such other details as go with the rôle, - you would never be associated with that affair in Honolulu. As a matter of - fact your share in it was not so serious that the police would dog you all - over the world on account of it. In other words, and what really interests - me, is that you are not what is commonly designated as a 'wanted' man. - Yes, I may say I am thoroughly satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - The young man yawned and stretched himself. - </p> - <p> - “I'm delighted to hear it. I haven't any packing to do. Shall we stroll - back to the ship?” - </p> - <p> - “I hope so.” The quill toothpick was busy again. “The decision rests with - you. I am not a philanthropist. I am about to offer you a situation—to - fill which I have been searching a good many years to find some one who - had the necessary qualifications. I am satisfied you are that man. You do - not know me; you do not know my name, and though you have already asked - what it is, I shall still withhold that information until your decision - has been given. If you agree, I will here and now sign a contract with you - to which we will both affix our bona fide signatures; if you refuse, we - will shake hands and part as friends and strangers who have been—shall - we use your expression?—moon-mad under the influence of the wonders - of a tropic night.” - </p> - <p> - “Something tells me,” said the young man softly, “that the situation is - not an ordinary one.” - </p> - <p> - “And you are right,” replied the other quietly. “It is not only not - ordinary, but is, I think I may safely say, absolutely unique and without - its counterpart. I might mention in passing that I am not in particularly - good health, and the sea voyage I was ordered to take explains my presence - here. I am the sole owner of one of the largest, if not the largest, - business enterprises in America; certainly its turn-over, at least, is - beyond question the biggest on the American continent. I have - establishments in every city of any size in both the United States and - Canada—and even in Mexico. The situation I offer you is that of my - confidential representative. No connection whatever will be known to exist - between us; your title will be that of a gentleman of leisure—but - your duties will be more arduous. I regret to say that in many cases I - fear my local managers are not—er—making accurate returns to - me, and they are very hard to check up. I would require you to travel from - place to place as a sort of, say, secret inspector of branches, and - furnish me with the inside information from the lack of which my business - at present, I am afraid, is suffering severely.” - </p> - <p> - “And that business?” The young man had raised himself to his elbow on the - sand. - </p> - <p> - “The one that is nearest to your heart,” said the tall man calmly. - “Gambling.” - </p> - <p> - The young man leaned slowly forward, staring at the other. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if I quite get you?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you do.” The tall man smiled. “My business is a chain of select - and exclusive gambling houses where only high play is indulged in, and - whose clientele is the richest in the land.” - </p> - <p> - The young man rose to his feet, walked a few steps away along the beach, - and came back again. - </p> - <p> - “You're devilishly complimentary!” he flung out, with a short laugh. “As I - understand it, then, the price I am to pay for getting away from here is - the pawning of my soul?” - </p> - <p> - “Have you anything else to pawn?” inquired the other—and the quill - toothpick punctuated the remark: “Tck!” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the young man, with a twisted smile. “And I'm not sure I've got - that left! I am beginning to have a suspicion that it was in your 'branch' - at San Francisco that I lost my money.” - </p> - <p> - “You did,” said the other coolly. “That is how I came to know you. Though - not personally in evidence in the 'house' itself, San Francisco is my - home, and my information as to what goes on there at least is fairly - accurate.” - </p> - <p> - The young man resumed his pacing up and down the sand. - </p> - <p> - “And I might add,” said the tall man after a moment, “that from a point of - ethics I see little difference in the moral status between one who comes - to gamble and one who furnishes the other with the opportunity to do so. - You are perhaps hesitating to take the hurdle on that account?” - </p> - <p> - “Moral status!” exclaimed the young man sharply. He halted abruptly before - the other. “No—at least I am not a hypocrite! What right have I to - quarrel with moral status?” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, then,” said the other; “I will go farther. I will give you - everything in life that you desire. You will live as a gentleman of wealth - surrounded by every luxury that money can procure, for that is your rôle. - You may gamble to your heart's content, ten, twenty, fifty thousand a - night—in my houses. You will travel the length and breadth of - America. I will pay every expense. There is nothing that you may not have, - nothing that you may not do.” - </p> - <p> - The young man was silent for a full minute then, with his hands dug in his - pockets, he fell to whistling under his breath very softly—but very - deliberately. - </p> - <p> - An almost sinister smile spread over the tall man's lips as he listened. - </p> - <p> - “If I am not mistaken,” he observed dryly, “that is the aria from Faust.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the young man—and stared the other in the eye. “It is - the aria from Faust.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man nodded—but now his lips were straight. - </p> - <p> - “I accept the rôle of Mephistopheles, then,” he said softly. “Doctor - Faustus, you know, signed the bond.” - </p> - <p> - The young man squatted on the sand again. His face was curiously white; - only the ugly welt, dull red, across his cheeks, like the mark of some - strange branding-iron, held color. - </p> - <p> - “Then, draw it!” he said shortly. “And be damned to you!” - </p> - <p> - The tall man took a notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket. He wrote - rapidly, tore out the leaf, and on a second leaf made a copy of the first. - This, too, he tore out. - </p> - <p> - “I will read it,” he said. “You will observe that no names are mentioned; - that I have still reserved the privilege of keeping my identity in - abeyance until the document is signed. This is what I have written: <i>For - good and valid consideration the second signatory to this contract hereby - enters unreservedly into the employ of the first signatory for a period - which shall include the lifetime of one or other of the undersigned, or - until such time as this agreement may be dissolved either by mutual - consent or at the will of the first signatory alone. And the first - signatory to this contract agrees to maintain the second signatory in a - station in life commensurate with that of a gentleman of wealth - irrespective of expense, and further to pay to the second signatory as a - stated salary the sum of one thousand dollars a month.</i>” He looked up. - “Shall I sign?” - </p> - <p> - “Body and soul,” murmured the young man. He appeared to be fascinated with - the restless movement of the quill toothpick in the other's mouth. “Have - you another toothpick you could let me have?” he inquired casually. - </p> - <p> - The tall man mechanically thrust his fingers into his vest pocket; and - then, as though but suddenly struck with the irrelevancy, and perhaps - facetiousness, of the request, frowned as he found himself handing over - the article in question. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I sign?” His tone was sterner. “It is understood that the - signatures are to be bona fide and——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sign it. It is quite understood.” The young man spoke without - looking up. He seemed to be engrossed in carefully slitting the point of - the quill toothpick he had acquired with his knife. - </p> - <p> - The other signed both sheets from the notebook. - </p> - <p> - The young man accepted the two slips of paper, but refused the proffered - fountain pen. In the moonlight he read the other's signature: Gilbert - Larmon. His lips tightened a little. It was a big name in San Francisco, a - name of power. Few dreamed perhaps where the sinews of that power came - from! He drew from his pocket a small bottle, uncorked it, dipped in the - quill toothpick, and with his improvised pen wrote with a rasping, - spluttering noise beneath the other's signature on each of the two slips - of paper. One of these slips he returned to the other—but beneath - the tall man's signature there was no mark of any kind whatever. - </p> - <p> - Through narrowing eyes the tall man had been watching, and now his face - darkened ominously, and there was something of deadly coolness in his - voice as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “What tomfoolery is this?” he demanded evenly. - </p> - <p> - “No; it's quite all right,” said the young man placidly. “Just a whim of - mine. I can't seem to get that Doctor Faustus thing out of my head. - According to the story, I think, he signed in a drop of blood—and I - thought I'd carry a sort of analogy along a bit. That stuff's all right. I - got it from my old native friend on that island I was telling you about. - It's what my letter of introduction to Nanu was written with. And—well, - at least, I guess it stands for the drop of blood, all right! Take it down - there to the shore and dip that part of the paper in the salt water.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man made no answer. For a moment he remained staring with - grim-set features at the other, then he got up, walked sharply to the - water's edge, and, bending down, moistened the lower portion of the paper. - He held it up to the moonlight. Heavy black letters were slowly taking - form just beneath his own signature. Presently he walked back up the beach - to the young man, and held out his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Let us get back to the ship—John Bruce,” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER ONE—ALADDIN'S LAMP - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE, - stretched at full length on a luxurious divan in the most sumptuous - apartment of the Bayne-Miloy, New York's newest and most pretentious - hostelry, rose suddenly to his feet and switched off the lights. The same - impulse carried him in a few strides to the window. The night was still, - and the moon rode high and full. It was the same moon that, three months - ago, he had stared at from the flat of his back on the beach at Apia. A - smile, curiously tight, and yet curiously whimsical, touched his lips. If - it had been “moon-madness” that had fallen upon the gambler king and - himself that night, it had been a madness that was strangely free in its - development from hallucination! That diagnosis no longer held. It would be - much more apposite to lay it bluntly to the door of—Mephistopheles! - From the moment he had boarded the mail steamer he had lived as a man - possessed of unlimited wealth, as a man with unlimited funds always in his - possession or at his instant command. - </p> - <p> - He whistled softly. It was, though, if not moon-madness, perhaps the moon, - serene and full up there as it had been that other night, which he had - been watching from the divan a few moments before, that had sent his mind - scurrying backward over those intervening months. And yet, perhaps not; - for there would come often enough, as now, moments of mind groping, yes, - even the sense of hallucination, when he was not quite sure but that a - certain bubble, floating at one moment in dazzlingly iridescent beauty - before his eyes, would dissolve the next into blank nothingness, and—— - Well, what would it be then? Another beach at some Apia, until another - Mephistopheles, in some other guise, came to play up against his rôle of - Doctor Faustus again? - </p> - <p> - He looked sharply behind him around the darkened room, whose darkness did - not hide its luxury. His shoulder brushed the heavy silken portière at his - side; his fingers touched a roll of banknotes in his pocket, a generous - roll, whose individual units were of denominations more generous still. - These were realities! - </p> - <p> - Mephistopheles at play! He had left Larmon at Suva, Fiji. Thereafter, - their ways and their lives lay apart—outwardly. Actually, even here - in New York with the continent between them, for Larmon had resumed his - life in which he played the rôle of a benevolent and retired man of wealth - in San Francisco, they were in constant and extremely intimate touch with - each other. - </p> - <p> - A modern Mephistopheles! Two men only in the world knew Gilbert Larmon for - what he was! One other besides himself! And that other was a man named - Maldeck, Peter Maldeck. But only one man knew him, John Bruce, in his new - rôle, and that was Gilbert Larmon. Maldeck was the manager of the entire - ring of gambling houses, and likewise the clearing house through which the - profits flowed into Larmon's coffers; but to Maldeck, he, John Bruce, was - exactly what he appeared to be to the world at large, and to the local - managers of the gambling houses in particular—a millionaire plunger - to whom gambling was as the breath of life. The “inspector of branches” - dealt with Gilbert Larmon alone, and dealt confidentially and secretively - over Maldeck's head—even that invisible writing fluid supplied by - the old Samoan Islander playing its part when found necessary, for it had - been agreed between Larmon and himself that even the most innocent - appearing document received from him, John Bruce, should be subjected to - the salt water test; and he had, indeed, already used it in several of the - especially confidential reports that he had sent Larmon on some of the - branches. - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. The whole scheme of his changed existence had - all been artfully simple—and superbly efficient. He was under no - necessity to explain the source of his wealth except in his native city, - San Francisco, where he was known—and San Francisco was outside his - jurisdiction. With both Larmon and Maldeck making that their headquarters, - other supervision of the local “branch” was superfluous; elsewhere, his - wealth was inherited—that was all. So, skipping San Francisco, he - had come leisurely eastward, gambling for a week or two weeks, as the case - might be, in the various cities, following as guidance apparently but the - whim of his supposedly roué inclinations, and he had lost a lot of money—which - would eventually find its way back to its original source in the pockets - of Gilbert Larmon, via the clearing house conducted by Peter Maldeck. It - was extremely simple—but, equally, extremely systematic. The - habitues of every branch were carefully catalogued. He had only—and - casually—to make the acquaintance of one of these in each city, and, - in turn, quite inevitably, would follow an introduction to the local - “house”; and, once introduced, the entrée, then or on any subsequent visit - to that city, was an established fact. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce laughed suddenly, softly, out into the night. It had been a - good bargain that he had made with Mephistopheles! Wealth, luxury, - everything he desired in life was his. On the trail behind him in the - cities he had already visited he had nightly lost or won huge sums of - money until he had become known as the millionaire plunger. It was quite - true that, in as much as the money, whether lost or won, but passed from - his right- to his left-hand pocket—the pockets being represented by - one Gilbert Larmon—the gambler craving within him was but ill - served, almost in a sense mocked; but that phase of it had sunk into - insignificance. The whole idea was a gigantic gamble—a gamble with - life. The whole fabric was of texture most precarious. It exhilarated him. - Excitement, adventure, yes, even peril, beckoned alluringly and always - from around the corner just ahead. He stood against the police; he stood a - very excellent chance of being discovered some morning minus his life if - the men he was set to watch, and who now fawned upon him and treated him - with awe and an unholy admiration, should get an inkling of his real - identity and his real purpose in their houses! - </p> - <p> - He yawned, and as though glorying in his own strength flexed his great - shoulders, and stretched his arms to their full length above his head. - God, it was life! It made of him a superman. He had no human ties to bind - him; no restraint to know; no desire that could not be satiated. The past - was wiped away. It was like some reincarnation in which he stood supreme - above his fellow men, and they bowed to their god. And he was their god. - And if he but nodded approval they would lie, and cheat, and steal, and - commit murder in their greed of worship, they whose souls were in pawn to - their god! - </p> - <p> - He turned suddenly from the window, switched on the lights, drew from his - pocket a great sum of money in banknotes, and stood staring at it. There - were thousands in his hand. Thousands and thousands! Money! The one - universally-orthodox god! For but one of these pieces of paper in his hand - he could command what he would, play upon human passions at his whim, and - like puppets on a stage of his own setting move the followers of the Great - Creed, that were numbered in their millions, at his will! It was only over - the few outcasts, the unbelievers, that he held no sway. But he could - afford to ignore the minority! Was he not indeed a god? - </p> - <p> - And it had cost him nothing. Only the pawning of his soul; and, like - Faustus, the day of settlement was afar off. Only the signing of a bond - that postulated a denial of what he had already beforehand held in light - esteem—a code of canting morals. It was well such things were out of - the way! Life stretched the fuller, the rosier, the more red-blooded - before him on that account. He was well content. The future lured him. Nor - was it money alone. There was the spice of adventure, the battle of wits, - hardly inaugurated yet, between himself and those whose underground - methods were the <i>raison d'être</i> of his own magically enhanced - circumstances. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce replaced the money in his pocket abruptly, and frowned. That - was something, from still another standpoint, which he could not afford to - lose sight of. He had to justify his job. Gilbert Larmon had stated that - he was not a philanthropist, and it was written in the bond that Larmon - could terminate the agreement at will. Yes, and that was queer, too! What - kind of a man was Larmon? He knew Larmon, as Larmon superficially - subjected himself to inspection and speculation; but he was fully aware - that he did not know Larmon the man. There seemed something almost - sinister in its inconsistency that Larmon should at one and the same time - reserve the right to terminate that bond at will while his very signature - upon it furnished a weapon which, if he, John Bruce, chose to use it, - placed the other at his mercy. What kind of a man was Larmon? No fool, no - weakling—that was certain. And yet at a word he, John Bruce, could - tear the other from the pseudorighteous pedestal upon which he posed, - strip the other naked of the garments that clothed his criminal - activities, and destroy utterly the carefully reared structure of - respectability that Larmon had built up around himself. It might be very - true that he, John Bruce, would never use such a weapon, even under - provocation; but Larmon could not be sure of that. How then did Larmon - reconcile his reservation to terminate the contract at will and yet - furnish his co-signatory with the means of black-mailing him into a - continuance of it? What kind of a man was Larmon? What would he be like - with his back to the wall? What <i>other</i> reservation had been in - Larmon's mind when he had drawn that bond? - </p> - <p> - And then a queer and bitter smile came to John Bruce's lips. The god of - money! Was he so sure that he was the god and not the worshiper? Was that - it? Was that what Larmon counted upon?—that only a fool would risk - the sacrifice of the Aladdin's lamp that had been thrust into his hands, - and that only a fool but would devote body and soul to Larmon's interests - under the circumstances! - </p> - <p> - The smile grew whimsical. It was complimentary in a sense. It was based on - the premise that he, John Bruce, was not a fool. He shrugged his - shoulders. Well, therein Larmon was right. It would not be his, John - Bruce's, fault if anything short of death terminated the bond which had - originated that tropic night on the moon-lit beach in Samoa three months - ago! - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. It was still early for play; - but it was not so early that his arrival in the New York “branch,” where - he had been a constant visitor for the last four nights, could possibly - arouse any suspicion, and one's opportunities for inside observation were - very much better when the play was desultory and but few present than in - the crowded rooms of the later hours. - </p> - <p> - “If I were in England now,” said John Bruce, addressing the chandelier, as - he put on a light coat over his evening clothes, “I couldn't get away with - this without a man to valet me—and at times, though he might be - useful, he might be awkward. Damned awkward! But in America you do, or you - don't, as you please—and I don't!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWO—THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE left the - hotel and entered a taxi. A little later, in that once most fashionable - section of New York, in the neighborhood of Gramercy Square, he was - admitted to a stately mansion by a white-haired negro butler, who bowed - obsequiously. - </p> - <p> - Thereafter, for a little while, John Bruce wandered leisurely from room to - room in the magnificently appointed house, where in the rich carpets the - sound of footsteps was lost, where bronzes and paintings, exquisite in - their art, charmed the eye, where soft-toned draperies and portières were - eloquent of refinement and good taste; he paused for a moment at the - threshold of the supper room, whose table was a profusion of every - delicacy to tempt the palate, where wines of a vintage that was almost - priceless were to be had at no greater cost than the effort required to - lift a beckoning finger to the smiling ebony face of old Jake, the - attendant. And here John Bruce extended a five-dollar bill, but shook his - head as the said Jake hastened toward him. Later, perhaps, he might - revisit the room—when a few hours' play had dimmed the recollection - of his recent dinner, and his appetite was again sharpened. - </p> - <p> - In the card rooms there were, as yet, scarcely any “guests.” He chatted - pleasantly with the “dealers”—John Bruce, the millionaire plunger, - was <i>persona grata</i>, almost effusively so, everywhere in the house. - Lavergne, the manager, as Parisian as he was immaculate from the tips of - his patent-leathers to the tips of his waxed mustache, joined him; and for - ten minutes, until the other was called away, John Bruce proceeded to - nourish the already extremely healthy germ of intimacy that, from the - first meeting, he had planted between them. - </p> - <p> - With the manager's million apologies for the unpardonable act of tearing - himself away still sounding in his ears, John Bruce placidly resumed his - wanderings. The New York “branch,” which being interpreted meant Monsieur - Henri de Lavergne, the exquisite little manager, was heavily underscored - on Gilbert Larmon's black-list! - </p> - <p> - The faint, musical whir of the little ivory ball from the roulette table - caught John Bruce's attention, and he strolled in that direction. Here a - “guest” was already at play. The croupier smiled as John Bruce approached - the table. John Bruce smiled pleasantly in return, and sat down. After a - moment, he began to make small five-dollar bets on the “red.” His - fellow-player was plunging heavily—and losing. Also, the man was - slightly under the influence of liquor. The croupier's voice droned - through half a dozen plays. John Bruce continued to make five-dollar bets. - The little by-play interested him. He knew the signs. - </p> - <p> - His fellow-player descended to the supper room for another drink, it being - against the rules of the house to serve anything in the gambling rooms. - The croupier laughed as he glanced at the retreating figure and then at - another five-dollar bet that John Bruce pushed upon the “red.” - </p> - <p> - “He'll rob you of your reputation, Mr. Bruce, if you don't look out!” the - croupier smiled quizzically. “Are you finding a thrill in playing the - minimum for a change?” - </p> - <p> - “Just feeling my way.” John Bruce returned the smile. “It's a bit early - yet, isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - The other player returned. He continued to bet heavily. He made another - excursion below stairs. Other “guests” drifted into the room, and the play - became more general. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce increased his stakes slightly, quite indifferent naturally as - to whether he lost or won—since he could neither lose nor win. He - was sitting beside the player he had originally joined at the table, and - suddenly his interest in the other became still more enlivened. The man, - after a series of disastrous plays, was palpably broke, for he snatched - off a large diamond ring from his finger and held it out to the croupier. - </p> - <p> - “Give me—hic!—somethin' on that,” he hiccoughed. “Might as - well make a clean-up, eh?” - </p> - <p> - The croupier took the ring, examined it critically for an instant, and - handed it back. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry,” he said; “but you know the rules of the house. I couldn't - advance anything on it if it were worth a million. But the stone's - valuable, all right. You'd better take a trip to Persia.” - </p> - <p> - The man replaced the ring with some difficulty upon his finger, and stared - owlishly at the croupier. - </p> - <p> - “T' hell with your—hic!—trip to Persia!” he said thickly. - “Don't like Persia! Been—hic!—there before! Guess I'll go - home!” - </p> - <p> - The man negotiated his way to the door; the game went on. John Bruce began - to increase his stakes materially. A trip to Persia! What, exactly, did - that mean? It both piqued his curiosity and stirred his suspicions. He - smiled as he placed a heavy stake upon the table. It would probably be a - much more expensive trip to this fanciful Persia than to the Persia of - reality, for it seemed that one must go broke first! Well, he would go - broke—though it would require some little finesse for John Bruce, - the millionaire plunger, to attain that envious situation without exciting - suspicion. He was very keenly interested in this personally conducted - tour, obviously inaugurated by that exquisite little man, Monsieur Paul de - Lavergne! - </p> - <p> - John Bruce to his inward chagrin—won. He began to play now with a - zest, eagerness and excitement which, heretofore, the juggling of - Mephistopheles' money had deprived him of. Outwardly, however, the calm - impassiveness that, in the few evenings he had been in the house, had - already won him the reputation of being par excellence a cool and nervy - plunger, remained unchanged. - </p> - <p> - He continued to win for a while; and then suddenly he began to lose. This - was much better! He lost steadily now. He staked with lavish hand, playing - numerous long chances for the limit at every voyage of the clicking little - ivory ball. Finally, the last of his visible assets were on the table, and - he leaned forward to watch the fall of the ball. He was already fingering - the magnificent jeweled watch-fob that dangled from the pocket of his - evening clothes. - </p> - <p> - “Zero!” announced the croupier. - </p> - <p> - The “zero” had been one of his selections. The “zero” paid 35 for 1. - </p> - <p> - A subdued ripple of excitement went up from around the table. The room was - filling up. The still-early comers, mostly spectators for the time being, - lured to the roulette table at the whisper that the millionaire plunger - was out to-night to break the bank, were whetting their own appetites in - the play of Mr. John Bruce, who had obviously just escaped being broke - himself by a very narrow margin. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce smiled. He was in funds again—more so than pleased him! - </p> - <p> - “It's a 'zero' night, Mr. Croupier,” observed John Bruce pleasantly. “Roll - her again!” - </p> - <p> - But now luck was with John Bruce. The “zero” and his other combinations - were as shy and elusive as fawns. At the expiration of another half hour - the net result of John Bruce's play consisted in his having transferred - from his own keeping into the keeping of the New York branch thirty - thousand dollars of Mephistopheles' money. He was to all appearances - flagrantly broke as far as funds in his immediate possession were - concerned. - </p> - <p> - “I guess,” said John Bruce, with a whimsical smile, “that I didn't bring - enough with me. I don't know where I can get any more to-night, and—oh, - here!” He laughed with easy grace, as he suddenly tossed his jeweled - watch-fob to the croupier. “One more fling anyhow—I've still - unbounded faith in 'zero'! Let me have a thousand on that. It's worth - about two.” - </p> - <p> - The croupier, as on the previous occasion, examined the article, but, as - before, shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bruce, but it's strictly against the rules of the - house,” he said apologetically. “I can fix it for you easily enough - though, if you care to take a trip to Persia.” - </p> - <p> - “A trip to Persia?” inquired John Bruce in a puzzled way. “I think I heard - you suggest that before this evening. What's the idea?” - </p> - <p> - Some of those around the table were smiling. - </p> - <p> - “It's all right,” volunteered a player opposite, with a laugh. “Only look - out for the conductor!” - </p> - <p> - “Shoot!” said John Bruce nonchalantly. “That's good enough! You can book - my passage, Mr. Croupier.” - </p> - <p> - The croupier called an attendant, spoke to him, and the man left the room. - </p> - <p> - “It will take a few minutes, Mr. Bruce—while you are getting your - hat and coat. The doorman will let you know,” said the croupier, and with - a bow to John Bruce resumed the interrupted game. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce strolled from the room, and descended to the lower floor. He - entered the supper room, and while old Jake plied him with delicacies he - saw the doorman emerge from the telephone booth out in the hall, hurry - away, and presently return, talking earnestly with Monsieur Henri de - Lavergne. The manager, in turn, entered the booth. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur Henri de Lavergne came into the supper room after a moment. - </p> - <p> - “In just a few minutes, Mr. Bruce—there will be a slight delay,” he - said effusively. “Too bad to keep you waiting.” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all!” responded John Bruce. He held a wine glass up to the light. - “This is very excellent, Monsieur de Lavergne.” - </p> - <p> - Monsieur Henri de Lavergne accepted the compliment with a gratified bow. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Bruce is very kind to say so,” he said—and launched into an - elaborate apology that Mr. Bruce should be put to any inconvenience to - obtain the financial accommodation asked for. The security that Mr. Bruce - offered was unquestioned. It was not that. It was the rule of the house. - Mr. Bruce would understand. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Bruce understood perfectly. - </p> - <p> - “Quite so!” he said cordially. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur Henri de Lavergne excused himself, and left the room. - </p> - <p> - “A fishy, clever little crook,” confided John Bruce to himself. “I wonder - what's the game?” - </p> - <p> - He continued to sip his wine in apparent indifference to the passing - minutes, nor was his indifference altogether assumed. His mind was quite - otherwise occupied. It was rather neat, that—a trip to Persia. The - expression in itself held a lure which had probably not been overlooked as - an asset. It suggested Bagdad, and the Arabian Nights, and a Caliph and a - Grand Vizier who stalked about in disguise. On the other hand, the - inebriated gentleman had evidently had his fill of it on one occasion, and - would have no more of it. And the other gentleman who had, as it were, - indorsed the proceeding, had, at the same time, taken the occasion to - throw out a warning to beware of the conductor. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce smiled pleasantly into his wine glass. Not very difficult to - fathom, perhaps, after all! It was probably some shrewd old reprobate with - usurious rates in cahoots with the sleek Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, who - made a side-split on the said rates in return for the exclusive privilege - accorded the other of acting as leech to the guests of the house when in - extremity. - </p> - <p> - It had been perhaps twenty minutes since he had left the roulette table. - He looked at his watch now as he saw the doorman coming toward the supper - room with his hat and coat. The night was still early. It was a quarter to - eleven. - </p> - <p> - He went out into the hall. - </p> - <p> - “Yassuh,” said the gray-haired and obsequious old darky, as he assisted - John Bruce into his coat, “if yo'all will just come with me, Mistuh Bruce, - yo'all will be 'commodated right prompt.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce followed his guide to the doorstep. - </p> - <p> - The darky pointed to a closed motor car at the curb by the corner, a few - houses away. - </p> - <p> - “Yo'all just say 'Persia' to the shuffer, Mistuh Bruce, and———-” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” John Bruce smiled his interruption, and went down the steps - to the sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce approached the waiting car leisurely, scrutinizing it the - while; and as he approached, it seemed to take on more and more the aspect - of a venerable and decrepit ark. The body of the car was entirely without - light; the glass front, if there were one, behind the man whom he - discerned sitting in the chauffeur's seat, was evidently closely - curtained; and so, too, he now discovered as he drew nearer, were the - windows and doors of the car as well. - </p> - <p> - “The parlor looks a little ominous,” said John - </p> - <p> - Bruce softly to himself. “I wonder how far it is to the spider's dining - room?” - </p> - <p> - He halted as he reached the vehicle. - </p> - <p> - “I'm bound for Persia, I believe,” he suggested pleasantly to the - chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - The chauffeur leaned out, and John Bruce was conscious that he was - undergoing a critical inspection. In turn he looked at the chauffeur, but - there was very little light. The car seemed to have chosen a spot as - little disturbed by the rays of the street lamps as possible, and he - gained but a vague impression of a red, weather-beaten face, clean shaved, - with shaggy brows under grizzled hair, the whole topped by an equally - weather-beaten felt hat of nondescript shape and color. - </p> - <p> - The inspection, on the chauffeur's part at least, appeared to be - satisfactory. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the man. “Step in, sir, please.” - </p> - <p> - The door swung open—just how, John Bruce could not have explained. - He stepped briskly into the car—only to draw back instinctively as - he found it already occupied. But the door had closed behind him. It was - inky black in the interior now with the door shut. The car was jolting - into motion. - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me!” said John Bruce a little grimly, and sat down on the back - seat. - </p> - <p> - A woman! He had just been able to make out a woman's form as he had - stepped in. It was clever—damned clever! Of both the exquisite - Monsieur Henri de Lavergne and the money-lending spider at the other end - of this pleasant little jaunt into unexplored Persia! A woman in it—a - luring, painted, fair and winsome damsel, no doubt—to make the - usurious pill of illegal interest a little sweeter! Oh, yes, he quite - understood now that warning to beware of the conductor! - </p> - <p> - “I did not anticipate such charming company,” said John Bruce facetiously. - “Have we far to go?” - </p> - <p> - There was no answer. - </p> - <p> - Something like a shadow, deeper than the surrounding blackness, seemed to - pass before John Bruce's eyes, and then he sat bolt upright, startled and - amazed. In front of him, let down from the roof of the car, was a small - table covered with black velvet, and suspended some twelve inches above - the table, throwing the glow downward in a round spot of light over the - velvet surface, was a shaded electric lamp. A small white hand, bare of - any ornament, palm upward, lay upon the velvet table-top under the play of - the light. - </p> - <p> - A voice spoke now softly from beside him: - </p> - <p> - “You have something to pawn?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stared. He still could not see her face. “Er—yes,” he - said. He frowned in perplexity. “When we get to Persia, alias the - pawn-shop.” - </p> - <p> - “This is the pawn-shop,” she answered. “Let me see what you have, please.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm da——” John Bruce checked himself. - </p> - <p> - There was a delicacy about that white hand resting there under the light - that rebuked him. “Er—pardon me,” said John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - He felt for his jeweled watch-fob, unfastened it, and laid it in the - extended palm. He laughed a little to himself. On with the game! The lure - was here, all right; the stage setting was masterly—and now the - piper would be paid on a basis, probably, that would relegate Shylock - himself to the kindergarten class of money lenders! - </p> - <p> - And then, suddenly, it seemed to John Bruce as though his blood whipping - through his veins was afire. A face in profile, bending forward to examine - the diamonds and the setting of the fob-pendant, came under the light. He - gazed at it fascinated. It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. - His eyes drank in the rich masses of brown, silken hair, the perfect - throat, the chin and lips that, while modelled in sweet womanliness, were - still eloquent of self-reliance and strength. He had thought to see a - pretty face, a little brazen perhaps, and artfully powdered and rouged; - what he saw was a vision of loveliness that seemed to personify the - unsullied, God-given freshness and purity of youth. - </p> - <p> - He spoke involuntarily; no power of his could have kept back the words. - </p> - <p> - “My God, you are wonderful!” he exclaimed in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - He saw the color swiftly tinge the throat a coral pink, and mount upwards; - but she did not look at him. Her eyes! He wanted to see her eyes—to - look into them! But she did not turn her head. - </p> - <p> - “You probably paid two thousand dollars for this,” she said quietly, “and——” - </p> - <p> - “Nineteen hundred,” corrected John Bruce mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “I will allow you seventeen hundred on it, then,” she said, still quietly. - “The interest will be at seven per cent. Do you wish to accept the offer?” - </p> - <p> - Seventeen hundred! Seven per cent! It was in consonance with the vision! - His mind was topsy-turvy. - </p> - <p> - He did not understand. - </p> - <p> - “It is very liberal,” said John Bruce, trying to control his voice. “Of - course, I accept.” - </p> - <p> - The shapely head nodded. - </p> - <p> - He watched her spellbound. The watch-fob had vanished, and in its place - now under the little conical shaft of light she was swiftly counting out a - pile of crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes. To these she added a stamped - and numbered ticket. - </p> - <p> - “You may redeem the pledge at any time by making application to the same - person to whom you originally applied for a loan to-night,” she said, as - she handed him the money. “Please count it.” - </p> - <p> - Her head was in shadow now. He could no longer even see her profile. She - was sitting back in her corner of the car. - </p> - <p> - “I—I am quite satisfied,” said John Bruce a little helplessly. - </p> - <p> - “Please count it,” she insisted. - </p> - <p> - With a shrug of protest, John Bruce obeyed her. It was not at all the - money that concerned him, nor the touch of it that was quickening his - pulse. - </p> - <p> - “It is quite correct,” he said, putting money and ticket in his pocket. He - turned toward her. “And now——” - </p> - <p> - His words ended in a little gasp. The light was out. In the darkness that - shadow passed again before his eyes, and he was conscious that the table - had vanished—also that the car had stopped. - </p> - <p> - The door opened. - </p> - <p> - “If you please, sir!” It was the chauffeur, holding the door open. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce hesitated. - </p> - <p> - “I—er—look here!” he said. “I——” - </p> - <p> - “If you please, sir!” There was something of significant finality in the - man's patient and respectful tones. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce smiled wryly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, at least, I may say good-night,” he said, as he backed out of the - car. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, sir—good-night, sir,” said the chauffeur calmly—and - closed the door, and touched his hat, and climbed back to his seat. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce glared at the man. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm damned!” said John Bruce fervently. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER THREE—SANCTUARY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE car started - off. It turned the corner. John Bruce looked around him. He was standing - on precisely the same spot from which he had entered the car. He had been - driven around the block, that was all! - </p> - <p> - He caught his breath. Was it real? That wondrous face which, almost as - though at the touch of some magician's wand, had risen before him out of - the blackness! His blood afire was leaping through his veins again. That - face! - </p> - <p> - He ran to the corner and peered down the street. The car was perhaps a - hundred yards away—and suddenly John Bruce started to run again, - following the car. Madness! His lips had set grim and hard. Who was she - that prowled the night in that bizarre traveling pawn-shop? Where did she - live? Was it actually the Arabian Nights back again? He laughed at himself—not - mirthfully. But still he ran on. - </p> - <p> - The car was outdistancing him. Fool! For a woman's face! Even though it - were a divine symphony of beauty! Fool? Love-smitten idiot? Not at all! It - was his job! Nice sound to that word in conjunction with that haunting - memory of loveliness—job! - </p> - <p> - The traveling pawn-shop turned into Fourth Avenue, and headed downtown. - John Bruce caught the sound of a street car gong, spurted and swung - breathlessly to the platform of a car going in the same direction. - </p> - <p> - Of course, it was his job! The exquisite Monsieur Henri de Lavergne was - mixed up in this. - </p> - <p> - “Hell!” - </p> - <p> - The street car conductor stared at him. John Bruce scowled. He swore again—but - this time under his breath. It brought a sudden wild, unreasonable rage - and rebellion, the thought that there should be anything, even of the - remotest nature, between the glorious vision in that car and the mincing, - silken-tongued manager of Larmon's gambling hell. But there was, for all - that, wasn't there? How else had she come there? It was the usual thing, - wasn't it? And—beware of the conductor! The warning now appeared to - be very apt! And how well he had profited by it! A fool chasing a siren's - beauty! - </p> - <p> - His face grew very white. - </p> - <p> - “John Bruce,” he whispered to himself, “if I could get at you I'd pound - your face to pulp for that!” - </p> - <p> - He leaned out from the platform. The traveling pawn-shop had increased its - speed and was steadily leaving the street car behind. He looked back in - the opposite direction. The street was almost entirely deserted as far as - traffic went. The only vehicle in sight was a taxi bowling along a block - in the rear. He laughed out again harshly. The conductor eyed him - suspiciously. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce dropped off the car, and planted himself in the path of the - on-coming taxi. Call it his job, then, if it pleased him! He owed it to - Larmon to get to the bottom of this. How extremely logical he was! The - transaction in the traveling pawn-shop had been so fair-minded as almost - to exonerate Monsieur Henri de Lavergne on the face of it, and if it had - not been for a certain vision therein, and a fire in his own veins, and a - fury at the thought that even her acquaintance with the gambling manager - was profanity, he could have heartily applauded Monsieur Henri de Lavergne - for a unique and original—— - </p> - <p> - The taxi bellowed at him, hoarsely indignant. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stepped neatly to one side—and jumped on the footboard. - </p> - <p> - “Here, you! What the hell!” shouted the chauffeur. “You——” - </p> - <p> - “Push your foot on it a little,” said John Bruce calmly. “And don't lose - sight of that closed car ahead.” - </p> - <p> - “Lose sight of nothin'!” yelled the chauffeur. “I've got a fare, an'——” - </p> - <p> - “I hear him,” said John Bruce composedly. He edged in beside the - chauffeur, and one of the crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes passed into - the latter's possession. “Keep that car in sight, and don't make it - hopelessly obvious that you are following it. I'll attend to your fare.” - </p> - <p> - He screwed around in his seat. An elderly, gray-whiskered gentleman, a - patently irate gentleman, was pounding furiously on the glass panel. - </p> - <p> - “We should be turnin' down this street we're just passin',” grinned the - chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce lowered the panel. - </p> - <p> - “What's the meaning of this?” thundered the fare. - </p> - <p> - “I'm very sorry, sir,” said John Bruce respectfully. - </p> - <p> - “A little detective business.” He coughed. It was really quite true. His - voice became confidential. “The occupants of that car ahead got away from - me. I—I want to arrest one of them. I'm very sorry to put you to any - inconvenience, but it couldn't be helped. There was no other way than to - commandeer your taxi. It will be only for a matter of a few minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “It's preposterous!” spluttered the fare. “Outrageous! I—I'll——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said John Bruce. “But there was nothing else I could do. You - can report it to headquarters, of course.” - </p> - <p> - He closed the panel. - </p> - <p> - “Fly-cop—not!” said the chauffeur, with his tongue in his cheek. - “Any fly-cop that ever got his mitt on a whole fifty-dollar bill all at - one time couldn't be pried lose from it with a crowbar!” - </p> - <p> - “It lets you out, doesn't it?” inquired John Bruce pleasantly. “Now let's - see you earn it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll earn it!” said the chauffeur with unction. “You leave it to me, - boss!” - </p> - <p> - The quarry, in the shape of the traveling pawn shop, directed its way into - the heart of the East Side. Presently it turned into a hiving, narrow - street, where hawkers with their push-carts in the light of flaring, - spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a thriving business. The two cars - went more slowly now. There was very little room. The taxi almost upset a - fish vendor's wheeled emporium. The vendor was eloquent—fervently - so. But the chauffeur's eyes, after an impersonal and indifferent glance - at the other, returned to the car ahead. The taxi continued on its way, - trailing fifty yards in the rear of the traveling pawn-shop. - </p> - <p> - At the end of the block the car ahead turned the corner. As the taxi, in - turn, rounded the corner, John Bruce saw that the traveling pawn-shop was - drawn up before a small building that was nested in between two tenements. - The blood quickened in his pulse. The girl had alighted, and was entering - the small building. - </p> - <p> - “Hit it up a little to the next corner, turn it, and let me off there,” - directed John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “I get you!” said the chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - The taxi swept past the car at the curb. Another minute and it had swung - the next corner, and was slowing down. John Bruce jumped to the ground - before the taxi stopped. - </p> - <p> - “Good-night!” he called to the chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - He waved his hand debonairly at the scowling, whiskered visage that was - watching him from the interior of the cab, and hurriedly retraced his way - back around the corner. - </p> - <p> - The traveling pawn-shop had turned and was driving away. John Bruce - moderated his pace, and sauntered on along the street. He smiled half - grimly, half contentedly to himself. The “trip to Persia” had led him a - little farther afield than Monsieur Henri de Lavergne had perhaps counted - on—or than he, John Bruce, himself had, either! But he knew now - where the most glorious woman he had ever seen in his life lived, or, at - least, was to be found again. No, it wasn't the <i>moon!</i> To him, she - was exactly that. And he had not seen her for the last time, either! That - was what he was here for, though he wasn't so mad as to risk, or, rather, - invite an affront to begin with by so bald an act as to go to the front - door, say, and ring the bell—which would be tantamount to informing - her that he had—er—played the detective from the moment he had - left her in the car. To-morrow, perhaps, or the next day, or whenever fate - saw fit to be in a kindly mood, a meeting that possessed all the - hall-marks of being quite inadvertent offered him high hopes. Later, if - fate still were kind, he would tell her that he had followed her, and what - she would be thoroughly justified in misconstruing now, she might then - accept as the tribute to her that he meant it to be—when she knew - him better. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was whistling softly to himself. - </p> - <p> - He was passing the house now, his scrutiny none the less exhaustive - because it was apparently casual. It was a curious little two-story place - tucked away between the two flanking tenements, the further one of which - alone separated the house from the corner he was approaching. Not a light - showed from the front of the house. Yes, it was quite a curious place! - Although curtains were on the lower front windows, indicating that it was - purely a dwelling, the windows themselves were of abnormal size, as - though, originally perhaps, the ground floor had once been a shop of some - kind. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce turned the corner, and from a comparatively deserted street - found himself among the vendors' push-carts and the spluttering gasoline - torches again. He skirted the side of the tenement that made the corner, - discovered the fact that a lane cut in from the street and ran past the - rear of the tenement, which he mentally noted must likewise run past the - rear of the little house that was now so vitally interesting to him—and - halted on the opposite side of the lane to survey his surroundings. Here a - dirty and uninviting café attracted his attention, which, if its dingy - sign were to be believed, was run by one Palasco Ratti, a gentleman of - parts in the choice of wines which he offered to his patrons. John Bruce - surveyed Palasco Ratti's potential clientele—the street was full of - it; the shawled women, the dark-visaged, ear-ringed men. He smiled a - little to himself. No—probably not the half-naked children who - sprawled in the gutter and crawled amongst the push-carts' wheels! How was - it that <i>she</i> should ever have come to live in a neighborhood to - which the designation “foreign,” as far as she was concerned, must - certainly apply in particularly full measure? It was strange that she—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. Half humorously, half - grimly his eyes were riveted on the push-cart at the curb directly - opposite to him, the proprietor of which dealt in that brand of confection - so much in favor on the East Side—a great slab of candy from which, - as occasion required, he cut slices with a large carving knife. A brown - and grimy fist belonging to a tot of a girl of perhaps eight or nine years - of age, who had crept in under the pushcart, was stealthily feeling its - way upward behind the vendor's back, its objective being, obviously, a - generous piece of candy that reposed on the edge of the push-cart. There - was a certain fascination in watching developments. It was quite immoral, - of course, but his sympathies were with the child. It was a gamble whether - the grimy little hand would close on the coveted prize and disappear again - victorious, or whether the vendor would turn in time to frustrate the - raid. - </p> - <p> - The tot's hand crept nearer and nearer its goal. - </p> - <p> - No one, save himself of the many about, appeared to notice the little - cameo of primal instinct that was on exhibition before them. The small and - dirty fingers touched the candy, closed on it, and were withdrawn—but - were withdrawn too quickly. The child, at the psychological moment under - stress of excitement, eagerness and probably a wildly thumping heart, had - failed in finesse. Perhaps the paper that covered the surface of the - push-cart and on which the wares were displayed rattled; perhaps the - sudden movement in itself attracted the vendor's attention. The man - whirled and made a vicious dive for the child as she darted out from - between the wheels. And then she screamed. The man had hit her a brutal - clout across the head. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce straightened suddenly, a dull red creeping from his set jaw to - his cheeks. Still clutching the candy in her hand the child was running - blindly and in terror straight toward him. The man struck again, and the - child staggered, and, reeling, sought sanctuary between John Bruce's legs. - A bearded, snarling face in pursuit loomed up before him—and John - Bruce struck, struck as he had once struck before on a white moon-flooded - deck when a man, a brute beast, had gone down before him—and the - vendor, screaming shrilly, lay kicking in pain on the sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - It had happened quickly. Not one, probably, of those on the street had - caught the details of the little scene. And now the tiny thief had - wriggled through his legs, and with the magnificent irresponsibility of - childhood had darted away and was lost to sight. It had happened quickly—but - not so quickly as the gathering together of an angry, surging crowd around - John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - Some one in the crowd shrieked out above the clamor of voices: - </p> - <p> - “He kill-a Pietro! Kill-a da dude!” - </p> - <p> - It was a fire-brand. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce backed away a little—up against the door of Signor - Pascalo Ratti's wine shop. A glance showed him that, with the blow he had - struck, his light overcoat had become loosened, and that he was flaunting - an immaculate and gleaming shirt-front in the faces of the crowd. And - between their Pietro with a broken jaw and an intruder far too well - dressed to please their fancy, the psychology of the crowd became the - psychology of a mob. - </p> - <p> - The fire-brand took. - </p> - <p> - “Kill-a da dude!” It was echoed in chorus—and then a rush. - </p> - <p> - It flung John Bruce heavily against the wine shop door, and the door - crashed inward—and for a moment he was down, and the crowd, like a - snarling wolf pack, was upon him. And then the massive shoulders heaved, - and he shook them off and was on his feet; and all that was primal, - elemental in the man was dominant, the mad glorying in strife upon him, - and he struck right and left with blows before which, again and again, a - man went down. - </p> - <p> - But the rush still bore him backward, and the doorway was black and jammed - with reenforcements constantly pouring in. Tables crashed to the floor, - chairs were overturned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a - white-mustached Italian leap upon the counter and alternately wave his - arms and wring his hands together frantically. - </p> - <p> - “For the mercy of God!” the man screamed—and then his voice added to - the din in a flood of impassioned Italian. - </p> - <p> - It was Signor Pascalo Ratti, probably. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was panting now, his breath coming in short, hard gasps. It was - not easy to keep them in front of him, to keep his back free. He caught - the glint of knife blades now. - </p> - <p> - He was borne back foot by foot, the space widening as he retreated from - the door, giving room for more to come upon him at the same time. A knife - blade lunged at him. He evaded it—but another glittering in the - ceiling light at the same instant, flashing a murderous arc in its - downward plunge, caught him, and, before he could turn, sank home. - </p> - <p> - A yell of triumph went up. He felt no pain. Only a sudden sickening of his - brain, a sudden weakness that robbed his limbs of strength, and he reeled - and staggered, fighting blindly now. - </p> - <p> - And then his brain cleared. He flung a quick glance over his shoulder. - Yes, there was one chance. Only one! And in another minute, with another - knife thrust, it would be too late. He whirled suddenly and raced down the - length of the café. In the moment's grace earned through surprise at his - sudden action, he gained a door he had seen there, and threw himself upon - it. It was not fastened, though there was a key in the lock. He whipped - out the key, plunged through, locked the door on the outside with the - fraction of a second to spare before they came battering upon it—and - stumbled and fell headlong out into the open. - </p> - <p> - It was as though he were lashing his brain into action and virility. It - kept wobbling and fogging. Didn't the damned thing understand that his - life, was at stake! He lurched to his feet. He was in a lane. - </p> - <p> - In front of him, like great looming shadows, shadows that wobbled too, he - saw the shapes of two tenements, and like an inset between them, a small - house with a light gleaming in the lower window. - </p> - <p> - That was where the vision lived. Only there was a fence between. - Sanctuary! He lunged toward the fence. He had not meant to—to make a - call to-night—she—she might have misunderstood. But in a - second now <i>they</i> would come sweeping around into the lane after him - from the street. - </p> - <p> - He clawed his way to the top of the fence, and because his strength was - almost gone fell from the top of the fence to the ground on the other - side. - </p> - <p> - And now he crawled, crawled with what frantic haste he could, because he - heard the uproar from the street. And he laughed. The kid was probably - munching her hunk of candy now. Queer things—kids! Got her candy—happy—— - </p> - <p> - He reached up to the sill of an open window, clawed his way upward, as he - had clawed his way up the fence, straddled the sill unsteadily, clutched - at nothingness to save himself, and toppled inward to the floor of the - room. - </p> - <p> - A yell from the head of the lane, a cry from the other end of the room, - spurred him into final effort. He gained his feet, and swept his hand, wet - with blood, across his eyes. That was the vision there running toward him, - wasn't it?—the wonderful, glorious vision! - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me!” said John Bruce in a sing-song voice, and with a desperate - effort reached up and pulled down the window shade. He tried to smile - “Queer—queer things—kids—aren't they? She—she just - ducked out from under.” - </p> - <p> - The girl was staring at him wildly, her hands tightly clasped to her - bosom. - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me!” whispered John Bruce thickly. He couldn't see her any more, - just a multitude of objects whirling like a kaleidoscope before his eyes. - “She—she got the candy,” said John Bruce, attempting to smile again—and - pitched unconscious to the floor. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FOUR—A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>EAD! The girl was - on her knees beside John Bruce. Dead—he did not move! It was the man - who had pawned his watch-fob hardly half an hour before! What did it mean? - What did those angry shouts, that scurrying of many feet out there in the - lane mean? Hurriedly, her face as deadly white as the face upturned to her - from the floor, she tore open the once immaculate shirt-front, that was - now limp and wet and ugly with a great crimson stain, and laid bare the - wound. - </p> - <p> - The sounds from without were receding, the scurrying footsteps were - keeping on along the lane. A quiver ran through the form on the floor. - Dead! No, he was not dead—not—not yet. - </p> - <p> - A little cry escaped from her tightly closed lips, and for an instant she - covered her eyes with her hands. The wound was terrible—it - frightened her. It frightened her the more because, intuitively, she knew - that it was beyond any inexperienced aid that she could give. But she must - act, and act quickly. - </p> - <p> - She turned and ran into the adjoining room to the telephone, but even as - she reached out to lift the receiver from the hook she hesitated. Doctor - Crang! A little shudder of aversion swept over her—and then - resolutely, even pleading with central to hurry, she asked for the - connection. It was not a matter of choice, or aversion, or any other - consideration in the world save a question of minutes. The life of that - man in there on the floor hung by a thread. Doctor Crang was nearby enough - to respond almost instantly, and there was no one else she knew of who she - could hope would reach the man in time. And—she stared frantically - at the instrument now—was even he unavailable? Why didn't he answer? - Why didn't—— - </p> - <p> - A voice reached her. She recognized it. - </p> - <p> - “Doctor Crang, this is Claire Veniza,” she said, and it did not seem as - though she could speak fast enough. “Come at once—oh, at once—please! - There's a man here frightfully wounded. There isn't a second to lose, so——” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Claire,” interrupted the voice suavely, “instead of losing one - you can save several by telling me what kind of a wound it is, and where - the man is wounded.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a knife wound, a stab, I think,” she answered; “and it's in his - side. He is unconscious, and——” - </p> - <p> - The receiver at the other end had been replaced on its hook. - </p> - <p> - She turned from the telephone, and swiftly, hurrying, but in cool - self-control now, she obtained some cloths and a basin of warm water, and - returned to John Bruce's side. She could not do much, she realized that—only - make what effort she could to staunch the appalling flow of blood from the - wound; that, and place a cushion under the man's head, for she could not - lift him to the couch. - </p> - <p> - The minutes passed; and then, thinking she heard a footstep at the front - door, she glanced in that direction, half in relief, and yet, too, in - curious apprehension. She listened. No, there was no one there yet. She - had been mistaken. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she caught her breath in a little gasp, as though startled. - Doctor Crang was clever; but faith in Doctor Crang professionally was one - thing, and faith in him in other respects was quite another. Why hadn't - she thought of it before? It wasn't too late yet, was it? - </p> - <p> - She began to search hastily through John Bruce's pockets. Doctor Crang - would almost certainly suggest removing the man from the sitting room down - here and getting him upstairs to a bedroom, and then he would undress his - patient, and—and it was perhaps as well to anticipate Doctor Crang! - This man here should have quite a sum of money on his person. She had - given it to him herself, and—yes, here it was! - </p> - <p> - The crisp new fifty-dollar bills, the stamped and numbered ticket that - identified the watch-fob he had pawned, were in her hand. She ran across - the room, opened a little safe in the corner, placed the money and ticket - inside, locked the safe again, and returned to John Bruce's side once - more. - </p> - <p> - And suddenly her eyes filled. There was no tremor, no movement in the - man's form now; she could not even feel his heartbeat. Yes, she wanted - Doctor Crang now, passionately, wildly. John Bruce—that was the - man's name. She knew that much. But she had left him miles away—and - he was here now—and she did not understand. How had he got here, why - had he come here, climbing in through that window to fall at her feet like - one dead? - </p> - <p> - The front door opened without premonitory ring of bell, and closed again. - A footstep came quickly forward through the outer room—and paused on - the threshold. - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza rose to her feet, and her eyes went swiftly, sharply, to the - figure standing there—a man of perhaps thirty years of age, of - powerful build, and yet whose frame seemed now woefully loose, disjointed - and without virility. Her eyes traveled to the man's clothing that was - dirty, spotted, and in dire need of sponging, to the necktie that hung - awry, to the face that, but for its unhealthy, pasty-yellow complexion, - would have been almost strikingly handsome, to the jet-black eyes that - somehow at the moment seemed to lack fire and life. And with a little - despairing shrug of her shoulders, Claire Veniza turned away her head, and - pointed to the form of John Bruce on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “I—I am afraid it is very serious, Doctor Crang,” she faltered. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right, Claire,” he said complacently. “That's all right, my - dear. You can leave it with confidence to Sydney Angus Crang, M.D.” - </p> - <p> - She drew a little away as he stepped forward, her face hardening into - tight little lines. Hidden, her hands clasped anxiously together. It—it - was what she had feared. Doctor Sydney Angus Crang, gold medalist from one - of the greatest American universities, brilliant far beyond his fellows, - with additional degrees from London, from Vienna, from Heaven alone knew - where else, was just about entering upon, or emerging from, a groveling - debauch with that Thing to which he had pawned his manhood, his intellect - and his soul, that Thing of gray places, of horror, of forgetfulness, of - bliss, of torture—cocaine. - </p> - <p> - Halfway from the threshold to where John Bruce lay, Doctor Crang halted - abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” he exclaimed, and glanced with suddenly darkening face from - Claire Veniza to the form of John Bruce, and back to Claire Veniza again. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, <i>will</i> you hurry!” she implored. “Can't you see that the wound——” - </p> - <p> - “I am more interested in the man than in the wound,” said Doctor Crang, - and there was a hint of menace in his voice. “Quite a gentleman of parts! - I had expected—let me see what I had expected—well, say, one - of the common knife-sticking breed that curses this neighborhood.” - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza stamped her foot. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hurry!” she burst out wildly. “Don't stand there talking while the - man is dying! Do something!” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang advanced to John Bruce's side, set down the little handbag he - was carrying, and began to examine the wound. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, quite a gentleman of parts!” he repeated. His lips had thinned. “How - did he get here?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not know,” she answered. “He came in through that window there and - fell on the floor.” - </p> - <p> - “How peculiar!” observed Doctor Crang. “A <i>gentleman</i> down here in - this locality, who is, yes, I will state it as a professional fact, in a - very critical state, climbs in through Miss Claire Veniza's window, and——” - </p> - <p> - The telephone in the other room rang. Claire Veniza ran to it. Doctor - Crang's fingers nestled on John Bruce's pulse; he made no other movement - save to cock his head in a listening attitude in the girl's direction; he - made no effort either to examine further or to dress the wound. - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza's voice came distinctly: - </p> - <p> - “Yes... No, I do not think he will return to-night”—she was - hesitating—“he—he met with an—an accident——-” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang had sprung from the other room and had snatched the receiver - from the girl's hand. A wave of insensate fury swept his face now. He - pushed her roughly from the instrument, and clapped his hand over the - transmitter. - </p> - <p> - “That's one lie you've told me!” he said hoarsely. “I'll attend to the - rest of this now.” He withdrew his hand from the transmitter. “Yes, - hello!” His voice was cool, even suave. “What is it?... Monsieur Henri de - Lavergne speaking—yes... Mister—who?... Mister John Bruce—yes.” - He listened for a moment, his lips twitching, his eyes narrowed on Claire - Veniza, who had retreated a few steps away. “No, not to-night,” he said, - speaking again into the transmitter. “Yes, a slight accident.... Yes.., - Good-by.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Sydney Angus Crang hung up the receiver, and with a placid smile at - variance with the glitter that suddenly brought life into his dulled eyes, - advanced toward the girl. She stepped backward quickly into the other - room, retreating as far as the motionless form that lay upon the floor. - Doctor Crang followed her. - </p> - <p> - And then Claire Veniza, her face grown stony, her small hands clenched, - found her voice again. - </p> - <p> - “Aren't you going to help him? Aren't you going to do something? Is he to - die there before your eyes?” she cried. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “What can I do?” he inquired with velvet softness. “I am helpless. How can - I bring the dead back to life?” - </p> - <p> - “Dead!” All color had fled her face; she bent and looked searchingly at - John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; not yet,” said Doctor Crang easily. “But very nearly so.” - </p> - <p> - “And you will do nothing!” She was facing him again. “Then—then I - will try and get some one else.” - </p> - <p> - She stepped forward abruptly. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang barred her way. - </p> - <p> - “I don't think you will, Claire, my dear!” His voice was monotonous; the - placid smile was vanishing. “You see, having spoken to that dear little - doll of a man, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, I'm very much interested in - hearing your side of the story.” - </p> - <p> - “Story!” the girl echoed wildly. “Story—while that man's life is - lost! Are you mad—or a murderer—or——” - </p> - <p> - “Another lover,” said Doctor Crang, and threw back his head and laughed. - </p> - <p> - She shrank away; her hands tight against her bosom. She glanced around - her. If she could only reach the telephone and lock the connecting door! - No! She did not dare leave him <i>alone</i> with the wounded man. - </p> - <p> - “What—what are you going to do?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing—till I hear the story,” he answered. - </p> - <p> - “If—if he dies”—her voice rang steadily again—“I'll have - you charged with murder.” - </p> - <p> - “What nonsense!” said Doctor Crang imperturbably. “Did I stab the - gentleman?” He took from his pocket a little case, produced a hypodermic - syringe, and pushed back his sleeve. “A doctor is not a magician. If he - finds a patient beyond reach of aid what can he be expected to do? My dear - Claire, where are your brains to-night—you who are usually so - amazingly clever?” - </p> - <p> - “You are mad—insane with drug!” she cried out piteously. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head, and coolly inserted the needle of the hypodermic in his - arm. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet,” he said. “I am only implacable. Shall we get on with the story? - Monsieur de Lavergne says he sent a gentleman by the name of John Bruce - out in your father's car a little while ago for the purpose of obtaining a - loan in order that the said John Bruce might return to the gambling joint - and continue to play. But Mr. Bruce did not return, and the doll, for some - reason being anxious, telephones here to make inquiries. Of course”—there - was a savage laugh in his voice—“it is only a suspicion, but could - this gentleman on the floor here by any chance be Mr. John Bruce?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said faintly. “He is John Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - “Thanks!” said Doctor Crang sarcastically. He very carefully replaced his - hypodermic in his pocket. “Now another little matter. I happen to know - that your father is spending the evening uptown, so I wonder who was in - the car with Mr. John Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - She stared at him with flashing eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I was!” she answered passionately. “I don't know what you are driving at! - I never did it before, but father was away, and Monsieur de Lavergne was - terribly insistent. He said it was for a very special guest. I—I - didn't, of course, tell Monsieur de Lavergne that father couldn't go. I - only said that I was afraid it would not be convenient to make any loan - to-night. But he wouldn't listen to a refusal, and so I went—but - Monsieur de Lavergne had no idea that it was any one but father in the - car.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang's lips parted wickedly. - </p> - <p> - “Naturally!” he snarled. “I quite understand that you took good care of - that! Who drove you?” - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - “Drunk as usual, I suppose! Brain too fuddled to ask questions!” - </p> - <p> - “That's not true!” she cried out sharply. “Hawkins hasn't touched a drop - for a year.” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” snapped Doctor Crang. “Have it that way, then! Being in his - dotage, he makes a good blind, even sober. And so you went for a little - ride with Mr. John Bruce to-night?” - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza was wringing her hands as she glanced in an agony of - apprehension at the wounded man on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said; “but—but won't you——” - </p> - <p> - “And where did you first meet Mr. John Bruce, and how long ago?” he jerked - out. - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza's great brown eyes widened. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I never saw him in my life until to-night!” she exclaimed. “And he - wasn't in the car ten minutes. Hawkins drove back to the corner just as he - always does with father, and Mr. Bruce got out. Then Hawkins drove me home - and went uptown to get father. I—I wish they were here now!” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang was gritting his teeth together. A slight unnatural color was - tinging his cheeks. He moved a little closer to the girl. - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad to hear you never saw Mr. Bruce before,” he said cunningly. “You - must have traveled <i>fast</i> then—metaphorically speaking. Love at - first sight, eh? A cooing exchange of confidences—or was it all on - one side? You told him who you were, and where you lived, and——” - </p> - <p> - “I did nothing of the kind!” Claire Veniza interrupted angrily. “I did not - tell him anything!” - </p> - <p> - “Just strictly business then, of course!” Doctor Crang moved a step still - nearer to the girl. “In that case he must have pawned something, and as - Lavergne sends nothing but high-priced articles to your father, we shall - probably find quite a sum of money in Mr. Bruce's pockets. Eh—Claire?” - </p> - <p> - She bit her lips. She still did not quite understand—only that she - bitterly regretted now, somehow, that she had removed the money from John - Bruce's person; only that the drug-crazed brain of the man in front of her - was digging, had dug, a trap into which she was falling. What answer was - she to make? What was she to—— - </p> - <p> - With a sudden cry she shrank back—but too late to save herself. A - face alight with passion was close to hers now; hands that clamped like a - steel vise, and that hurt, were upon her shoulder and throat. - </p> - <p> - “You lie!” Doctor Crang shouted hoarsely. “You've lied from the minute I - came into this room. John Bruce—hell! I know now why you have always - refused to have anything to do with me. That's why!” He loosened one hand - and pointed to the figure on the floor. “How long has this been going on? - How long have you been meeting him? To-night is nothing, though you worked - it well. Hawkins to take you for a little joy ride with your lover while - father's away. Damned clever! You left him on that corner—and he's - here wounded! How did he get wounded? You never saw him before! You never - heard of him! You told him nothing about yourself! He didn't know where - you lived—he could only find the private entrance! Just knows enough - about you to climb in through your back window like a skewered dog! But, - of course, your story is true, because in his pockets will be the money - you gave him for what he pawned! Shall we look and see how much it was?” - </p> - <p> - She tore herself free and caught at her throat, gasping for breath. - </p> - <p> - “You—you beast!” she choked. “No; you needn't look! I took it from - him, and put it in the safe over there before <i>you</i> came—to - keep it away from you.” - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang swept a hand across his eyes and through his hair with a - savage, jerky movement, and then he laughed immoderately. - </p> - <p> - “What a little liar you are! Well, then, two can play at the same game. I - lied to you about your lover there. I said there was nothing could save - him. Yes, yes, Claire, my dear, I lied.” He knelt suddenly, and suddenly - intent and professional studied John Bruce's face, and felt again for the - pulse beat at John Bruce's wrist. “Pretty near the limit,” he stated - coolly. “Internal bleeding.” He threw back his shoulders in a strangely - egotistical way. “Not many men could do anything; but I, Sydney Angus - Crang, could! Ha, ha! In ten minutes he could be on the road to recovery—but - ten minutes, otherwise, is exactly the length of time he has to live.” - </p> - <p> - An instant Claire Veniza stared at him. Her mind reeled with chaos, with - terror and dismay. - </p> - <p> - “Then do something!” she implored wildly. “If you can save him, do it! You - must! You shall!” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I?” he demanded. His teeth were clamped hard together. “Why - should I save your lover? No—damn him!” - </p> - <p> - She drew away from him, and, suddenly, on her knees, buried her face in - her hands and burst into sobs. - </p> - <p> - “This—this is terrible—terrible!” she cried out. “Has that - frightful stuff transformed you into an absolute fiend? Are you no longer - even human?” Flushed, a curious look of hunger in his eyes, he gazed at - her. - </p> - <p> - “I'm devilishly human in some respects!” His voice rose, out of control. - “I want you! I have wanted you from the day I saw you.” - </p> - <p> - She shivered. Her hands felt suddenly icy as she pressed them against her - face. - </p> - <p> - “Thank God then,” she breathed, “for this, at least—that you will - never get me!” - </p> - <p> - “Won't I?” His voice rose higher, trembling with passion. “Won't I? By - God, I will! The one thing in life I will have some way or another! You - understand? I will! And do you think I would let <i>him</i> stand in the - way? You drive me mad, Claire, with those wonderful eyes of yours, with - that hair, those lips, that throat——” - </p> - <p> - “Stop!” She was on her feet, and in an instant had reached him, and with - her hands upon his shoulders was shaking him fiercely with all her - strength. “I hated you, despised you, loathed you before, but with that - man dying here, you murderer, I——” - </p> - <p> - Her voice trailed off, strangled, choked. He had caught her in his arms, - his lips were upon hers. She struggled like a tigress. And as they lurched - about the room he laughed in mad abandon. She wrenched herself free at - last, and slipped and fell upon the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Do you believe me now!” he panted. “I will have you! Neither this man nor - any other will live to get you. His life is a snap of my fingers—so - is any other life. It's you I want, and you I will have. And I'll tame - you! Then I'll show you what love is.” - </p> - <p> - She was moaning now a little to herself. She crept to John Bruce and - stared into his face. Dying! They were letting this man die. She tried to - readjust the cloths upon the wound. She heard Doctor Crang laugh at her - again. It seemed as though her soul were sinking into some great - bottomless abyss that was black with horror. She did not know this John - Bruce. She had told Doctor Crang so. It was useless to repeat it, useless - to argue with a drug-steeped brain. There was only one thing that was - absolute and final, and that was that a man's life was ebbing away, and a - fiend, an inhuman fiend who could save him, but whom pleading would not - touch, stood callously by, not wholly indifferent, rather gloating over - what took the form of triumph in his diseased mind. And then suddenly she - seemed so tired and weary. And she tried to pray to God. And tears came, - and on her knees she turned and flung out her arms imploringly to the - unkempt figure that stood over her, and who smiled as no other man she had - ever seen had smiled before. - </p> - <p> - “For the pity of God, for anything you have ever known in your life that - was pure and sacred,” she said brokenly, “save this man.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her for a moment, still with that sardonic smile upon his - lips, and then, swift in its transition, his expression changed and - cunning was in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “What would you give?” he purred. - </p> - <p> - “Give?” She did not look up. She felt a sudden surge of relief. It debased - the man the more, for it was evidently money now; but her father would - supply that. She had only to ask for it. “What do you want?” she asked - eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Yourself,” said Doctor Crang. - </p> - <p> - She looked up now, quickly, startled; read the lurking triumph in his - eyes, and with a sudden cry of fear turned away her head. - </p> - <p> - “My—myself!” Her lips scarcely moved. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear! Yourself—Claire!” Doctor - </p> - <p> - Crang shrugged his shoulders. “Edinburgh, London, Vienna, Paris, degrees - from everywhere—ha, ha!—am I a high-priced man? Well, then, - why don't you dismiss me? You called me in! That is my price—or - shall we call it fee? Promise to marry me, Claire, and I'll save that - man.” - </p> - <p> - Her face had lost all vestige of color. She stood and looked at him, but - it did not seem as though she any longer had control over her limbs. She - did not seem able to move them. They were numbed; her brain was mercifully - numbed—there was only a sense of impending horror, without that - horror taking concrete form. A voice came to her as though from some great - distance: - </p> - <p> - “Don't take too long to make up your mind. There isn't much time. It's - about touch and go with him now.” - </p> - <p> - The words, the tone, the voice roused her. Realization, understanding - swept upon her. A faintness came. She closed her eyes, swayed unsteadily, - but recovered herself. Something made her look at the upturned face on the - floor. She did not know this man. He was nothing to her. Why was he - pleading with her to pawn herself for him? What right had he to ask for - worse than death from her that he might live? Her soul turned sick within - her. If she refused, this man would die. Death! It was a very little thing - compared with days and months and years linked, fettered, bound to a drug - fiend, a coward, a foul thing, a potential murderer, a man only in the - sense of physical form, who had abused every other God-given attribute - until it had rotted away! Her hands pressed to her temples fiercely, in - torment. Was this man to live or die? In her hands was balanced a human - life. It seemed as though she must scream out in her anguish of soul; and - then it seemed as though she must fling herself upon the drug-crazed being - who had forced this torture upon her, fling herself upon him to batter and - pommel with her fists at his face that smiled in hideous contentment at - her. What was she to do? The choice was hers. To let this man here die, or - to accept a living death for herself—no, worse than that—something - that was abominable, revolting, that profaned.... She drew her breath in - sharply. She was staring at the man on the floor. His eyelids fluttered - and opened. Gray eyes were fixed upon her, eyes that did not seem to see - for there was a vacant stare in them—and then suddenly recognition - crept into them and they lighted up, full of a strange, glad wonder. He - made an effort to speak, an effort, more feeble still, to reach out his - hand to her—and then the eyes had closed and he was unconscious - again. - </p> - <p> - She turned slowly and faced Doctor Crang. - </p> - <p> - “You do not know what you are doing.” She formed the words with a great - effort. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I do!” he answered with mocking deliberation. “I know that if I - can't get you one way, I can another—and the way doesn't matter.” - </p> - <p> - “God forgive you, then,” she said in a dead voice, “for I never can or - will! I—I agree.” - </p> - <p> - He took a step toward her. - </p> - <p> - “You'll marry me?” His face was fired with passion. - </p> - <p> - She retreated a step. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He reached out for her with savage eagerness. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” he cried. “Claire!” - </p> - <p> - She pushed him back with both hands. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet!” she said, and tried to steady her voice. “There is another side - to the bargain. The price is this man's life. If he lives I will marry - you, and in that case, as you well know, I can say nothing of what you - have done to-night; but if he dies, I am not only free, but I will do my - utmost to make you criminally responsible for his death.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” Doctor Crang stared at her. His hands, still reaching out to touch - her, trembled; his face was hectic; his eyes were alight again with - feverish hunger—and then suddenly the man seemed transformed into - another being. He was on his knees beside John Bruce, and had opened his - handbag in an instant, and in another he had forced something from a vial - between John Bruce's lips; then an instrument was in his hands. The man of - a moment before was gone; one Sydney Angus Crang, of many degrees, - professional, deft, immersed in his work, had taken the other's place. - “More water! An extra basin!” he ordered curtly. - </p> - <p> - Claire Veniza obeyed him in a mechanical way. Her brain was numbed, - exhausted, possessed of a great weariness. She watched him for a little - while. He flung another order at her. - </p> - <p> - “Make that couch up into a bed,” he directed. “He can't be moved even - upstairs to-night.” - </p> - <p> - Again she obeyed him; finally she helped him to lift John Bruce to the - couch. - </p> - <p> - She sat down in a chair and waited—she did not know what for. Doctor - Crang had drawn another chair to the couch and sat there watching his - patient. John Bruce, as far as she could tell, showed no sign of life. - </p> - <p> - Then Doctor Crang's voice seemed to float out of nothingness: - </p> - <p> - “He will live, Claire, my dear! By God, I'd like to have done that piece - of work in a clinic! Some of 'em would sit up! D'ye hear, Claire, he'll - live!” - </p> - <p> - She was conscious that he was studying her; she did not look at him, nor - did she answer. - </p> - <p> - An eternity seemed to pass. She heard a motor stop outside in front of the - house. That would be her father and Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - The front door opened and closed, footsteps entered the room—and - suddenly seemed to quicken and hurry forward. She rose from her chair. - </p> - <p> - “What's this? What's the matter? What's happened?” a tall, white-haired - man cried out. - </p> - <p> - It was Doctor Crang who answered. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—this, Mr. Veniza?” He waved his hand indifferently toward the - couch. “Nothing of any importance.” He shrugged his shoulders in cool - imperturbability, and smiled into the grave, serious face of Paul Veniza. - “The really important thing is that Claire has promised to be my wife.” - </p> - <p> - For an instant no one moved or spoke—only Doctor Crang still smiled. - And then the silence was broken by a curious half laugh, half curse that - was full of menace. - </p> - <p> - “You lie!” Hawkins, the round, red-faced chauffeur, had stepped from - behind Paul Veniza, and now faced Doctor Crang. “You lie! You damned - coke-eater! I'd kill you first!” - </p> - <p> - “Drunk—again!” drawled Doctor Crang contemptuously. “And what have - you to do with it?” - </p> - <p> - “Steady, Hawkins!” counselled Paul Veniza quietly. He turned to Claire - Veniza. “Claire,” he asked, “is—is this true?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded—and suddenly, blindly, started toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “It is true,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” Paul Veniza stepped after her. “Claire, - </p> - <p> - “Not to-night, father,” she said in a low voice. “Please let me go.” - </p> - <p> - He stood aside, allowing her to pass, his face grave and anxious—and - then he turned again to Doctor Crang. - </p> - <p> - “She is naturally very upset over what has happened here,” said Doctor - Crang easily—and suddenly reaching out grasped Hawkins' arm, and - pulled the old man forward to the couch. “Here, you!” he jerked out. - “You've got so much to say for yourself—take a look at this fellow!” - </p> - <p> - The old chauffeur bent over the couch. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” he cried out in a startled way. “It's the man we—I—drove - to-night!” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so!” observed Doctor Crang. He smiled at Paul Veniza again. “Apart - from the fact that the fellow came in through that window with a knife - stab in his side that's pretty nearly done for him, Hawkins knows as much - about it as either Claire or I do. He's in bad shape. Extremely serious. I - will stay with him to-night. He cannot be moved.” He nodded suggestively - toward the door. “Hawkins can tell you as much as I can. It's got to be - quiet in here. As for Claire”—he seemed suddenly to be greatly - disturbed and occupied with the condition of the wounded man on the couch—“that - will have to wait until morning. This man's condition is critical. I can't - put you out of your own room, but——-” Again he nodded toward - the door. - </p> - <p> - For a moment Paul Veniza hesitated—but Doctor Crang's back was - already turned, and he was bending over the wounded man, apparently - oblivious to every other consideration. He motioned to Hawkins, and the - two left the room. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang looked around over his shoulder as the door closed. A - malicious grin spread over his face. He rubbed his hands together. Then he - sat down in his chair again, and began to prepare a solution for his - hypodermic syringe. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” said Doctor Crang softly, addressing the unconscious form of - John Bruce, “you'll live, all right, my friend, I'll see to that, though - the odds are still against you. You're too—ha, ha!—valuable to - die! You played in luck when you drew Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., as your - attending physician!” - </p> - <p> - And then Doctor Sydney Angus Crang made a little grimace as he punctured - the flesh of his arm with the needle of the hypodermic syringe and - injected into himself another dose of cocaine. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang very softly, his eyes lighting, “too - valuable, much too valuable—to die!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FIVE—HAWKINS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the outer room, - the door closed behind them, Paul Veniza and Hawkins stared into each - other's eyes. Hawkins' face had lost its ruddy, weatherbeaten color, and - there was a strained, perplexed anxiety in his expression. - </p> - <p> - “D'ye hear what she said?” he mumbled. “D'ye hear what he said? Going to - be married! My little girl, my innocent little girl, and—and that - dope-feeding devil! I—I don't understand, Paul. What's it mean?” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza laid his hand on the other's shoulder, as much to seek, it - seemed, as to offer sympathy. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know,” he said blankly. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' watery blue eyes under their shaggy brows traveled miserably in - the direction of the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “I—I ain't got the right,” he choked. “You go up and talk to her, - Paul.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza ran his fingers in a troubled way through his white hair; - then, nodding his head, he turned abruptly and began to mount the stairs. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins watched until the other had disappeared from sight, watched until - he heard a door open and close softly above; then he swung sharply around, - and with his old, drooping shoulders suddenly squared, strode toward the - door that shut him off from Doctor Crang and the man he had recognized as - his passenger in the traveling pawn-shop earlier that night. But at the - door itself he hesitated, and after a moment drew back, and the shoulders - drooped again, and he fell to twisting his hands together in nervous - indecision as he retreated to the center of the room. - </p> - <p> - And he stood there again, where Paul Veniza had left him, and stared with - the hurt of a dumb animal in his eyes at the top of the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “It's all my fault,” the old man whispered, and fell to twisting his hands - together once more. “But—but I thought she'd be safe with me.” - </p> - <p> - For a long time he seemed to ponder his own words, and gradually they - seemed to bring an added burden upon him, and heavily now he drew his hand - across his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Why ain't I dead?” he whispered. “I ain't never been no good to her. - Twenty years, it is—twenty years. Just old Hawkins—shabby old - Hawkins—that she loves 'cause she's sorry for him.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' eyes roved about the room. - </p> - <p> - “I remember the night I brought her here.” He was still whispering to - himself. “In there, it was, I took her.” He jerked his hand toward the - inner room. “This here room was the pawn-shop then. God, all those years - ago—and—and I ain't never bought her back again, and she ain't - known no father but Paul, and——” His voice trailed off and - died away. - </p> - <p> - He sank his chin in his hands. - </p> - <p> - Occasionally he heard the murmur of voices from above, occasionally the - sound of movement through the closed door that separated him from Doctor - Crang; but he did not move or speak again until Paul Veniza came down the - stairs and stood before him. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins searched the other's face. - </p> - <p> - “It—it ain't true, is it, what she said?” he questioned almost - fiercely. “She didn't really mean it, did she, Paul?” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza turned his head away. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she meant it,” he answered in a low voice. “I don't understand. She - wouldn't give me any explanation.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins clenched his fists suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “But didn't you tell her what kind of a man Crang is? Good God, Paul, - didn't you tell her what he is?” - </p> - <p> - “She knows it without my telling her,” Paul Veniza said in a dull tone. - “But I told her again; I told her it was impossible, incredible. Her only - answer was that it was inevitable.” - </p> - <p> - “But she doesn't love him! She can't love him!” Hawkins burst out. - “There's never been anything between them before.” - </p> - <p> - “No, she doesn't love him. Of course, she doesn't!” Paul Veniza said, as - though speaking to himself. He looked at Hawkins suddenly under knitted - brows. “And she says she never saw that other man in her life before until - he stepped into the car. She says she only went out to-night because they - were so urgent about it up at the house, and that she felt everything - would be perfectly safe with you driving the car. I can't make anything - out of it!” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins drew the sleeve of his coat across his brow. It was cool in the - room, but little beads of moisture were standing out on his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't brought her nothing but harm all my life,” he said brokenly. “I——” - </p> - <p> - “Don't take it that way, old friend!” Paul Veniza's hands sought the - other's shoulders. “I don't see how you are to blame for this. Claire said - that other man treated her with all courtesy, and left the car after you - had gone around the block; and she doesn't know how he afterwards came - here wounded any more than we do—and anyway, it can't have anything - to do with her marrying Doctor Crang.” - </p> - <p> - “What's she doing now?” demanded Hawkins abruptly. “She's up there crying - her heart out, ain't she?” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza did not answer. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins straightened up. A sudden dignity came to the shabby old figure. - </p> - <p> - “What hold has that devil got on my little girl?” he cried out sharply. - “I'll make him pay for it, so help me God! My little girl, my little———” - </p> - <p> - “S-sh!” Paul Veniza caught hurriedly at Hawkins' arm. “Be careful, old - friend!” he warned. “Not so loud! She might hear you.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins cast a timorous, startled glance in the direction of the stairs. - He seemed to shrink again, into a stature as shabby as his clothing. His - lips twitched; he twisted his hands together. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he mumbled; “yes, she—she might hear me.” He stared around - the room; and then, as though blindly, his hands groping out in front of - him, he started for the street door. “I'm going home,” said Hawkins. “I'm - going home to think this out.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza's voice choked a little. - </p> - <p> - “Your hat, old friend,” he said, picking up the old man's hat from the - table and following the other to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my hat,” said Hawkins—and pulling it far down over his eyes, - crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the driver's seat of the old, - closed car that stood at the curb. - </p> - <p> - He started the car mechanically. He did not look back. He stared straight - ahead of him except when, at the corner, his eyes lifted and held for a - moment on the lighted windows and the swinging doors of a saloon—and - the car went perceptibly slower. Then his hands tightened fiercely in - their hold upon the wheel until the white of the knuckles showed, and the - car passed the saloon and turned the next corner and went on. - </p> - <p> - Halfway down the next block it almost came to a halt again when opposite a - dark and dingy driveway that led in between, and to the rear of, two - poverty-stricken frame houses. Hawkins stared at this uninviting prospect, - and made as though to turn the car into the driveway; then, shaking his - head heavily, he continued on along the street. - </p> - <p> - “I can't go in there and sit by myself all alone,” said Hawkins hoarsely. - “I—I'd go mad. It's—it's like as though they'd told me - to-night that she'd died—same as they told me about her mother the - night I went to Paul's.” - </p> - <p> - The car moved slowly onward. It turned the next corner—and the next. - It almost completed the circuit of the block. Hawkins now was wetting his - lips with the tip of his tongue. His hands on the wheel were trembling. - The car had stopped. Hawkins was staring again at the lighted windows and - the swinging doors of the saloon. - </p> - <p> - He sat for a long time motionless; then he climbed down from his seat. - </p> - <p> - “Just one,” Hawkins whispered to himself. “Just one. I—I'd go mad if - I didn't.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins pushed the swinging doors open, and sidled up to the bar. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Hawkins!” grinned the barkeeper. “Been out of town? I ain't seen - you the whole afternoon!” - </p> - <p> - “You mind your own business!” said Hawkins surlily. - </p> - <p> - “Sure!” nodded the barkeeper cheerily. “Same as usual?” He slid a - square-faced bottle and a glass toward the old man. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins helped himself and drank moodily. He set his empty glass back on - the bar, jerked down his shabby vest and straightened up, his eyes - resolutely fixed on the door. Then he felt in his pocket for his pipe and - tobacco. His eyes shifted from the door to his pipe. He filled it slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Give me another,” said Hawkins presently—without looking at the - barkeeper. - </p> - <p> - Again the old man drank, and jerked down his vest, and squared his thin - shoulders. He lighted his pipe, tamping the bowl carefully with his - forefinger. His eyes sought the swinging doors once more. - </p> - <p> - “I'm going home,” said Hawkins defiantly to himself. “I've got to think - this out.” He dug into his vest pocket for money, and produced a few small - bills. He stared at these for a moment, hesitated, started to replace them - in his pocket, hesitated again, and the tip of his tongue circled his - lips; then he pushed the money across the bar. “Take the drinks out of - that, and—and give me a bottle,” he said. “I—I don't like to - be without anything in the house, and I got to go home.” - </p> - <p> - “You said something!” said the barkeeper. “Have one on the house before - you go?” - </p> - <p> - “No; I won't.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Hawkins with stern determination. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins crowded the bottle into the side pocket of his coat, passed out - through the swinging doors, and resumed his seat on the car. And again the - car started forward. But it went faster now. Hawkins' face was flushed; he - seemed nervously and excitedly in haste. At the driveway he turned in, - garaged his car in an old shed at the rear of one of the houses, locked - the shed with a padlock, and, by way of the back door, entered the house - that was in front of the shed. - </p> - <p> - It was quite dark inside, but Hawkins had been an inmate of the somewhat - seedy rooming-house too many years either to expect that a light should be - burning at that hour, or, for that matter, to require any light. He groped - his way up a flight of creaking stairs, opened the door of a room, and - stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and struck a - match. A gas-jet wheezed asthmatically, and finally flung a thin and - sullen yellow glow about the place. It disclosed a cot bed, a small strip - of carpet long since worn bare of nap, a washstand, an old trunk, a - battered table, and two chairs. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins, with some difficulty, extricated the bottle from his pocket, and - lifted the lid of his trunk. He thrust the bottle inside, and in the act - of closing the lid upon it—hesitated. - </p> - <p> - “I—I ain't myself to-night, I ain't,” said Hawkins tremulously. - “It's shook me, it has—bad. Just one—so help me God!—just - one.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins sat down at the table with the bottle in front of him. - </p> - <p> - And while Hawkins sat there it grew very late. - </p> - <p> - At intervals Hawkins talked to himself. At times he stared owlishly from a - half-emptied bottle to the black square of window pane above the trunk—and - once he shook his fist in that direction. - </p> - <p> - “Crang—eh—damn you!” he gritted out. “You think you got her, - do you? Some dirty, cunning trick you've played her! But you don't know - old Hawkins. Ha, ha! You think he's only a drunken bum!” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins, as it grew later still, became unsteady in his seat. Gradually - his head sank down upon the table. - </p> - <p> - “I—hie!—gotta think this—out,” said Hawkins earnestly—and - fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SIX—THE ALIBI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE opened - his eyes dreamily, unseeingly; and then his eyelids fluttered and closed - again. There was an exquisite sense of languor upon him, of cool, - comfortable repose; a curious absence of all material things. It seemed as - though he were in some suspended state of animation. - </p> - <p> - It was very strange. It wasn't life—not life as he had ever known - it. Perhaps it was death. He did not understand. - </p> - <p> - He tried to think. He was conscious that his mind for some long - indeterminate period had been occupied with the repetition of queer, - vague, broken snatches of things, fantastic things born of illusions, - brain fancies, cobwebby, intangible, which had no meaning, and were - without beginning or end. There was a white beach, very white, and a full - round moon, and the moon winked knowingly while he whittled with a huge - jack-knife at a quill toothpick. And then there was a great chasm of - blackness which separated the beach from some other place that seemed to - have nothing to identify it except this black chasm which was the - passageway to it; and here a man's face, a face that was sinister in its - expression, and both repulsive and unhealthy in its color, was constantly - bending over him, and the man's head was always in the same posture—cocked - a little to one side, as though listening intently and straining to hear - something. And then, in the same place, but less frequently, there was - another face—and this seemed to bring with it always a shaft of - warm, bright sunlight that dispelled the abominable gloom, and before - which the first face vanished—a beautiful, the wondrously beautiful, - face of a girl, one that he had seen somewhere before, that was haunting - in its familiarity and for which it seemed he had always known a great - yearning, but which plagued him miserably because there seemed to be some - unseen barrier between them, and because he could not recognize her, and - she could not speak and tell him who she was. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce opened his eyes again. Dimly, faintly, his mind seemed to be - grasping coherent realities. He began to remember fragments of the past, - but it was very hard to piece those fragments together into a concrete - whole. That white beach—yes, he remembered that. And the quill - toothpick. Only the huge jack-knife was absurd! It was at Apia with - Larmon. But he was in a room somewhere now, and lying on a cot of some - sort. And it was night. How had he come here? - </p> - <p> - He moved a little, and suddenly felt a twinge of pain in his side. His - hand groped under the covering, and his fingers came into contact with - bandages that were wrapped tightly around his body. - </p> - <p> - And then in a flash memory returned. He remembered the fight in Ratti's - wine shop, the knife stab, and how he had dragged himself along the lane - and climbed in through <i>her</i> window. His eyes now in a startled way - were searching his surroundings. Perhaps this was the room! He could not - be quite sure, but there seemed to be something familiar about it. The - light was very low, like a gas-jet turned down, and he could not make out - where it came from, nor could he see any window through which he might - have climbed in. - </p> - <p> - He frowned in a troubled way. It was true that, as he had climbed in that - night, he had not been in a condition to take much note of the room, but - yet it did seem to be the same place. The frown vanished. What did it - matter? He knew now beyond any question whose face it was that had come to - him so often in that shaft of sunlight. Yes, it <i>did</i> matter! He must - have been unconscious, perhaps for only a few hours, perhaps for days, but - if this was the same place, then she was <i>here</i>, not as a figment of - the brain, not as one created out of his own longing, but here in her - actual person, a living, breathing reality. It was the girl of the - traveling pawn-shop, and—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce found himself listening with sudden intentness. Was he drifting - back into unconsciousness again, into that realm of unreal things, where - the mind, fevered and broken, wove out of its sick imagination queer, - meaningless fancies? It was strange that unreal things should seem so - real! Wasn't that an animal of some sort scratching at the wall of the - house outside? - </p> - <p> - He lifted his head slightly from the pillow—and held it there. A - voice from within the room reached him in an angry, rasping whisper: - </p> - <p> - “Damn you, Birdie, why don't you pull the house down and have done with - it? You clumsy hog! Do you want the police on us? Can't you climb three - feet without waking up the whole of New York?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's lips drew together until they formed a tight, straight line. - This was strange! Very strange! It wasn't a vagary of his brain this time. - His brain was as clear now as it had ever been in his life. The voice came - from beyond the head of his cot. He had seen no one in the room, but that - was natural enough since from the position in which he was lying his line - of vision was decidedly restricted; what seemed incomprehensible though, - taken in conjunction with the words he had just heard, was that his own - presence there appeared to be completely ignored. - </p> - <p> - He twisted his head around cautiously, and found that the head of the cot - was surrounded by a screen. He nodded to himself a little grimly. That - accounted for it! There was a scraping sound now, and heavy, labored - breathing. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce silently and stealthily stretched out his arm. He could just - reach the screen. It was made of some soft, silken material, and his - fingers found no difficulty in drawing this back a little from the edge of - that portion of the upright framework which was directly in front of him. - </p> - <p> - He scarcely breathed now. Perhaps he was in so weak a state that his mind - faltered if crowded, for there was so much to see that he could not seem - to grasp it all as a single picture. He gazed fascinated. The details came - slowly—one by one. It <i>was</i> the room where he had crawled in - through the window and had fallen senseless to the floor—whenever - that had been! That was the window there. And, curiously enough, another - man was crawling in through it now! And there was whispering. And two - other men were already standing in the room, but he could not see their - faces because their backs were turned to him. Then one of the two swung - around in the direction of the window, bringing his face into view. John - Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, it must be that! His mind was off - wandering once more, painting and picturing for itself its fanciful - unrealities, bringing back again the character it had created, the man - with the sinister face whose pallor was unhealthy and repulsive. - </p> - <p> - And then he opened his eyes and looked again, and the face was still there—and - it was real. And now the man spoke: - </p> - <p> - “Come on, get busy, Birdie! If you take as long to crack the box as you - have taken to climb in through a low window, maybe we'll be invited to - breakfast with the family! You act just like a swell cracksman—not! - But here's the combination—so try and play up to the part!” - </p> - <p> - The man addressed was heavy of build, with a pockmarked and forbidding - countenance. He was panting from his exertions, as, inside the room now, - he leaned against the sill. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right, Doc!” he grunted. “That's all right! But how about his - nibs over there behind the screen? Ain't he ever comin' out of his nap?” - </p> - <p> - The man addressed as “Doc” rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and - produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “There's the safe over there, Birdie,” he drawled, as he pricked his arm - with the needle and pushed home the plunger. “Get busy!” - </p> - <p> - The big man shuffled his feet. - </p> - <p> - “I know you know your business, Doc,” he said uneasily; “but I guess me - an' Pete here 'd feel more comfortable if you'd have put that shot of coke - into the guy I'm speakin' about instead of into yourself. Ain't I right, - Pete?” - </p> - <p> - The third man was lounging against the wall, his back still turned to John - Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “Sure,” he said; “but I guess you can leave it to Doc. A guy that's been - pawin' the air for two days ain't likely to butt in much all of a sudden.” - </p> - <p> - The man with the hypodermic, in the act of replacing the syringe in his - pocket, drew it out again. - </p> - <p> - “Coming from you, Birdie,” he murmured caustically, “that's a surprisingly - bright idea. I've been here for the last three hours listening to his - interesting addresses from the rostrum of delirium, and I should say he - was quite safe. Still, to oblige you, Birdie, and make you feel more - comfortable, we'll act on your suggestion.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's teeth gritted together. How weak he was! His arm ached from - even the slight strain of extending it beyond his head to the screen. - </p> - <p> - And then he smiled grimly. But it wasn't a case of strength now, was it? - He was obviously quite helpless in that respect. This man they called Doc - believed him to be still unconscious, and—he drew his arm silently - back, tucked it again under the sheet and blanket that covered him, and - closed his eyes—and even if he could resist, which he couldn't, a - hypodermic injection of morphine, or cocaine, or whatever it was that the - supreme crook of the trio indulged in, could not <i>instantly</i> take - effect. There ought to be time enough to watch at least—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce lay perfectly still. He heard a footstep come quickly around - the screen; he sensed the presence of some one bending over him; then the - coverings were pulled down and his arm was bared. He steeled himself - against the instinctive impulse to wince at the sharp prick of the needle - which he knew was coming—and felt instead a cold and curiously - merciless rage sweep over him as the act was performed. Then the footstep - retreated—and John Bruce quietly twisted his head around on the - pillow, reached out his arm, and his fingers drew the silk panel of the - screen slightly away from the edge of the framework again. - </p> - <p> - He could see the safe they had referred to now. It was over at the far - side of the room against the wall, and the three men were standing in - front of it. Presently it was opened. The man called Doc knelt down in - front of it and began to examine its contents. He swung around to his - companions after a moment with a large pile of banknotes in his hands. - From this pile he counted out and handed a small portion to each of the - other two men—and coolly stuffed the bulk of the money into his own - pockets. - </p> - <p> - The scene went blurry then for a moment before John Bruce's eyes, and he - lifted his free hand and brushed it across his forehead. He was so beastly - weak, anyhow, and the infernal dope was getting in its work too fast! He - fought with all his mental strength against the impulse to relax and close - his eyes. What was it they were doing now? It looked like some foolish - masquerade. The two companions of the man with the sinister, pasty face - were tying handkerchiefs over their faces and drawing revolvers from their - pockets; and then the big man began to close the door of the safe. - </p> - <p> - The Doc's voice came sharply: - </p> - <p> - “Look out you don't lock it, you fool!” - </p> - <p> - Once more John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. His brain must be - playing him tricks again. A din infernal rose suddenly in the room. While - the big man lounged nonchalantly against the safe, the other two were - scuffling all over the floor and throwing chairs about. And then from - somewhere upstairs, on the floor there too, John Bruce thought he caught - the sound of hurried movements. - </p> - <p> - Then for an instant the scuffling in the room ceased, and the pasty-faced - man's voice came in a peremptory whisper: - </p> - <p> - “The minute any one shows at the door you swing that safe open as though - you'd been working at it all the time, Birdie, and pretend to shove - everything in sight into your pockets. And you, Joe, you've got me - cornered and covered here—see? And you hold the doorway with your - gun too; and then both of you back away and make your getaway through the - window.” The scuffling began again. John Bruce watched the scene, a sense - of drowsiness and apathy creeping upon him. He tried to rouse himself. He - ought to do something. That vicious-faced little crook who had haunted him - with unwelcome visitations, and who at this precise moment had the bulk of - the money from the safe in his own pockets, was in the act of planting a - somewhat crude, but probably none the less effective, alibi, and—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce heard a door flung open, and then a sudden, startled cry, first - in a woman's and then in a man's voice. But he could not see any door from - the position in which he lay. He turned over with a great effort, facing - the other way, and reached out with his fingers for the panel of the - screen that overlapped the head of the cot. And then John Bruce lay - motionless, the blood pounding fiercely at his temples. - </p> - <p> - He was conscious that a tall, white-haired man in scanty attire was there, - because the doorway framed two figures; but he <i>saw</i> only a beautiful - face, pitifully white, only the slim form of a girl whose great brown eyes - were very wide with fear, and who held her dressing gown tightly clutched - around her throat. It was the girl of the traveling pawn-shop, it was the - girl of his dreams in the shaft of sunlight, it was the girl he had - followed here—only—only the picture seemed to be fading away. - It was very strange! It was most curious! She always seemed to leave that - way. This was Larmon now instead, wasn't it? Larmon... and a jack-knife... - and a quill toothpick... and.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SEVEN—THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING PAWN-SHOP - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE - abstractedly twirled the tassel of the old and faded dressing gown which - he wore, the temporary possession of which he owed to Paul Veniza, his - host. From the chair in which he sat his eyes ventured stolen glances at - the nape of a dainty neck, and at a great coiled mass of silken brown hair - that shone like burnished copper in the afternoon sunlight, as Claire - Veniza, her back turned toward him, busied herself about the room. He - could walk now across the floor—and a great deal further, he was - sure, if they would only let him. He had not pressed that point; it might - be taking an unfair advantage of an already over-generous hospitality, but - he was not at all anxious to speed his departure from—well, from - where he was at that precise moment. - </p> - <p> - And now as he looked at Claire Veniza, his thoughts went back to the night - he had stepped, at old Hawkins' invitation, into the traveling pawn-shop. - That was not so very long ago—two weeks of grave illness, and then - the past week of convalescence—but it seemed to span a great and - almost limitless stretch of time, and to mark a new and entirely different - era in his life; an era that perplexed and troubled and intrigued him with - conditions and surroundings and disturbing elements that he did not - comprehend—but at the same time made the blood in his veins to - course with wild abandon, and the future to hold out glad and beckoning - hands. - </p> - <p> - He loved, with a great, overwhelming, masterful love, the girl who stood - there just across the room all unconscious of the worship that he knew was - in his eyes, and which he neither tried nor wished to curb. Of his own - love he was sure. He had loved her from the moment he had first seen her, - and in his heart he knew he held fate kind to have given him the wound - that in its turn had brought the week of convalescence just past. And yet—and - yet—— Here dismay came, and his brain seemed to stumble. - Sometimes he dared to hope; sometimes he was plunged into the depths of - misery and despair. Little things, a touch of the hand as she had nursed - him that had seemed like some God-given tender caress, a glance when she - had thought he had not seen and which he had allowed his heart to - interpret to its advantage with perhaps no other justification than its - own yearning and desire, had buoyed him up; and then, at times, a strange, - almost bitter aloofness, it seemed, in her attitude toward him—and - this had checked, had always checked, the words that were ever on his - lips. - </p> - <p> - A faint flush dyed his cheeks. But even so, and for all his boasted love, - did he not in his own soul wrong her sometimes? The questions <i>would</i> - come. What was the meaning of the strange environment in which she lived? - Why should she have driven to a gambling hell late at night, and quite as - though it were the usual thing, to transact business alone in that car - with—— - </p> - <p> - God! His hands clenched fiercely. He remembered that night, and how the - same thought had come then, mocking him, jeering him, making sport of him. - He was a cad, a pitiful, vile-minded cad! Thank God that he was at least - still man enough to be ashamed of his own thoughts, even if they came in - spite of him! - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was the strange, unusual characters that surrounded her, that - came and went in this curious place here, that fostered such thoughts; - perhaps he was not strong enough yet to grapple with all these confusing - things. He smiled a little grimly. The robbery of the safe, for instance—and - that reptile whom he now knew to be his own attending physician, Doctor - Crang! He had said nothing about his knowledge of the robbery—yet. - As nearly as he could judge it had occurred two or three days prior to the - time when his actual convalescence had set in, and as a material witness - to the crime he was not at all sure that in law his testimony would be of - much value. They must certainly have found him in an unconscious state - immediately afterward—and Doctor Crang would as indubitably attack - his testimony as being nothing more than the hallucination of a sick - brain. - </p> - <p> - The luck of the devil had been with Crang! Why had he, John Bruce, gone - drifting off into unconsciousness just at the psychological moment when, - if the plan had been carried out as arranged and the other two had made - their fake escape, Crang would have been left in the room with Claire and - Paul Veniza—with the money in his pockets! He would have had Doctor - Crang cold then! It was quite different now. He was not quite sure what he - meant to do, except that he fully proposed to have a reckoning with Doctor - Crang. But that reckoning, something, he could not quite define what, had - prompted him to postpone until he had become physically a little stronger! - </p> - <p> - And then there was another curious thing about it all, which too had - influenced him in keeping silent. Hawkins, Paul Veniza, Claire and Doctor - Crang had each, severally and collectively, been here in this room many - times since the robbery, and not once in his presence had the affair ever - been mentioned! And—oh, what did it matter! He shrugged his - shoulders as though to rid himself of some depressing physical weight. - What did anything matter on this wonderful sunlit afternoon—save - Claire there in her white, cool dress, that seemed somehow to typify her - own glorious youth and freshness. - </p> - <p> - How dainty and sweet and alluring she looked! His eyes were no longer - contented with stolen glances; they held now masterfully, defiant of any - self-restraint, upon the slim figure that was all grace from the trim - little ankles to the poise of the shapely head. He felt the blood quicken - his pulse. Stronger than he had ever known it before, straining to burst - all barriers, demanding expression as a right that would not be denied, - his love rose dominant within him, and—— - </p> - <p> - The tassel he had been twirling dropped from his hand. She had turned - suddenly; and across the room her eyes met his, calm, deep and unperturbed - at first, but wide the next instant with a startled shyness, and the color - sweeping upward from her throat crimsoned her face, and in confusion she - turned away her head. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was on his feet. He stumbled a little as he took a step - forward. His heart was pounding, flinging a red tide into the pallor of - his cheeks that illness had claimed as one of its tolls. - </p> - <p> - “I—I did not mean to tell you like that,” he said huskily. “But I - have wanted to tell you for so long. It seems as though I have always - wanted to tell you. Claire—I love you.” - </p> - <p> - She did not answer. - </p> - <p> - He was beside her now—only her head was lowered and averted and he - could not look into her face. Her fingers were plucking tremulously at a - fold of her dress. He caught her hand between both his own. - </p> - <p> - “Claire—Claire, I love you!” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - She disengaged her hand gently; and, still refusing to let him see her - face, shook her head slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I—I——-” Her voice was very low. “Oh, don't you know?” - </p> - <p> - “I know I love you,” he answered passionately. “I know that nothing else - but that matters.” - </p> - <p> - Again she shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I thought perhaps he would have told you. I—I am going to marry - Doctor Crang.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stepped back involuntarily; and for a moment incredulity and - helpless amazement held sway in his expression—then his lips - tightened in a hurt, half angry way. - </p> - <p> - “Is that fair to me, Claire—to give me an answer like that?” he said - in a low tone. “I know it isn't true, of course; it couldn't be—but—but - it isn't much of a joke either, is it?” - </p> - <p> - “It is true,” she said monotonously. - </p> - <p> - He leaned suddenly forward, and taking her face between his hands, made - her lift her head and look at him. The brown eyes were swimming with - tears. The red swept her face in a great wave, and, receding, left it - deathly pale—and in a frenzy of confusion she wrenched herself free - from him and retreated a step. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” said John Bruce hoarsely. “You—and Doctor Crang! I don't - understand! It is monstrous! You can't love that——” He checked - himself, biting at his lips. “You can't love Doctor Crang. It is - impossible! You dare not stand there and tell me that you do. Answer me, - Claire—answer me!” - </p> - <p> - She seemed to have regained her self-control—or perhaps it was the - one defense she knew. The little figure was drawn up, her head held back. - </p> - <p> - “You have no right to ask me that,” she said steadily. - </p> - <p> - “Right!” John Bruce echoed almost fiercely. His soul itself seemed - suddenly to be in passionate turmoil; it seemed to juggle two figures - before his consciousness, contrasting one with the other in most hideous - fashion—this woman here whom he loved, who struggled to hold herself - bravely, who stood for all that was pure, for all that he reverenced in a - woman; and that sallow, evil-faced degenerate, a drug fiend so lost to the - shame of his vice that he pricked himself with his miserable needle quite - as unconcernedly in public as one would smoke a cigarette—and worse—a - crook—a thief! Was it a coward's act to tell this girl <i>what</i> - the man was whom she proposed to marry? Was it contemptible to pull a - rival such as that down from the pedestal which in some fiendish way he - must have erected for himself? Surely she did not know the man for what he - actually was! She could not know! “Right!” he cried out. “Yes, I have the - right—both for your sake and for my own. I have the right my love - gives me. Do you know how I came here that first night?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said with an effort. “You told me. You were in a fight in - Ratti's place, and were wounded.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed out harshly. - </p> - <p> - “And I told you the truth—as far as it went,” he said. “But do you - know how I came to be in this locality after leaving you in that motor - car? I followed you. I loved you from the moment I saw you that night. It - seems as though I have always loved you—as I always shall love you. - That is what gives me the right to speak. And I mean to speak. If it were - an honorable man to whom you were to be married it would be quite another - matter; but you cannot know what you are doing, you do not know this man - as he really is, or what he——” - </p> - <p> - “Please! Please stop!” she cried out brokenly. “Nothing you could say - would tell me anything I do not already know.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not so sure!” said John Bruce grimly. “Suppose I told you he was a - criminal?” - </p> - <p> - “He is a criminal.” Her voice was without inflection. - </p> - <p> - “Suppose then he were sent to jail—to serve a sentence?” - </p> - <p> - “I would marry him when he came out,” she said. “Oh, please do not say any - more! I know far more about him than you do; but—but that has - nothing to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - For an instant, motionless, John Bruce stared at Claire; then his hands - swept out and caught her wrists in a tight grip and held her prisoner. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” His voice choked. “What does this mean? You do not love him; you - say you know he is even a criminal—and yet you are going to marry - him! What hold has he got on you? What is it? What damnable trap has he - got you in? I am going to know, Claire! I will know! And whatever it is, - whatever the cause of it, I'll crush it, strangle it, sweep it out of your - dear life at any cost! Tell me, Claire!” - </p> - <p> - Her face had gone white; she struggled a little to release herself. - </p> - <p> - “You—you do not know what you are saying. You——” Her - voice broke in a half sob. - </p> - <p> - “Claire, look at me!” He was pleading now with his soul in his eyes and - voice. “Claire, I——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, please let me go!” she cried out frantically. “You cannot say - anything that will make any difference. I—it only makes it harder.” - The tears were brimming in her eyes again. “Oh, please let me go—there's—there's - some one coming.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's hands dropped to his sides. The door, already half open, was - pushed wide, and Hawkins, the old chauffeur, stood on the threshold. And - as John Bruce looked in that direction, he was suddenly and strangely - conscious that somehow for the moment the old man dominated his attention - even to the exclusion of Claire. There was something of curious - self-effacement, of humbleness in the bent, stoop-shouldered figure there, - who twisted a shapeless hat awkwardly in his hands; but also something of - trouble and deep anxiety in the faded blue eyes as they fixed on the girl, - and yet without meeting her eyes in return, held upon her as she walked - slowly now toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “Dear old Hawkins,” she said softly, and laid her hand for an instant on - the other's arm as she passed by him, “you and Mr. Bruce will be able to - entertain each other, won't you? I—I'm going upstairs for a little - while.” - </p> - <p> - And the old man made no answer; but, turning on the threshold, he watched - her, his attitude, it seemed to John Bruce, one of almost pathetic - wistfulness, as Claire disappeared from view. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER EIGHT—ALLIES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>LAIRE'S footsteps, - ascending the stairs, died away. John Bruce returned to his chair. His - eyes were still on the old chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins was no longer twisting his shapeless hat nervously in his fingers; - instead, he held it now in one clenched hand, while with the other he - closed the door behind him as he stepped forward across the threshold, and - with squared shoulders advanced toward John Bruce. And then, quite as - suddenly again, as though alarmed at his own temerity, the old man paused, - and the question on his lips, aggressively enough framed, became - irresolute in tone. - </p> - <p> - “What—what's the matter with Claire?” he stammered. “What's this - mean?” - </p> - <p> - It was a moment before John Bruce answered, while he eyed the other from - head to foot. Hawkins was not the least interesting by any means of the - queer characters that came and went and centered around this one-time - pawn-shop of Paul Veniza; but Hawkins, of them all, was the one he was - least able, from what he had seen of the man, to fathom. And yet, somehow, - he liked Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - “That's exactly what I want to know,” he said a little brusquely. “And”—he - eyed Hawkins once more with cool appraisal—“I think you are the man - best able to supply the information.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins began to fumble with his hat again. - </p> - <p> - “I—I—why do you say that?” he faltered, a sudden note of what - seemed almost trepidation in his voice. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Possibly it is just a hunch,” he said calmly. “But you were the one who - was driving that old bus on a certain night—you remember? And you - seem to hang around here about as you please. Therefore you must stand in - on a fairly intimate basis with the family circle. I'd like to know what - hold a rotten crook like Doctor Crang has got on Claire Veniza that she - should be willing to marry him, when she doesn't love him. I'd like to - know why a girl like Claire Veniza drives alone at night to a gambling - hell to——” - </p> - <p> - “That's enough!” Hawkins' voice rose abruptly, peremptorily. He advanced - again threateningly oft John Bruce. “Don't you dare to say one word - against my—against—against her. I'll choke the life out of - you, if you do! Who are you, anyway? You are asking a lot of questions. - How did you get here in the first place? You answer that! I've always - meant to ask you. You answer that—and leave Claire out of it!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce whistled softly. - </p> - <p> - “I can't very well do that,” he said quietly, “because it was Claire who - brought me here.” - </p> - <p> - “Claire brought you!” The old blue eyes grew very hard and very steady. - “That's a lie! She never saw you after you got out at the corner that - night until you came in through the window here. She didn't tell you where - she lived. She didn't invite you here. She's not that kind, and, sick - though you may be, I'll not keep my hands off you, if——” - </p> - <p> - “Steady, Hawkins—steady!” said John Bruce, his voice as quiet as - before. “We seem to possess a common bond. You seem to be pretty fond of - Claire. Well, so am I. That ought to make us allies.” He held out his hand - suddenly to the old man. “I had just asked Claire to marry me when you - came to the door.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins stared from the outstretched hand into John Bruce's eyes, and back - again at the outstretched hand. Bewilderment, hesitation, a curious - excitement was in his face. - </p> - <p> - “You asked Claire to marry you?” He swallowed hard. “You—you want to - marry Claire? I—why?” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” John Bruce echoed helplessly. “Good Lord, Hawkins, you <i>are</i> a - queer one! Barring beasts like Crang, why does a man ordinarily ask a - woman to marry him? Because he loves her. Well, I love Claire. I loved her - from the moment I saw her. I followed her, or, rather, that old bus of - yours, here that night. And that is how, after that fight at Ratti's when - I got out the back door and into the lane, I crawled over here for - sanctuary. I said Claire brought me here. You understand now, don't you? - That's how she brought me here—because I loved her that night. But - it is because of Crang”—his voice grew hard—“that I am telling - you this. I love her now—and a great deal too much, whether she - could ever care for me or not, to see her in the clutches of a crook, and - her life wrecked by a degenerate cur. And somehow”—his hand was - still extended—“I thought you seemed to think enough of her to feel - the same way about this marriage—for I imagine you must know about - it. Well, Hawkins, where do you stand? There's something rotten here. Are - you for Claire, or the dope-eater?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my God!” Hawkins whispered huskily. And then almost blindly he - snatched at John Bruce's hand and wrung it hard. “I—I believe you're - straight,” he choked. “I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. I - wouldn't ask anything more in the world for her than a man's honest love. - And she ain't going to marry that devil! You understand?” His voice was - rising in a curious cracked shrillness. “She ain't! Not while old Hawkins - is alive!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce drew his brows together in a puzzled way. - </p> - <p> - “I pass you up, Hawkins,” he said slowly. “I can't make you out. But if - you mean what you say, and if you trust me——” - </p> - <p> - “I'm going to trust you!” There was eagerness, excitement, a tremble in - the old man's voice. “I've got to trust you after what you've said. I - ain't slept for nights on account of this. It looks like God sent you. You - wait! Wait just a second, and I'll show you how much I trust you.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce straightened up in his chair. Was the old man simply erratic, - or perhaps a little irresponsible—or what? Hawkins had pattered - across the floor, had cautiously opened the door, and was now peering with - equal caution into the outer room. Apparently satisfied at last, he closed - the door noiselessly, and started back across the room. And then John - Bruce knew suddenly an indefinable remorse at having somehow misjudged the - shabby old chauffeur, whose figure seemed to totter now a little as it - advanced toward him. Hawkins' face was full of misery, and the old blue - eyes were brimming with tears. - </p> - <p> - “It—it ain't easy”—Hawkins' voice quavered—“to say—what - I got to say. There ain't no one on earth but Paul Veniza knows it; but - you've got a right to know after what you've said. And I've got to tell - you for Claire's sake too, because it seems to me there ain't nobody going - to help me save her the way you are. She—she's my little girl. I—I'm - Claire's father.” John Bruce stared numbly at the other. He could find no - words; he could only stare. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, look at me!” burst out the old man finally, and into his voice there - came an infinite bitterness. “Look at my clothes! I'm just what I look - like! I ain't no good—and that's what has kept my little girl and me - apart from the day she was born. Yes, look at me! I don't blame you!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was on his feet. His hand reached out and rested on the old - man's shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “That isn't the way to trust me, Hawkins,” he said gently. “What do your - clothes matter? What do your looks matter? What does anything in the world - matter alongside of so wonderful a thing as that which you have just told - me? Straighten those shoulders, Hawkins; throw back that head of yours. - Her father! Why, you're the richest man in New York, and you've reason to - be the proudest!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was smiling with both lips and eyes into the other's face. He - felt a tremor pass through the old man's frame; he saw a momentary flash - of joy and pride light up the wrinkled, weather-beaten face—and then - Hawkins turned his head away. - </p> - <p> - “God bless you,” said Hawkins brokenly; “but you don't know. She's all - I've got; she's the only kith and kin I've got in all the world, and oh, - my God, how these old arms have ached just to take her and hold her tight, - and—and——” He lifted his head suddenly, met John Bruce's - eyes, and a flush dyed his cheeks. “She's my little girl; but I lie when I - say I love her. It's drink I love. That's my shame, John Bruce—you've - got it all now. I pawned my soul, and I pawned my little girl for drink.” - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins,” said John Bruce huskily, “I think you're a bigger man than - you've any idea you are.” - </p> - <p> - “D'ye mean that?” Hawkins spoke eagerly—only to shake his head - miserably the next instant. “You don't understand,” he said. “I as good as - killed her mother with drink. She died when Claire was born. I brought - Claire here, and Paul Veniza and his wife took her in. And Paul Veniza was - right about it. He made me promise she wasn't to know I was her father - until—until she would have a man and not a drunken sot to look after - her. That's twenty years ago. I've tried.. God knows I've tried, but it's - beaten me ever since. Paul's wife died when Claire was sixteen, and - Claire's run the house for Paul—and—and I'm Hawkins—just - Hawkins—the old cab driver that's dropping in the harness. Just - Hawkins that shuffers the traveling pawn-shop now that Paul's quit the - regular shop. That's what I am—just old Hawkins, who's always - swearing to God he's going to leave the booze alone.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce did not speak for a moment. He returned to his chair and sat - down. Somehow he wanted to think; somehow he felt that he had not quite - grasped the full significance of what he had just heard. He looked at - Hawkins. Hawkins had sunk into a chair by the table, and his face was - buried in his hands. - </p> - <p> - And then John Bruce smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Hawkins,” he said briskly, “let's talk about something else - for a minute. Tell me about Paul Veniza and this traveling pawn-shop. It's - a bit out of the ordinary, to say the least.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins raised his head, and his thoughts for the moment diverted into - other channels, his face brightened, and he scratched at the scanty fringe - of hair behind his ear. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't bad, is it?” he said with interest. “I'm kind of proud of it - too, 'cause I guess mabbe, when all's said and done, it was my idea. You - see, when Paul's wife died, Paul went all to pieces. He ain't well now, - for that matter—nowhere near as well as he looks. I'm kind of scared - about Paul. He keeps getting sick turns once every so often. But when the - wife died he was just clean broken up. She'd been his right hand from the - start in his business here, and—I dunno—it just seemed to - affect him that way. He didn't want to go on any more without her. And as - far as money was concerned he didn't have to. Paul ain't rich, but he's - mighty comfortably off. Anyway, he took the three balls down from over the - door, and he took the signs off the windows, and in comes the carpenters - to change things around here, and there ain't any more pawn-shop.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins for the first time smiled broadly. - </p> - <p> - “But it didn't work out,” said Hawkins. “Paul's got a bigger business and - a more profitable one to-day than he ever had before in his life. You see, - he had been at it a good many years, and he had what you might call a - private connection—swells up on the Avenue, mostly ladies, but gents - too, who needed money sometimes without having it printed in the papers, - and they wouldn't let Paul alone. Paul ain't got a hair in his head that - ain't honest and fair and square and above-board—and they were the - ones that knew it better than anybody else. See?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said John Bruce. “Go on, Hawkins,” he prompted. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Hawkins, “I used to drive an old hansom cab in those days, - and I used to drive Paul out on those private calls to the swell houses. - And then when Mrs. Paul died and Paul closed up the shop here he kind of - drew himself into his shell all round, and mostly he wouldn't go out any - more, though the swells kept telephoning and telephoning him. He'd only go - to just a few people that he'd done business with since almost the - beginning. He said he didn't want to go around ringing people's doorbells, - and being ushered into boudoirs or anywhere else, and he was settling down - to shun everybody and everything. It wasn't good for Paul. And then a sort - of crazy notion struck me, and I chewed it over and over in my mind, and - finally I put it up to Paul. In the mood he was in, it just caught his - fancy; and so I bought a second-hand closed car, and fitted it up like you - saw, and learned to drive it—and that's how there came to be the - traveling pawn-shop. - </p> - <p> - “After that, there wasn't anything to it. It caught everybody else's fancy - as well as Paul's, and it began to get him out of himself. The old bus, as - you called it, was running all the time. Lots of the swells who really - didn't want to pawn anything took a ride and did a bit of business just - for the sake of the experience, and the regular customers just went nutty - over it, they were that pleased. - </p> - <p> - “And then some one who stood in with that swell gambling joint where we - picked you up must have tipped the manager off about it, and he saw where - he could do a good stroke of business—make it a kind of - advertisement, you know, besides doing away with any lending by the house - itself, and he put up a proposition to Paul where Paul was to get all the - business at regular rates, and a bit of a salary besides on account of the - all-night hours he'd have to keep sometimes. Paul said he'd do it, and - turned the salary over to me; and they doped out that pass word about a - trip to Persia to make it sound mysterious and help out the advertising - end, and—well, I guess that's all.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was twirling the tassel of his dressing gown again - abstractedly; but now he stopped as Hawkins rose abruptly and came toward - him. - </p> - <p> - “No—it ain't all,” said Hawkins, a curious note almost of challenge - in his voice. “You said something about Claire going to that gambling - joint. It was the first time she had ever been there. That night Paul was - out when they telephoned. You must be one of their big customers, 'cause - they wouldn't listen to anything but a trip to Persia right on the spot. - They were so set on it that Claire said it would be all right. She sent - for me. At first I wasn't for it at all, but she said it seemed to be of - such importance, and that there wasn't anything else to do. Claire knows a - bit of jewelry or a stone as well as Paul does, and I knew Claire could - take care of herself; and besides, although she didn't know it, it—it - was her own old father driving the car there with her.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Hawkins,” said John Bruce simply; and after a moment: “It - doesn't make the love I said I had for her show up very creditably to me, - does it—that I should have had any questions?” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't mean it that way,” he said earnestly. “It would have been a - wonder if you hadn't. Anyway, you had a right to know, and it was only - fair to Claire.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER NINE—THE CONSPIRATORS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE fumbled - in the pocket of his dressing gown and produced a cigarette; but he was a - long time in lighting it. - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins,” he demanded abruptly, “is Paul Veniza in the house now?” - </p> - <p> - “He's upstairs, I think,” Hawkins answered. “Do you want him?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—in a moment,” said John Bruce slowly. “I've been thinking a - good deal while you were talking. I can only see things one way; and that - is that the time has come when you should take your place as Claire's - father.” - </p> - <p> - The old man drew back, startled. - </p> - <p> - “Tell Claire?” he whispered. Then he shook his head miserably. “No, no! I—I - haven't earned the right. I—I can't break my word to Paul.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not ask you to break your word to Paul. I want you to earn the right—now.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins was still shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - “Earn it now—after all these years! How can I?” - </p> - <p> - “By promising that you won't drink any more,” said John Bruce quietly. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Promise!” he said in a shamed way. “I've been promising that for twenty - years. Paul wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe myself. I went and got - drunker than I've been in all my life the night that dog said he was going - to marry Claire, and Claire said it was true, and wouldn't listen to - anything Paul could say to her against it.” - </p> - <p> - “I would believe you,” said John Bruce gravely. - </p> - <p> - For an instant Hawkins' face glowed, while tears came into the old blue - eyes—and then he turned hurriedly and walked to the window, his back - to John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “It's no use,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “You don't know me. - Nobody that knows me would take my word for that—least of all Paul.” - </p> - <p> - “I know this,” said John Bruce steadily, “that you have never been really - put to the test. The test is here now. You'd stop, and stop forever, - wouldn't you, if it meant Claire's happiness, her future, her salvation - from the horror and degradation and misery and utter hopelessness that a - life with a man who is lost to every sense of decency must bring her? I - would believe you if you promised under those conditions. It seems to me - to be the only chance there is left to save her. It is true she believes - Paul is her father and accepts him as such, and neither his influence nor - his arguments will move her from her determination to marry Crang; but I - think there is a chance if she is told your story, if she is brought to - her own father through this very thing. I think if you are in each other's - arms at last after all these years from just that cause it might succeed - where everything else failed. But this much is sure. It has a chance of - success, and you owe Claire that chance. Will you take it, Hawkins? Will - you promise?” - </p> - <p> - There was no answer from the window, only the shaking of the old man's - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins,” said John Bruce softly, “wouldn't it be very wonderful if you - saved her, and saved yourself; and wonderful, too, to know the joy of your - own daughter's love?” - </p> - <p> - The old man turned suddenly from the window, his arms stretched out before - him as though in intense yearning; and there was something almost of - nobility in the gray head held high on the bent shoulders, something of - greatness in the old wrinkled face that seemed to exalt the worn and - shabby clothes hanging so formlessly about him. - </p> - <p> - “My little girl,” he said brokenly. - </p> - <p> - “Your promise, Hawkins,” said John Bruce in a low voice. “Will you - promise?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” breathed the old man fiercely. “<i>Yes</i>—so help me, God! - But”—he faltered suddenly—“but Paul——-” - </p> - <p> - “Ask Paul to come down here,” said John Bruce. “I have something to say to - both of you—more than I have already said to you. I will answer for - Paul.” - </p> - <p> - The old cab driver obeyed mechanically. He crossed the room and went out. - John Bruce heard him mounting the stairs. Presently he returned, followed - by the tall, straight, white-haired figure of Paul Veniza. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins closed the door behind them. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza turned sharply at the sound, and glanced gravely from one to - the other. His eyebrows went up as he looked at John Bruce. John Bruce's - face was set. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter?” inquired Paul Veniza anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to listen first to a little story,” said John Bruce seriously—and - in a few words he told Paul Veniza, as he had told Hawkins, of his love - for Claire and the events of the night that had brought him there a - wounded man. “And this afternoon,” John Bruce ended, “I asked Claire to - marry me, and she told me she was going to marry Doctor Crang.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza had listened with growing anxiety, casting troubled and - uncertain glances the while at Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce spoke abruptly: - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins has promised he will never drink again.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza, with a sudden start, stared at Hawkins, and then a sort of - kindly tolerance dawned in his face. - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend!” said Paul Veniza as though he were comforting a wayward - child, and went over and laid his hand affectionately on Hawkins' arm. - </p> - <p> - “I have told Hawkins,” went on John Bruce, “that I love Claire, that I - asked her to marry me; and Hawkins in turn has told me he is Claire's - father, and how he brought her to you and Mrs. Veniza when she was a baby, - and of the pledge he made you then. It is because I love Claire too that I - feel I can speak now. You once told Hawkins how he could redeem his - daughter. He wants to redeem her now. He has promised never to drink - again.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza's face had whitened a little. Half in a startled, half in a - troubled way, he looked once more at John Bruce and then at Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend!” he said again. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's hand on the arm of his chair clenched suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “You may perhaps feel that he should not have told me of his relationship - to Claire; but it was this damnable situation with Crang that forced the - issue.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza left Hawkins' side and began to pace the room in an agitated - way. - </p> - <p> - “No!” he said heavily. “I do not blame Hawkins. We—we neither of us - know what to do. It is a terrible, an awful thing. Crang is like some - loathsome creature to her, and yet in some way that I cannot discover he - has got her into his power. I have tried everything, used every argument I - can with her, pleaded with her—and it has been useless.” He raised - his arms suddenly above his head, partly it seemed in supplication, partly - in menace. “Oh, God!” he cried out. “I, too, love her, for she has really - been my daughter through all these years. But I do not quite understand.” - He turned to Hawkins. “Even if you kept your promise now, my friend, what - connection has that with Doctor Crang? Could that in any way prevent this - marriage?” - </p> - <p> - It was John Bruce who answered. - </p> - <p> - “It is the last ditch,” he said evenly; “the one way you have not tried—to - tell her her own and her father's story. I do not say it will succeed. But - it is the great crisis in her life. It is the one thing in the world that - ought to sway her, win her. Her father! After twenty years—her - father!” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza's hands, trembling, ruffled through his white hair. Hawkins' - fingers fumbled, now with the buttons on his vest, now with the brim of - his hat which He had picked up aimlessly from the table; and his eyes, - lifting from the floor, glanced timorously, almost furtively, at Paul - Veniza, and sought the floor again. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce got up from his chair and stepped toward them. - </p> - <p> - “I want to tell you something,” he said sharply, “that ought to put an end - to any hesitation on your parts at <i>any</i> plan, no matter what, that - offers even the slightest chance of stopping this marriage. Listen! Devil - though you both believe this Crang to be, you do not either of you even - know the man for what he is. While I was lying there”—he flung out - his hand impulsively toward the couch—“the safe here in this room - was opened and robbed one night. You know that. But you do not know that - it was done by Doctor Crang and his confederates. You know what happened. - But you do not know that while the 'burglars' pretended to hold Crang at - bay with a revolver and then made their 'escape,' Crang, with most of the - proceeds of that robbery in his own pockets, was laughing up his sleeve at - you.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' jaw had dropped as he stared at John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “Crang did it! You—you say Crang committed that robbery?” stammered - Paul Veniza. “But you were unconscious! Still you—you seem to know - that the safe was robbed!” - </p> - <p> - “Apparently I do!” John Bruce laughed shortly. “Crang too thought I was - unconscious, but to make sure he jabbed me with his needle. It took effect - just at the right time—for Crang—just as you and Claire - appeared in the doorway. And”—his brows knitted together—“it - seems a little strange that none of you have ever mentioned it in my - presence; that not a word has ever been said to me about it.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza coughed nervously. - </p> - <p> - “You were sick,” he said; “too sick, we thought, for any excitement.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins suddenly leaned forward; his wrinkled face was earnest. - </p> - <p> - “That is not true!” he said bluntly. “It might have been at first, but it - wasn't after you got better. It was mostly your money that was stolen. - Claire put it there the night you came here, and——” - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins!” Paul Veniza called out sharply in reproof. - </p> - <p> - “But he knows now it's gone,” said the old cabman a little helplessly. He - blundered on: “Paul felt he was responsible for your money, and he was - afraid you might not want to take it if you knew he had to make it up out - of his own pocket, and——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce took a step forward, and laid his hand on Paul Veniza's - shoulder. He stood silently, looking at the other. - </p> - <p> - “It is nothing!” said Paul Veniza, abashed. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps not!” said John Bruce. “But”—he turned abruptly away, his - lips tight—“it just made me think for a minute. In the life I've led - men like you are rare.” - </p> - <p> - “We were speaking of Doctor Crang,” said Paul Veniza a little awkwardly. - “If you know that Doctor Crang is the thief, then that is the way out of - our trouble. Instead of marrying Claire, he will be sent to prison.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You said yourself I was unconscious at the time. You certainly must have - found me that way, and Crang would make you testify that for days I had - been raving in delirium. I do not think you could convict him on my - testimony.” - </p> - <p> - “But even so,” said Paul Veniza, “there is Claire. If she knew that Crang - was a criminal, she——” - </p> - <p> - “She does know,” said John Bruce tersely. - </p> - <p> - “Claire knows!” ejaculated Paul Veniza in surprise. “You—you told - her, then?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” John Bruce answered. “I said to her: 'Suppose I were to tell you - that the man is a criminal?' She answered: 'He is a criminal.' I said - then: 'Suppose he were sent to jail—to serve a sentence?' She - answered: 'I would marry him when he came out.'” - </p> - <p> - “My God!” mumbled the old cabman miserably. - </p> - <p> - “I tell you this,” said John Bruce through set teeth, and speaking - directly to Paul Veniza, “because it seems to me to be the final proof - that mere argument with Claire is useless, and that something more is - necessary. I do not ask you to release Hawkins from his pledge; I ask you - to believe his promise this time because back of it he knows it may save - Claire from what would mean worse than death to her. I believe him; I will - vouch for him. Do you agree, Paul Veniza?” - </p> - <p> - For an instant the white-haired pawnbroker seemed lost in thought; then he - nodded his head gravely. - </p> - <p> - “In the last few days,” he said slowly, “I have felt that it was no longer - my province to masquerade as her father. I know that my influence is - powerless. As you have said, it is the crisis, a very terrible crisis, in - her life.” He turned toward Hawkins, and held out his hand. “My old - friend”—his voice broke—“I pray Heaven to aid you—to aid - us all.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. - </p> - <p> - “You believe me, too, Paul, this time!” he said in a choking voice. - “Listen, Paul! I promise! So help me, God—I promise!” - </p> - <p> - A lump had somehow risen in John Bruce's throat. He turned away, and for a - moment there was silence in the room. And then he heard Paul Veniza speak: - </p> - <p> - “She is dear to us all. Let us call her—unless, my old friend, you - would rather be alone.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” Hawkins cried hurriedly. “I—I want you both; but—but - not now, don't call her now.” He swept his hands over his shabby, - ill-fitting clothes. “I—not like this. I——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Paul Veniza gently, “I understand—and you are right. - This evening then—at eight o'clock. You will come back here, my old - friend, at eight o'clock. And do you remember, it was in this very room, - twenty years ago, that——” He did not complete his sentence; - the hot tears were streaming unashamed down his cheeks. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was staring out of the window, the panes of which seemed - curiously blurred. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” he heard Paul Veniza say. - </p> - <p> - And then, as the two men reached the door, John Bruce looked around. - Hawkins had turned on the threshold. Something seemed to have transfigured - the old cab driver's face. It was illumined. There seemed something of - infinite pathos in the head held high, in the drooped shoulders resolutely - squared. - </p> - <p> - “My little girl!” said Hawkins tenderly. “To-night at eight o'clock—my - little girl!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TEN—AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>EFORE the rickety - washstand and in front of the cracked glass that served as a mirror and - was suspended from a nail driven into the wall, Hawkins was shaving - himself. Perhaps the light from the wheezing gas-jet was over-bad that - evening, or perhaps it was only in playful and facetious mood with the - mirror acting the rôle of co-conspirator; Hawkins' chin smarted and was - raw; little specks of red showed here and there through the repeated coats - of lather which he kept scraping off with his razor. But Hawkins appeared - willing to sacrifice even the skin itself to obtain the standard of - smoothness which he had evidently set before himself as his goal. And so - over and over again he applied the lather, and hoed it off, and tested the - result by rubbing thumb and forefinger critically over his face. He made - no grimace, nor did he show any irritation at the none-too-keen blade that - played havoc with more than the lather, nor did he wince at what must at - times have been anything but a painless operation. Hawkins' round, - weatherbeaten face and old watery blue eyes smiled into the mirror. - </p> - <p> - On the washstand beside him lay a large, ungainly silver watch, its case - worn smooth with years of service. It had a hunting-case, and it was open. - Hawkins glanced at it. It was twenty minutes to eight. - </p> - <p> - “I got to hurry,” said Hawkins happily. “Just twenty minutes—after - twenty years.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins laid aside the razor, and washed and scrubbed at his face until it - shone; then he went to his trunk and opened it. From underneath the tray - he lifted out an old black suit. Perhaps again it was the gas-jet in - either baleful or facetious mood, for, as he put on the suit, the cloth in - spots seemed to possess, here a rusty, and there a greenish, tinge, and - elsewhere to be woefully shiny. Also, but of this the gas-jet could not - have been held guilty, the coat and trousers, and indeed the waistcoat, - were undeniably most sadly wrinkled. - </p> - <p> - And now there seemed to be something peculiarly congruous as between the - feeble gas-jet, the cracked mirror, the wobbly washstand, the threadbare - strip of carpet that lay beside the iron bed, and the old bent-shouldered - figure with wrinkled face in wrinkled finery that stood there knotting - with anxious, awkward fingers a large, frayed, black cravat about his - neck; there seemed to be something strikingly in keeping between the man - and his surroundings, a sort of common intimacy, as it were, with the - twilight of an existence that, indeed, had never known the full sunlight - of high noon. - </p> - <p> - It was ten minutes to eight. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins put the silver watch in his pocket, extinguished the spluttering - gas-jet, that hissed at him as though in protest at the scant ceremony - with which it was treated, and went down the stairs. He stepped briskly - out on the street. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” said Hawkins radiantly. “My little Claire! I'm her daddy, and - she's going to know it. I'm going to get her to call me that—daddy!” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins walked on halfway along the block, erect, with a quick, firm step, - his head high, smiling into every face he met—and turning to smile - again, conscious that people as they passed had turned to look back at - him. And then very gradually Hawkins' pace slackened, and into his face - and eyes there came a dawning anxiety, and the smile was gone. - </p> - <p> - “I'm kind of forgetting,” said Hawkins presently to himself, “that it - ain't just that I'm getting my little girl. I—I'm kind of forgetting - her 'rouble. There—there's Crang.” - </p> - <p> - The old man's face was furrowed now deep with storm and care; he walked - still more slowly. He began to mutter to himself. At the corner of the - street he raised an old gnarled fist and shook it, clenched, above his - head, unconscious and oblivious now that people still turned and looked at - him. - </p> - <p> - And then a little way ahead of him along the street that he must go to - reach the one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza, his eyes caught the patch of - light that filtered out to the sidewalk from under the swinging doors of - the familiar saloon, and from the windows in a more brilliant flood. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins drew in a long breath. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” he whispered fiercely. “I will never go in there again—so - help me, God! If I did—and—and she knew it was her daddy, it - would just break her heart like—like Crang 'll break it.” - </p> - <p> - He went on, but his footsteps seemed to drag the more now as he approached - the saloon. His hand as he raised it trembled; and as he brushed it across - his brow it came away wet with sweat. - </p> - <p> - The saloon was just a yard away from him now. - </p> - <p> - There was a strange, feverish glitter in the blue eyes. His face was - chalky white. - </p> - <p> - “So help me, God!” Hawkins mumbled hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - It was five minutes of eight. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins had halted in front of the swinging doors. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER ELEVEN—THE RENDEZVOUS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL VENIZA, pacing - restlessly about the room, glanced surreptitiously at his watch, and then - glanced anxiously at John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce in turn stole a look at Claire. His lips tightened a little. - Since she had been told nothing, she was quite unconscious, of course, - that it mattered at all because it was already long after eight o'clock; - that Hawkins in particular, or any one else in general, was expected to - join the little evening circle here in what he, John Bruce, had by now - almost come to call his room. His forehead gathered in a frown. What was - it that was keeping Hawkins? - </p> - <p> - Claire's face was full in the light, and as she sat there at the table, - busy with some sewing, it seemed to John Bruce that, due perhaps to the - perspective of what he now knew, he detected a weariness in her eyes and - in sharp lines around her mouth, that he had not noticed before. It was - Crang, of course; but perhaps he too—what he had said to her that - afternoon—his love—had not made it any easier for her. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza continued his restless pacing about the room. - </p> - <p> - “Father, do sit down!” said Claire suddenly. “What makes you so nervous - to-night? Is anything the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “The matter? No! No, no; of course not!” said Paul Veniza hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “But I'm sure there is,” said Claire, with a positive' little nod of her - head. “With both of you, for that matter. Mr. Bruce has done nothing but - fidget with the tassel of that dressing gown for the last half hour.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce let the tassel fall as though it had suddenly burned his - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “I? Not at all!” he denied stoutly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear!” sighed Claire, with mock plaintiveness. “What bores you two - men are, then! I wish I could send out—what do you call it?—a - thought wave, and inspire some one, and most of all Hawkins, to come over - here this evening. He, at least, is never deadly dull.” - </p> - <p> - Neither of the two men spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You don't know Hawkins, do you, Mr. Bruce?” Claire went on. She was - smiling now as she looked at John Bruce. “I mean really know him, of - course. He's a dear, quaint, lovable soul, and I'm so fond of him.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm sure he is,” said John Bruce heartily. “Even from the little I've - seen of him I'd trust him with—well, you know”—John Bruce - coughed as his words stumbled—“I mean, I'd take his word for - anything.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, you would!” asserted Claire. “You couldn't think of doing - anything else—nobody could. He's just as honest as—as—well, - as father there, and I don't know any one more honest.” She smiled at Paul - Veniza, and then her face grew very earnest. “I'm going to tell you - something about Hawkins, and something that even you never knew, father. - Ever since I was old enough to remember any one, I remember Hawkins. And - when I got old enough to understand at all, though I could never get him - to talk about it, I knew his life wasn't a very happy one, and perhaps I - loved him all the more for that reason. Hawkins used to drink a great - deal. Everybody knew it. I—I never felt I had the right to speak to - him about it, though it made me feel terribly, until—until mother - died.” - </p> - <p> - Claire had dropped her sewing in her lap, and now she picked it up again - and fumbled with it nervously. - </p> - <p> - “I spoke to him then,” she said in a low voice. “I told him how much you - needed him, father; and how glad and happy it would make me. And—and - I remember so well his words: 'I promise, Claire. I promise, so help me, - God, that I will never drink another drop.'” Claire looked up, her face - aglow “And I know, no matter what anybody says, that from that day to - this, he never has.” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza, motionless now in the center of the room, was staring at her - in a sort of numbed fascination. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was staring at the door. He had heard, he thought, a step in - the outer room. - </p> - <p> - The door opened. Hawkins stood there. He plucked at his frayed, black - cravat, which was awry. He lurched against the jamb, and in groping - unsteadily for support his hat fell from his other hand and rolled across - the floor. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins reeled into the room. - </p> - <p> - “Good—hic!—good-evenin',” said Hawkins thickly. - </p> - <p> - Claire alone moved. She rose to her feet, but as though her weight were - too heavy for her limbs. Her lips quivered. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully—and burst into tears, and ran - from the room. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to John Bruce that for a moment the room swirled around before - his eyes; and then over him swept an uncontrollable desire to get his - hands upon this maudlin, lurching creature. Rage, disgust, a bitter - resentment, a mad hunger for reprisal possessed him; Claire's future, her - faith which she had but a moment gone so proudly vaunted, were all - shattered, swept to the winds, by this seedy, dissolute wreck. Her father! - No, her shame! Thank God she did not know! - </p> - <p> - “You drunken beast!” he gritted in merciless fury, and stepped suddenly - forward. - </p> - <p> - But halfway across the room he halted as though turned to stone. Hawkins - wasn't lurching any more. Hawkins had turned and closed the door; and - Hawkins now, with his face white and drawn, a look in his old blue eyes - that mingled agony and an utter hopelessness, sank into a chair and buried - his face in his hands. - </p> - <p> - It was Paul Veniza who moved now. He went and stood behind the old cabman. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins looked up. - </p> - <p> - “You are sober. What does this mean?” Paul Veniza asked heavily. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't do it,” he said in a broken voice. “And—and I've settled - it once for all now. I got to thinking as I came along to-night, and I - found out that it wasn't any good for me to swear I wasn't going to touch - anything any more. I'm afraid of myself. I—I came near going into - the saloon. It—it taught me something, that did; because the only - way I could get by was to promise myself I'd go back there after I'd been - here.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins paused. A flush dyed his cheeks. He turned around and looked at - Paul Veniza again, and then at John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “You don't understand—neither of you understand. Once I promised - Claire that I'd stop, and—and until just now she believed me. And - I've hurt her. But I ain't broken her heart. It was only old Hawkins, just - Hawkins, who promised her then; it would have been her <i>father</i> who - promised her to-night, and—and it ain't any good, I'd have broken - that promise, I know it now—and she ain't ever going to share that - shame.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins brushed his hands across his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “And then,” he went on, A sudden fierceness in his voice, “suppose she'd - had that on top of Crang, 'cause it ain't sure that knowing who I am would - have saved her from him! Oh, my God, she'd better be dead! I'd rather see - her dead. You're wrong, John Bruce! It wasn't the way. You meant right, - and God bless you; but it wasn't the way. I saw it all so clearly after—after - I'd got past that saloon; and—and then it was all right for me to - promise myself that I'd go back. It wouldn't hurt her none then.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce cleared his throat. - </p> - <p> - “I don't quite understand what you mean by that, Hawkins,” he said a - little huskily. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins rose slowly to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “I dressed all up for this,” said Hawkins, with a wan smile; “but - something's snapped here—inside here.” His hand felt a little - aimlessly over his heart. “I know now that I ain't ever going to be - worthy; and I know now that she ain't ever to know that I—that I—I'm - her old daddy. And so I—I've fixed it just now like you saw so there - ain't no going back on it. But I ain't throwing my little girl down. It - ain't Claire that's got to be made change her mind—<i>it's Crang</i>.” - He raised a clenched fist. “And Crang's going to change it! I can swear to - <i>that</i> and know I'll keep it, so—so help me, God! And when - she's rid of him, she ain't going to have no shame and sorrow from me. - That's what I meant.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said John Bruce mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “I'm going now,” said Hawkins in a low voice. “Around by the other way,” - said Paul Veniza softly. “And I'll go with you, old friend.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment Hawkins hesitated, and then he nodded his head. - </p> - <p> - No one spoke. Paul Veniza's arm was around Hawkins' shoulders as they left - the room. The door closed behind them. John Bruce sat down on the edge of - his bed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWELVE—THE FIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a long time - John Bruce stared at the closed door; first a little helplessly because - the bottom seemed quite to have dropped out of things, and then with set - face as the old cabman's words came back to him: “Crang—not Claire.” - And at this, a sort of merciless joy crept into his eyes, and he nodded - his head in savage satisfaction. Yes, Hawkins had been right in that - respect, and—well, it would be easier to deal with Crang! - </p> - <p> - And then suddenly John Bruce's face softened. Hawkins! He remembered the - fury with which the old man had inspired him as the other had reeled into - the room, and Clare, hurt and miserable, had risen from her chair. But he - remembered Hawkins in a different way now. It was Hawkins, not Claire, who - had been hurt. The shabby old figure standing there had paid a price, and - as he believed for Claire's sake, that had put beyond his reach forever - what must have meant, what did mean, all that he cherished most in life. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce smiled a little wistfully. Somehow he envied Hawkins, so - pitifully unstable and so weak—his strength! - </p> - <p> - He shook his head in a puzzled way. His thoughts led him on. What a - strange, almost incomprehensible, little world it was into which fate, if - one wished to call it fate, had flung him! It was an alien world to him. - His own life of the past rose up in contrast with it—> not of his - own volition, but because the comparison seemed to insist on thrusting - itself upon him. - </p> - <p> - He had never before met men like Hawkins and Paul Veniza. He had met - drunkards and pawnbrokers. Very many of them! He had lived his life, or, - rather, impoverished it with a spendthrift hand, among just such classes—but - he was conscious that it would never have been the poorer for an intimacy - with either Hawkins or Paul Veniza. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce raised his head abruptly. The front door had opened. A moment - later a footstep sounded in the outer room, and then upon the stairs. That - would be Paul Veniza returning of course, though he hadn't been gone very - long; or was it that he, John Bruce, had been sitting here staring at that - closed door for a far longer period than he had imagined? - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the interruption from his mind, and - again the wistful smile flickered on his lips. - </p> - <p> - So that was why nothing had been said in his hearing about the robbery! - Queer people—with their traveling pawn-shop, which was bizarre; and - their standards of honesty, and their unaffected hospitality which verged - on the bizarre too, because their genuineness and simplicity were so - unostentatious—and so rare. And somehow, suddenly, as he sat there - with his chin cupped now in his hands, he was not proud of this contrast—himself - on the one hand, a drunkard and a pawnbroker on the other! - </p> - <p> - And then John Bruce raised his head again, sharply this time, almost in a - startled way. Was that a cry—in a woman's voice? It was muffled by - the closed door, and it was perhaps therefore his imagination; but it—— - </p> - <p> - He was on his feet. It had come again. No door could have shut it out from - his ears. It was from Claire upstairs, and the cry seemed most curiously - to mingle terror and a passionate anger. He ran across the room and threw - the door open. It was strange! It would be Paul Veniza in a new rôle, if - the gentle, white-haired old pawnbroker could inspire terror in any one! - </p> - <p> - A rasping, jeering oath—in a man's voice this time—reached - him. John Bruce, a sudden fury whipping his blood into lire, found himself - stumbling up the stairs. It wasn't Veniza! His mind seemed to convert that - phrase into a sing-song refrain: “It wasn't Veniza! It wasn't Veniza!” - </p> - <p> - Claire's voice came to him distinctly now, and there was the same terror - in it, the same passionate anger that he had distinguished in her cry: - </p> - <p> - “Keep away from me! I loathe you! It is men like you that prompt a woman - to murder! But—but instead, I have prayed God with all my soul to - let me die before——” Her voice ended in a sharp cry, a scuffle - of feet. - </p> - <p> - It was Crang in there! John Bruce, now almost at the top of the stairs, - was unconscious that he was panting heavily from his exertions, - unconscious of everything save a new refrain that had taken possession of - his mind: “It was Crang in there! It was Crang in there!” - </p> - <p> - It was the door just at the right of the landing. - </p> - <p> - Crang's voice came from there; and the voice was high, like the squeal of - an enraged animal: - </p> - <p> - “You're mine! I've got a right to those red lips, you vixen, and I'm going - to have them! A man's got the right to take the girl he's going to marry - in his arms! Do you think I'm going to be held off forever? You're mine, - and——” - </p> - <p> - The words were lost again in a cry from Claire, and in the sound of a - struggle—a falling chair, the scuffle once more of feet. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce flung himself across the hall and against the door, It yielded - without resistance, and the impetus of his own rush carried him, - staggering, far into the room. Two forms were circling there under the gas - light as though in the throes of some mad dance—only the face of the - woman was deathly white, and her small clenched fists beat frantically at - the face of the man whose arms were around her. John Bruce sprang forward. - He laughed aloud, unnaturally. His brain, his mind, was whirling; but - something soft was grasped in his two encircling hands, and that was why - he laughed—because his soul laughed. His fingers pressed tighter. It - was Crang's throat that was soft under his fingers. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the room swirled around him. A giddiness seemed to seize upon him—and - that soft thing in his grip slipped from his fingers and escaped him. He - brushed his hand across his eyes. It would pass, of course. It was strange - that he should go giddy like that, and that his limbs should be trembling - as though with the ague! Again he brushed his hand across his eyes. It - would pass off. He could see better now. Claire had somehow fallen to the - floor; but she was rising to her knees now, using the side of the bed for - support, and—— - </p> - <p> - Her voice rang wildly through the room. - </p> - <p> - “Look out! Oh, look out!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - To John Bruce it seemed as though something leaped at him out of space—and - struck. The blow, aimed at his side, which was still bandaged, went home. - It brought an agony that racked and tore and twisted at every nerve in his - body. It wrung a moan from his lips, it brought the sweat beads bursting - out upon his forehead—but it cleared his brain. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it was Doctor Crang—but disreputable in appearance as he had - never before seen the man. Crang's clothes were filthy and unkempt, as - though the man had fallen somewhere in the mire and was either unconscious - or callous of the fact; his hair draggled in a matted way over his - forehead, and though his face worked with passion, and the passion brought - a curious hectic rose-color to supplant the customary lifeless gray of his - cheeks, the eyes were most strangely glazed and fixed. - </p> - <p> - And again John Bruce laughed—and with a vicious guard swept aside a - second blow aimed at his side, and his left fist, from a full arm swing, - crashed to the point of Doctor Crang's jaw. But the next instant they had - closed, their arms locked around each other's waists, their chins dug hard - into each other's shoulders. And they rocked there, and swayed, and - lurched, a curious impotence in their ferocity—and toppled to the - floor. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's grip tightened as Doctor Crang fought madly now to tear - himself free—and they rolled over and over in the direction of the - door. Hot and cold waves swept over John Bruce. He was weak, pitifully - weak, barely a convalescent. But he was content to call it an equal fight. - He asked for no other odds than Crang himself had offered. The man for - once had over-steeped himself with dope, and was near the point of - collapse. He had read that in the other's eyes, as surely as though he had - been told. And so John Bruce, between his gasping breaths, still laughed, - and rolled over and over—always toward the door. - </p> - <p> - From somewhere Claire's voice reached John Bruce, imploringly, in terror. - Of course! That was why he was trying to get to the door, to get out of - her room—through respect for her—to get somewhere where he - could finish this fight between one man who could scarcely stand upon his - feet through weakness, and another whose drug-shattered body was - approaching that state of coma which he, John Bruce, had been made to - suffer on the night the robbery had been committed. And by the same - needle! He remembered that! Weak in body, his mind was very clear. And so - he rolled over and over, always toward the door, because Crang was - heedless of the direction they were taking, and he, John Bruce, was - probably not strong enough in any other way to force the other out of the - room where they could finish this. - </p> - <p> - They rolled to the threshold—and out into the hall. John Bruce - loosened his hold suddenly, staggered to his feet, and leaned heavily for - an instant against the jamb of the door. But it was only for an instant. - Crang was the quicker upon his feet. Like a beast there was slaver on the - other's lips, his hands clawed the air, his face was contorted hideously - like the face of one demented, one from whom reason had flown, and with - whom maniacal passion alone remained—and from the banister railing - opposite the door Crang launched himself forward upon John Bruce again. - </p> - <p> - “She's mine!” he screamed. “I've been watching you two! I'll teach you! - She's mine—mine! I'll finish you for this!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce side-stepped the rush, and Crang pitched with his head against - the door jamb, but recovering, whirled again, and rushed again. The man - began to curse steadily now in a low, abominable monotone. It seemed to - John Bruce that he ought to use his fist as a cork and thrust it into the - other's mouth to bottle up the vile flow of epithets that included Claire, - and coupled his name with Claire's. Claire might hear! The man was raving, - insane with jealousy. John Bruce struck. His fist found its mark on - Crang's lips, and found it again; but somehow his arm seemed to possess - but little strength, and to sag back at the elbow from each impact. He - writhed suddenly as Crang reached him with another blow on his side. - </p> - <p> - And then they had grappled and locked together again, and were swaying - like drunken men, now to this side, and now to that, of the narrow hall. - </p> - <p> - It could not last. John Bruce felt his knees giving way beneath him. He - had under-estimated Crang's resistance to the over-dose of drug. Crang was - the stronger—and seemed to be growing stronger every instant. Or was - it his own increasing weakness? - </p> - <p> - Crang's fist with a short-arm jab smashed at John Bruce's wounded side - once more. The man struck nowhere else—always, with the cunning born - of hell, at the wounded side. John Bruce dug his teeth into his lips. A - wave of nausea swept over him. He felt his senses leaving him, and he - clung now to the other, close, tight-pressed, as the only means of - protecting his side. - </p> - <p> - He forced himself then desperately to a last effort. There was one chance - left, just one. In the livid face, in the hot, panting breath with which - the other mouthed his hideous profanity, there was murder. Over his - shoulder, barely a foot away, John Bruce glimpsed the staircase. He let - his weight sag with seeming helplessness upon Crang. It brought Crang - around in a half circle. Crang's back was to the stairs now. John Bruce - let his hands slip slowly from their hold upon the other, as though the - last of his strength was ebbing away. He accepted a vicious blow on his - wounded side as the price that he must pay, a blow that brought his chin - crumpling down upon his breast—and then with every ounce of - remaining strength he hurled himself at Crang, and Crang's foot stumbled - out into space over the topmost stair, and with a scream of infuriated - surprise the man pitched backward. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce grasped with both hands at the banister for support. Something - went rolling, rolling, rolling down the stairs with queer, dull thumps - like a sack of meal. His hands slipped from the banister, and he sat - limply down on the topmost step and laughed. He laughed because that - curious looking bundle at the bottom there began a series of fruitless - efforts to roll back up the stairs again. - </p> - <p> - And then the front door opened. He could see it from where he sat, and - Paul Veniza—that was Paul Veniza, wasn't it?—stepped into the - room below, and cried out, and ran toward the bundle at the foot of the - stairs. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce felt some one suddenly hold him back from pitching down the - stairs himself, but nevertheless he kept on falling and falling into some - great pit that grew darker and darker the farther he went down, and this - in spite of some one who tried to hold him back, and—and who had a - face that looked like Claire's, only it was as—as white as driven - snow. And as he descended into the blackness some one screamed at him: - “I'll finish you for this!” And screamed it again—only the voice - kept growing fainter. And—and then he could neither see nor hear any - more. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - When John Bruce opened his eyes again he was lying on his cot. A little - way from him, their backs turned, Claire and Paul Veniza were whispering - earnestly together. He watched them for a moment, and gradually as his - senses became normally acute again he caught Claire's words: - </p> - <p> - “He is not safe here for a moment. Father, we must get him away. I am - afraid. There is not a threat Doctor Crang made to-night but that he is - quite capable of carrying out.” - </p> - <p> - “But he is safe for to-night,” Paul Veniza answered soothingly. “I got - Crang home to bed, and as I told you, he is too badly bruised and knocked - about to move around any before morning at least.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet I am afraid,” Claire insisted anxiously. “Fortunately Mr. Bruce's - wound hasn't opened, and he could be moved. Oh, if Hawkins only hadn't——” - </p> - <p> - She stopped, and twisted her hands together nervously. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza coughed, averted his head suddenly and in turning met John - Bruce's eyes—and stared in a startled way. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” John Bruce called softly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she cried, and ran toward him. “You——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” smiled John Bruce. “And I have been listening. Why isn't it safe - for me to stay here any longer? On account of Crang's wild threats?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce laughed. - </p> - <p> - “But you don't believe them, do you?” he asked. “At least, I mean, you - don't take them literally.” Claire's lips were trembling. - </p> - <p> - “There is no other way to take them.” She was making an effort to steady - her voice. “It is not a question of believing them. I know only too well - that he will carry them out if he can. You are not safe here, or even in - New York now—but less safe here in this house than anywhere else.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce came up on his elbow. - </p> - <p> - “Then, Claire, isn't this the end?” he demanded passionately. “You know - him for what he is. You do not love him, for I distinctly heard you tell - him that you loathed him, as I went up the stairs. Claire, I am not asking - for myself now—only for you. Tell me, tell Paul Veniza here, to whom - it will mean so much, that you have now no further thought of marriage - with that”—John Bruce's voice choked—“with Crang.” She shook - her head. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell you that,” she said dully, “for I am going to marry Doctor - Crang.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's face hardened. He looked at Paul Veniza. The old pawnbroker - had his eyes on the floor, and was ruffling his white hair helplessly with - his fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Why?” John Bruce asked. - </p> - <p> - “Because I promised,” Claire said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “But a promise like that!” John Bruce burst out. “A promise that you will - regret all your life is——” - </p> - <p> - “No!” Her face was half averted; her head was lowered to hide the tears - that suddenly welled into her eyes. “No; it is a promise that I—that - I am glad now I made.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Glad!</i>” John Bruce sat upright. She had turned her head away from - the cot. He could not see her face. “Glad!” he repeated incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” Her voice was scarcely audible. - </p> - <p> - For a moment John Bruce stared at her; then a bitter smile tightened his - lips, and he lay back on the cot, and turned on his side away from both - Claire and Paul Veniza. - </p> - <p> - When John Bruce looked around again, only Paul Veniza was in the room. - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand,” said Paul Veniza—he was still ruffling his - hair, still with his eyes on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “I do,” said John Bruce grimly. “Claire is right. It isn't safe for me to - stay here, and I'll go to-night. If only Hawkins hadn't——” He - laughed a little harshly. “But I'll go to-night, just the same. A taxi - will do quite as well.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER THIRTEEN—TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NDER the shaded - light on his table, in his private sitting room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, - John Bruce had been writing steadily for half an hour—but the sheets - of paper over which his pen had traveled freely and swiftly were virgin - white. He paused now, remained a moment in thought, and then added a line - to the last sheet. No mark was left, but from the movement of the pen this - appeared to be a signature. - </p> - <p> - He gathered the sheets together, folded them neatly, and slipped them into - an envelope. He replaced the cap on the fountain pen he had been using, - placed the pen in his vest pocket, and from another pocket took out - another pen that was apparently identical with the first. With this second - pen, in black ink, he addressed the envelope to one Gilbert Larmon in San - Francisco. He sealed the envelope, stamped it, put it in his pocket, - returned the second fountain pen to his vest pocket, lighted a cigarette - leaned back in his chair, and frowned at the ascending spirals of smoke - from the cigarette's tip. - </p> - <p> - The report which he had just written to Larmon, explaining his inaction - during the past weeks, had been an effort—not physical, but mental. - He had somehow, curiously, felt no personal regret for the enforced - absence from his “work,” and he now felt no enthusiasm at the prospect of - resuming it. He had had no right to tinge or color his letter to Larmon - with these views; nor had he intended to do so. Perhaps he had not; - perhaps he had. He did not know. The ink originated by the old Samoan - Islander had its disadvantages as well as its advantages. He could not now - read the letter over once it was written! - </p> - <p> - He flicked the ash irritably from his cigarette. He had been back here in - the hotel now for two days and that feeling had been constantly growing - upon him. Why? He did not know except that the cause seemed to insist on - associating itself with his recent illness, his life in the one-time - pawn-shop of Paul Veniza. But, logically, that did not hold water. Why - should it? He had met a pawnbroker who roamed the streets at night in a - fantastic motor car, driven by a drunkard; and he had fallen in love with - a girl who was glad she was going to marry a dope-eating criminal. Good - God, it was a spectacle to make—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's fist crashed suddenly down on the desk beside him, and he - rose from his chair and stood there staring unseeingly before him. That - was not fair! What was uppermost now was the recrudescence of the - bitterness that had possessed him two nights ago when he had returned from - Paul Veniza's to the hotel here. Nor was it any more true than it was - fair! What of the days and nights of nursing, of care, of the ungrudging - and kindly hospitality they had given to an utter stranger? Yes, he knew! - Only—only she had said she was <i>glad!</i> - </p> - <p> - He began to pace the room. He had left Veniza's in bitterness. He had not - seen Claire. It was a strange sort of love he boasted, little of - unselfishness in it, much of impatience, and still more of intolerance! - That it was a hopeless love in so far as he was concerned did not place - him before himself in any better light. If he cared for her, if there was - any depth of feeling in this love he claimed to have, then at least her - happiness, her welfare and her future could not be extraneous and - indifferent considerations to him. And on the spur of the moment, piqued, - in spite of Paul Veniza's protestations, he had left that night without - seeing Claire again! - </p> - <p> - He had been ashamed of himself. Yesterday, he had telephoned Claire. He - had begged her forgiveness. He had not meant to say more—but he had! - Something in her voice had—no, not invited; he could not say that—but - had brought the passion, pleading almost, back into his own. It had seemed - to him that she was in tears at the other end of the wire; at least, - bravely as she had evidently tried to do so, she had been unable to keep - her voice under control. But she had evaded an answer. There had been - nothing to forgive, she had said. He had told her that he must see her, - that he would see her again. And then almost hysterically, over and over - again, she had begged him to attempt nothing of the sort, but instead to - leave New York because she insisted that it was not safe for him to stay - even in the city. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce hurled the butt of his cigarette in the direction of the - cuspidor, and clenched his fist. Crang! Safe from Crang! He laughed aloud - harshly. He asked nothing better than to meet Crang again. He would not be - so weak the next time! And the sooner the better! - </p> - <p> - He gnawed at his under lip, as he continued to pace the room. To-day, he - had telephoned Claire again—but he had not spoken to her this time. - He had not been surprised at the news he had received, for he remembered - that Hawkins had once told him that the old pawnbroker was in reality far - from well. Some one, he did not know who, some neighbor probably, had - answered the phone. Paul Veniza had been taken ill. Claire had been up - with him all the previous night, and was then resting. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce paused abruptly before the desk at which he had been writing, - and looked at his watch. It was a little after ten o'clock. He was going - back to “work” again to-night. He smiled suddenly, and a little - quizzically, as he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What would they - say—the white-haired negro butler, and the exquisite Monsieur Henri - de Lavergne, for instance—when the millionaire plunger, usually so - immaculate in evening clothes, presented himself at their door in a suit - of business tweeds? - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. Down at Ratti's that night his apparel—it - was a matter of viewpoint—had been a source of eminent displeasure, - and as such had been very effectively disposed of. He had had no - opportunity to be measured for new clothes. - </p> - <p> - The smile faded, and he stood staring at the desk. The millionaire - plunger! It seemed to jar somehow on his sensibilities. Work! That was a - queer way, too, to designate it. He was going to take up his work again - to-night, pick up the threads of his life again where he had dropped them. - A bit ragged those threads, weren't they? Frayed, as it were! - </p> - <p> - What the devil was the matter with him, anyway? - </p> - <p> - There was money in it, a princely existence. What more could any one ask? - What did Claire, his love for a girl who was glad to marry some one else - infinitely worse than he was, have to do with it? Ah, she <i>did</i> have - something to do with it, then! Nonsense! It was absurd! - </p> - <p> - He took a key abruptly from his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers of - the desk. From the drawer he took out a large roll of bills. The hotel - management had sent to the bank and cashed a check for him that afternoon. - He had not forgotten that he would need money, and plenty of it, at the - tables this evening. Well, he was quite ready to go now, and it was time; - it would be halfpast ten before he got there, and—— - </p> - <p> - “The devil!” said John Bruce savagely—and suddenly tossed the money - back into the drawer, and locked the drawer. “If I don't feel like it - to-night, why should I? I guess I'll just drop around for a little - convalescent visit, and let it go at that.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce put on a light overcoat, and left the room. In the lobby - downstairs he posted his letter to Gilbert Larmon. He stepped out on the - street, and from the rank in front of the hotel secured a taxi. Twenty - minutes later he entered Gilbert Larmon's New York gambling hell. - </p> - <p> - Here he received a sort of rhapsodical welcome from the exquisite Monsieur - Henri de Lavergne, which embraced poignant regret at the accident that had - befallen him, and unspeakable joy at his so-splendid recovery. It was a - delight so great to shake the hand of Mr. Bruce again that Monsieur Henri - de Lavergne complained bitterly at the poverty of language which prevented - an adequate expression of his true and sincere feelings. Also, Monsieur - Henri de Lavergne, if he were not trespassing, would be flattered indeed - with Mr. Bruce's confidence, if Mr. Bruce should see fit to honor him with - an account of how the accident had happened. He would be desolated if in - any way it could be attributable to any suggestion that he, Monsieur de - Lavergne, on behalf of the house which he had the honor to represent as - manager, had made to Mr. Bruce which might have induced—— - </p> - <p> - “Not at all!” John Bruce assured him heartily. He smiled at Monsieur de - Lavergne. The other knew nothing of Claire's presence in the car that - night, and for Claire's sake it was necessary to set the man's mind so - completely at rest that the subject would lack further interest. The only - way to accomplish that was to appear whole-heartedly frank. John Bruce - became egregiously frank. “It was just my own damned curiosity,” he said - with a wry smile. “I got out of that ingenious contraption at the corner - after going around the block, and, well, my curiosity, as I said, got the - better of me. I followed the thing, and found out where Mr. Veniza lived. - I started on my way back, but I didn't get very far. I got into trouble - with a rather tough crowd just around the corner, who didn't like my shirt - front, I believe they said. The fight ended by my being backed into a wine - shop where I was stabbed, but from which I managed to escape into the - lane. I was about all in, and the only chance I could see was a lighted - window on the other side of a low fence. I crawled in the window, and - flopped on the floor. It proved to be Mr. Veniza's house.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Pour l'amour du dieu!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Henri de Lavergne - breathlessly. - </p> - <p> - “And which also accounts,” said John Bruce pleasantly, “for the apology I - must offer you for my appearance this evening in these clothes. The mob in - that respect was quite successful.” - </p> - <p> - “But that you are back!” Monsieur de Lavergne's hands were raised in - protest. “That is alone what matters. Monsieur Bruce knows that in any - attire it is the same here for monsieur as though he were at home.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you!” said John Bruce cordially. “I have only dropped in through - the urge of old habits, I guess. I'm hardly on my feet yet, and I thought - I'd just watch the play for a little while to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “And that, too,” said Monsieur Henri de Lavergne with a bow, as John Bruce - moved toward the staircase, “is entirely as monsieur desires.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce mounted the stairs, and began a stroll through the roulette and - card rooms. The croupiers and dealers nodded to him genially; those of the - “guests” Whom he knew did likewise. He was treated with marked courtesy - and consideration by every attendant in the establishment. Everything was - exactly as it had been on his previous visits. There were the soft mellow - lights; the siren pur of the roulette wheel, the musical <i>click</i> of - the ball as it spun around on its little fateful orbit; the low, quiet - voices of the croupiers and dealers; the well-dressed players grouped - around the tables, the hilarious and the grim, the devil-may-care laugh - from one, the thin smile from another. It was exactly the same, all - exactly the same, even to the table in the supper room, free to all though - laden with every wine and delicacy that money could procure; but somehow, - even at the end of half an hour, where he was wont to be engrossed till - daylight, John Bruce became excessively bored. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was because he was simply an on-looker, and not playing - himself. He had drawn close to a group around a faro bank. The play was - grim earnest and for high stakes. No, it wasn't that! He did not want to - play. Somehow, rather, he knew a slight sense both of contempt and disgust - at the eager clutch and grasp of hands, the hoarse, short laugh of - victory, the snarl of defeat, the trembling fingers of the more timorous - who staked with Chance and demanded that the god be charitable in its - omnipotence and toss them crumbs! - </p> - <p> - Well, what was he caviling about? It was the life he had chosen. It was - his life work. Wasn't he pleased with it? He had certainly liked it well - enough in the old days to squander upon it the fair-sized fortune his - father had left him. He decidedly had not gone into that infernal compact - with Larmon blindfolded. Perhaps it was because in those days he played - when he wanted to; and in these, and hereafter, he would play because he - had to. Perhaps it was only that, to-night, there was upon him the - feeling, which was natural enough, and which was immeasurably human too, - that it was irksome to be a slave, to be fettered and shackled and bound - to anything, even to what one, with one's freedom his own, was ordinarily - out of choice most prone to do and delight in. Well, maybe! But that was - not entirely a satisfactory or conclusive solution either. - </p> - <p> - He looked around him. There seemed to be something hollow to-night in - these trappings of tinsel; and something not only hollow, but sardonic in - his connection with them—that he should act as a monitor over the - honesty of those who in turn acted as the agents of Larmon in an already - illicit traffic. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hell!” said John Bruce suddenly. - </p> - <p> - The dealer looked up from the table, surprise mingling with polite - disapproval. Several of the players screwed around their heads. - </p> - <p> - “That's what I say!” snarled one of the latter with an added oath, as a - large stack of chips was swept away from him. - </p> - <p> - Some one touched John Bruce on the elbow. He turned around. It was one of - the attendants. - </p> - <p> - “You are being asked for downstairs, Mr. Bruce,” the man informed him. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce followed the attendant. In the hall below the white-haired - negro doorkeeper came toward him. - </p> - <p> - “I done let him in, Mistuh Bruce, suh,” the old darky explained a little - anxiously, “'cause he done say, Mistuh Bruce, that it was a case of most - particular illness, suh, and——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce did not wait for more. It was Veniza probably—a turn for - the worse. He nodded, and passed hurriedly along the hall to where, near - the door, a poorly dressed man, hat in hand and apparently somewhat ill at - ease in his luxurious surroundings, stood waiting. - </p> - <p> - “I am Mr. Bruce,” he said quickly. “Some one is critically ill, you say? - Is it Mr. Veniza?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” the man answered. “I don't know anything about Mr. Veniza. It's - Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins!” ejaculated John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the man. He shuffled his feet. “I—I guess you know, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce for a moment made no comment. Hawkins! Yes, he knew! Hawkins - had even renounced his pledge, hadn't he? Not, perhaps, that that would - have made any difference! - </p> - <p> - “Bad?” he asked tersely. - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid so, sir,” the man replied. “I've seen a good bit of Hawkins - off and on in the last two years, sir, because I room in the same house; - but I've never seen him like this. He's been out of his head and clawing - the air, sir, if you know what I mean. He's over that now, but that weak - he had me scared once, sir, that he'd gone.” - </p> - <p> - “What does the doctor say?” John Bruce bit off his words. - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “He wouldn't have one, sir. It's you he wants. You'll understand, sir, - that he's been alone. I don't know how long ago he started on this spree. - It was only by luck that I walked into his room to-night. I was for - getting a doctor at once, of course, but he wouldn't have it; he wanted - you. At times, sir, he was crying like a baby, only he hadn't the strength - of one left. Knowing I could run her, me being a motortruck driver, he - told me to take that car he drives and go to the hotel for you, and if you - weren't there to try here—which I've done, sir, as you see, and I - hope you'll come back with me. I don't know what to do, though I'm for - picking up a doctor on the way back whether he wants one or not.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce turned abruptly, secured his coat and hat, motioned the man to - lead the way, and followed the other out of the house and down the steps - to the sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - The traveling pawn-shop was at the curb. The man opened the door, and John - Bruce stepped inside—and was instantly flung violently down upon a - seat. The door closed. The car started forward. And in a sudden glare of - light John Bruce stared into the muzzle of a revolver, and, behind the - revolver, into a bruised and battered face, which was the face of Doctor - Crang. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FOURTEEN—THE TWO PENS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE stared - for a moment longer at the revolver that held a steady bead between his - eyes, and at the evil face of Crang that leered at him from the opposite - seat; then he deliberately turned his head and stared at the face of still - another occupant of the car—a man who sat on the seat beside him. He - was trapped—and well trapped! He recognized the other to be the man - known as Birdie, who had participated on a certain night in the robbery of - Paul Veniza's safe. It was quite plain. The third man in that robbery, - whose face he had not seen at the time, was undoubtedly the man who had - brought the “message” a few minutes ago, and who was now, with almost - equal certainty, engaged in driving the car. Thieving, at least, was in - the trio's line! They must somehow or other have stolen the traveling - pawn-shop from Hawkins! - </p> - <p> - He smiled grimly. If it had been Birdie now who had brought the message he - would never have fallen into the trap! Crang had played in luck and won by - a very narrow margin, for Crang was naturally in ignorance that he, John - Bruce, had ever seen either of the men before. And then John Bruce thought - of the bulky roll of bills which by an equally narrow margin was <i>not</i> - in his pocket at that moment, and his smile deepened. - </p> - <p> - Crang spoke for the first time. - </p> - <p> - “Take his gun away from him, if he's got one!” he gnarled tersely. - </p> - <p> - “It's in the breast pocket of my coat,” said John Bruce imperturbably. - </p> - <p> - Birdie, beside John Bruce, reached over and secured the weapon. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce leaned back in his seat. The car was speeding rapidly along - now. - </p> - <p> - The minutes passed. None of the three men spoke. Crang sat like some - repulsive gargoyle, leering maliciously. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce half closed his eyes against the uncanny fascination of that - round black muzzle which never wavered in its direction, and which was - causing him to strain too intently upon it. What was the game? How far did - Crang intend to go with his insane jealousy? How far would Crang dare to - go? The man wasn't doped to-night. Perhaps he was even the more dangerous - on that account. Instead of mouthing threats, there was something ominous - now, it seemed, in the man's silence. John Bruce's lips drew together. He - remembered Claire's insistence that Crang had meant what he said literally—and - Claire had repeated that warning over the telephone. Well, if she were - right, it meant—<i>murder</i>. - </p> - <p> - From under his half closed lids, John Bruce looked around the car. The - curtains, as they always were, were closely drawn. The interior was - lighted by that same soft central light, only the light was high up now - near the roof of the car. Well, if it was to be murder, why not <i>now?</i> - The little velvet-topped table was not in place, and there was nothing - between himself and that sneering, sallow face. Yes, why not now—and - settle it! - </p> - <p> - He straightened almost imperceptibly in his seat, as impulse suddenly bade - him fling himself forward upon Crang. Why not? The sound of a revolver - shot would be heard in the street, and Crang might not even dare to fire - at all. And then John Bruce's glance rested on the man beside him—and - impulse gave way to common sense. He had no intention of submitting tamely - and without a struggle to any fate, no matter what it might be, that Crang - proposed for him, but that struggle would better come when there was at - least a chance. There was no chance here. Birdie, on the seat beside him, - held a deadlier and even more effective weapon than was Crang's revolver, - a silent thing—a black-jack. - </p> - <p> - “Wait! Don't play the fool! You'll get a better chance than this!” the - voice of what he took to be common sense whispered to him. - </p> - <p> - The car began to go slower. It swerved twice as though making sharp turns; - and then, running still more slowly, began to bump over rough ground. - </p> - <p> - Crang spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “You can make all the noise you want to, if you think it will do you any - good,” he said viciously; “but if you make a move you are not told to make - you'll be <i>carried</i> the rest of the way! Understand?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce did not answer. - </p> - <p> - The car stopped. Birdie opened the door on his side, and stepped to the - ground. He was joined by the man who had driven the car, and who, as John - Bruce now found he had correctly assumed, had acted as the decoy at the - gambling house. - </p> - <p> - “Get out!” ordered Doctor Crang curtly. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce followed Birdie from the car. It was dark out here, exceedingly - dark, but he could make out that the car had been driven into a narrow - lane, and that they were close to the wall of a building of some sort. The - two men gripped him by his arms. He felt the muzzle of Crang's revolver - pressed into the small of his back. - </p> - <p> - “Mind your step!” cautioned Birdie gruffly. - </p> - <p> - It was evidently the entrance to a cellar. John Bruce found himself - descending a few short steps; and then, on the level again, he was guided - forward through what was now pitch blackness. A moment more and they had - halted, but not before John Bruce's foot had come into contact with a wall - or partition of some kind in front of him. One of the men who gripped his - arms knocked twice with three short raps in quick succession. - </p> - <p> - A door opened in front of them, and for an instant John Bruce was blinded - by a sudden glare of light; but the next instant, his eyes grown - accustomed to the transition, he saw before him a large basement room, - disreputable and filthy in appearance, where half a dozen men sat at - tables drinking and playing cards. - </p> - <p> - A shove from the muzzle of Crang's revolver urged John Bruce forward into - an atmosphere that was foul, hot and fetid, and thick with tobacco smoke - that floated in heavy, sinuous layers in mid-air. He was led down the - length of the room toward another door at the opposite end. The men at the - tables, as he passed them, paid him little attention other than to leer - curiously at him. They greeted Birdie and his companion with blasphemous - familiarity; but their attitude toward Crang, it seemed to John Bruce, was - one of cowed and abject respect. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's teeth closed hard together. This was a nice place, an - ominously nice place—a hidden den of the rats of the underworld, - where Crang was obviously the leader. He was not so sure now that the - promptings of so-called common sense had been common sense at all! His - chances of escaping, practically hopeless as they had been in the car, - would certainly have been worth trying in view of this! He began to regret - his “common sense” bitterly now. - </p> - <p> - He was in front of the door toward which they had been heading now. It was - opened by Birdie, and John Bruce was pushed into a small, dimly-lighted, - cave-like place. Crang said something in a low voice to the two men, and, - leaving them outside, entered himself, closing the door only partially - behind him. - </p> - <p> - For a moment they faced each other, and then Crang laughed—tauntingly, - in menace. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's eyes, from Crang's sallow face, and from Crang's revolver, - swept coolly over his surroundings. A mattress, a foul thing, lay on the - ground in one corner. There was no flooring here in the cellar. A small - incandescent bulb hung from the roof. There was one chair and a battered - table—nothing else; not even a window. - </p> - <p> - “It was like stealing from a child!” sneered Crang suddenly. “You poor - mark!” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so!” said John Bruce calmly. “And the more so since I was warned - that you were quite capable of—murder. I suppose that is what I am - here for.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you were warned, were you?” Crang took an abrupt step forward, his - lips working. An angry purple clouded the pallor of his face. “More of - that love stuff, eh? Well, by God, here's the end of it! I'll teach you - with your damned sanctimonious airs to fool around the girl I'm going to - marry! You snivelling hypocrite, you didn't tell her who <i>you</i> were, - did you?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stared blankly. - </p> - <p> - “Who I am?” he repeated. “What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - Crang for the moment was silent. He seemed to be waging a battle with - himself to control his passion. - </p> - <p> - “I'm too clever a man to lose my temper, now I've got you!” he rasped - finally. “That's about the size of your mentality! The sweet, naïve, - innocent rôle! Yes, I said a snivelling hypocrite! You don't eat dope, but - perhaps you've heard of a man named Larmon—Mr. Gilbert Larmon, of - San Francisco!” - </p> - <p> - To John Bruce it seemed as though Crang's words in their effect were - something like one of those blows the same man had dealt him on his - wounded side in that fight of the other night. They seemed to jar him, and - rob his mind of quick thinking and virility—and yet he was quite - sure that not a muscle of his face had moved. - </p> - <p> - “You needn't answer,” Crang grinned mockingly. “If you haven't met him, - you'll have the opportunity of doing so in a few hours. Mr. Larmon will - arrive in New York to-night in response to the telegram you sent him.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you said you were clever,” said John Bruce shortly, “and I have no - doubt this is the proof of it! But what is the idea? I did not send a - telegram to any one. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, you did!” Crang was chuckling evilly. - </p> - <p> - “It was something to the effect that Mr. Larmon's immediate presence in - New York was imperative; that you were in serious difficulties. And in - order that Mr. Larmon might have no suspicions or anxiety aroused as to - his own personal safety, he was to go on his arrival to the Bayne-Miloy - Hotel; but was, at the same time, to register under the name of R. L. - Peters, and to make no effort to communicate with you until you gave him - the cue. The answer to the telegram was to be sent to a—er—quite - different address. And here's the answer.” - </p> - <p> - His revolver levelled, Crang laid a telegram on the table, and then backed - away a few steps. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce picked up the message. It was dated from San Francisco several - days before, and was authentic beyond question. It was addressed to John - Bruce in the care of one William Anderson, at an address which he took to - be somewhere over on the East Side. He read it quickly: - </p> - <p> - Leaving at once and will follow instructions. Arrive Wednesday night. Am - exceedingly anxious. - </p> - <p> - Gilbert Larmon. - </p> - <p> - “This is Wednesday night,” sneered Crang. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce laid down the telegram. That Crang in some way had discovered - his, John Bruce's connection with Larmon, was obvious. But how—and - what did it mean? He smiled coldly. There was no use in playing the fool - by denying any knowledge of Larmon. It was simply a question of exactly - how <i>much</i> Crang knew. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he inquired indifferently. - </p> - <p> - The door was pushed open, and Birdie came in. He carried pen and ink, a - large sheet of paper, and an envelope. - </p> - <p> - Crang motioned toward the table. - </p> - <p> - “Put them down there—and get out!” he ordered curtly; and then as - the man obeyed, he stared for an instant in malicious silence at John - Bruce. “I guess we're wasting time!” he snapped. “I sent the telegram to - Larmon a few days ago, and I know all about you and Larmon, and his ring - of gambling houses. You talked your fool head off when you were delirious—understand? - And——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce, his face suddenly white, took a step forward—and - stopped, and shrugged his shoulders. Crang's outflung revolver was on a - level with his eyes. And then John Bruce turned his back deliberately, and - walked to the far end of the little room. - </p> - <p> - Crang laughed wickedly. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid I committed a breach of medical étiquette,” he said. “I sent - to San Francisco and got the dope on the quiet about this Mr. Larmon. I - found out that he is an enormously wealthy man; and I also found out that - he poses as an immaculate pillar of society. It looks pretty good, doesn't - it, Bruce—for me? Two birds with one stone; you for trying to get - between me and Claire; and Larmon coughing up the dough to save your hide - and save himself from being exposed for what he is!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce made no answer. They were not so fanciful now, not so unreal - and wandering, those dreams when he had been ill, those dreams in which - there had been a man with a quill toothpick, and another with a sinister, - loathsome face, whose head was always cocked in a listening attitude. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I guess you've got it now, all of it, haven't you?” Crang snarled. - “It's lucky for you Larmon's got the coin, or I'd pass you out for what - you did the other night. As it is you're getting out of it light. There's - paper on the table. You write him a letter that will get him down here - with a blank check in his pocket. I'll help you to word it.” Crang smiled - unpleasantly. “He will be quite comfortable here while the check is going - through the bank; for it would be most unfortunate, you know, if he had a - chance to stop payment on it. And I might say that I am not worrying at - all about any reprisals through the tracing of the check afterward, for if - Mr. Larmon is paying me to keep my mouth shut there is no fear of his - opening his own.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce turned slowly around. - </p> - <p> - “And if I don't?” he asked quietly. - </p> - <p> - Crang studied the revolver in his hand for a moment. He looked up finally - with a smile that was hideous in its malignancy. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not sure that I particularly care,” he said. “You are going to get - out of my path in any case, though my personal inclination is to snuff you - out, and”—his voice rose suddenly—“damn you, I'd like to see - you dead; but on the other hand, my business sense tells me that I'd be - better off with, say, a hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. Do you get - the idea, my dear Mr. Bruce? I am sure you do. And as your medical - advisor, for your health is still very much involved, I would strongly - urge you to write the letter. But at the same time I want to be perfectly - frank with you. There is a tail to it as far as you are concerned. I have - a passage in my pocket—a first-class passage, in fact a stateroom - where you can be secured so that I may make certain you do not leave the - ship prematurely at the dock—for South America, on a steamer sailing - to-morrow afternoon. The passage is made out in the name of John Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - “You seem to have taken it for granted that I would agree to your - proposal,” said John Bruce pleasantly. - </p> - <p> - “I have,” Crang answered shortly. “I give you credit in some respects for - not being altogether a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “In other words,” said John Bruce, still pleasantly, “if I will trap Mr. - Larmon into coming here so that you will have him in your power, and can - hold him until you have squeezed out of him what you consider the fair - amount he should pay as blackmail, or do away with him perhaps, if he is - obstinate, I am to go free and sail for South America to-morrow afternoon; - failing this, I am to snuff out—I think you called it—at the - hands of either yourself or this gentlemanly looking band of apaches you - have gathered around you.” - </p> - <p> - “You haven't made any mistake so far!” said Crang evenly. He jerked his - hand toward the table. “It's that piece of paper there, or your hide.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said John Bruce slowly. He stared for an instant, set-faced, into - Crang's eyes. “Well, then, go ahead!” - </p> - <p> - Crang's eyes narrowed. - </p> - <p> - “You mean,” his voice was hoarse with menace, “you mean——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes!” said John Bruce tersely. “My hide!” - </p> - <p> - Crang did not answer for a moment. The revolver in his hand seemed to edge - a little nearer to John Bruce as though to make more certain of its aim. - Crang's eyes were alight with passion. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce did not move. It was over—this second—or the next. - Crang's threats were <i>literal</i>. Claire had said so. He knew it. It - was in Crang's eyes—a sort of unholy joy, a madman's frenzy. Well, - why didn't the man fire and have done with it? - </p> - <p> - And then suddenly Crang's shoulders lifted in a mocking shrug. - </p> - <p> - “Maybe you haven't got this—<i>straight</i>,” he said between closed - teeth. “I guess I've paid you the compliment of crediting you with a - quicker intelligence than you possess! I'll give you thirty minutes alone - to think it over and figure out where you stand.” - </p> - <p> - Crang backed to the door. - </p> - <p> - The door closed. John Bruce heard the key turn in the lock. He stared - about him at the miserable surroundings. Thirty minutes! He did not need - thirty minutes, or thirty seconds, to realize his position. He was not - even sure that he was thankful for the reprieve. It meant half an hour - more of life, but—— - </p> - <p> - Cornered like a rat! To go out at the hands of a degenerate dope fiend... - the man had been cunning enough... Hawkins! - </p> - <p> - John Bruce paced his little section of the cellar. His footsteps made no - sound on the soft earth. This was his condemned cell; his warders a batch - of gunmen whose trade was murder. - </p> - <p> - Larmon! They had not been able to trick Larmon into their power so easily, - because there wasn't any Hawkins. No, there was—John Bruce. John - Bruce was the bait. Queer! Queer that he had ever met Larmon, and queer - that the end should come like this. - </p> - <p> - Faustus hadn't had his fling yet. That quill toothpick with which he had - signed—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stood stock still—his eyes suddenly fastened on the piece - of paper on the table. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - He ran silently to the door and listened. He could hear nothing. He ran - back to the table, threw himself into the chair, and snatching the sheet - of paper toward him, took out a fountain pen from his pocket. Near the - lower edge of the paper, and in a minutely small hand, he began to write - rapidly. - </p> - <p> - At the end of a few minutes John Bruce stood up. There was neither sign - nor mark upon the paper, save an almost invisible impression made by his - thumb nail, which he had set as a sign post, as it were, to indicate where - he had begun to write. It was a large sheet of unruled paper, foolscap in - size, and there was but little likelihood of reaching so far down with the - letter that Crang was so insistent upon having, but he did not propose in - any event to superimpose anything over what he had just written. He could - always turn the sheet and begin at the top on the other side! Again he - began to pace up and down across the soft floor, but now there was a grim - smile on his face. Behind Larmon and his enormous wealth lay Larmon's - secret organization, that, once set in motion, would have little - difficulty in laying a dozen Crangs, by the heels. And Crang was yellow. - Let Crang but for an instant realize that his own skin was at stake, and - he would squeal without hesitation—and what had narrowly escaped - being tragedy would dissolve into opera bouffe. Also, it was very nice - indeed of Crang to see that the message reached Larmon's hands! - </p> - <p> - And it was the way out for Claire, too! It was Crang who had mentioned - something about two birds with one stone, wasn't it? Claire! John Bruce - frowned. Was he so sure after all? There seemed to be something - unfathomable between Claire and Crang; the bond between them one that no - ordinary means would break. - </p> - <p> - His brain seemed to go around in cycles now—Claire, Larmon, Crang; - Claire, Larmon, Crang.... He lost track of time—until suddenly he - heard a key rattle in the lock. And then, quick and silent as a cat in his - movements, he slipped across the earthen floor, and flung himself face - down upon the mattress. - </p> - <p> - A moment more, and some one prodded him roughly. His hair was rumpled, his - face anxious and dejected, as he raised himself on his elbow. Crang and - two of his apaches were standing over him. One of the latter held an ugly - looking stiletto. - </p> - <p> - “Stand him up!” ordered Crang. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce made no resistance as the two men jerked him unceremoniously to - his feet. - </p> - <p> - Crang came and stared into his face. - </p> - <p> - “I guess from the look of you,” Crang leered, “you've put in those thirty - minutes to good advantage. You're about ready to write that letter, aren't - you?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce looked around him miserably. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No—no; I—I can't,” he said weakly. “For God's sake, Crang, - you—you know I can't.” - </p> - <p> - “Sure—I know!” said Crang imperturbably. He nodded to the man with - the stiletto. “He's more used to steel than bullets, and he likes it - better. Don't keep him waiting.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce felt the sudden prick of the weapon on his flesh—it went - a little deeper. - </p> - <p> - “Wait! Stop!” he screamed out in a well-simulated paroxysm of terror. “I—I'll - write it.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought so!” said Crang coolly. “Well, go over there to the table then, - and sit down.” He turned to the two men. “Beat it!” he snapped—and - the room empty again, save for himself and John Bruce, he tapped the sheet - of paper with the muzzle of his revolver. “I'll dictate. Pick up that - pen!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce obeyed. He circled his lips with his tongue. - </p> - <p> - “You—you won't do Larmon any harm, will you?” he questioned - abjectly. “I—my life's worth more than a little money, if it's only - that, and—and, if that's all, I—I'm sure he'd rather pay.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't apologize!” sneered Crang. “Go on now, and write. Address him as - you always do.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote in a small hand: - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mr. Larmon:—” - </p> - <p> - He looked up in a cowed way. - </p> - <p> - “All right!” grunted Crang. “I guess we'll kill another bird, too, while - we're at it.” He smiled cryptically. “Go on again, and write!” - </p> - <p> - And John Bruce wrote as Crang dictated: - </p> - <p> - “I'm here in my rooms in the same hotel with you, but am closely watched. - Our compact is known. I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so felt she - had the right to my full confidence. She did me in. She——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's pen had halted. - </p> - <p> - “Go on!” prompted Crang sharply. “It's got to sound right for Larmon—so - that he will believe it. He's not a fool, is he?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - “Well, go on then!” - </p> - <p> - And John Bruce wrote: - </p> - <p> - “She was all the time engaged to the head of a gang of crooks.” Crang's - malicious chuckle interrupted his dictation. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not sparing myself, you see. Go on!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce continued his writing: - </p> - <p> - “They are after blackmail now, and threaten to expose you. I telegraphed - you to come under an alias because we are up against it and you should be - on the spot; but if they knew you were here they would only attach the - more importance to it, and the price would go up. They believe you are - still in San Francisco, and that I am communicating with you by mail. They - are growing impatient. You can trust the bearer of this letter absolutely. - Go with him. He will take you where we can meet without arousing any - suspicion. I am leaving the hotel now. If possible we should not risk more - than one conference together, so bring a blank check with you. There is no - other way out. It is simply a question of the amount. I am bitterly sorry - that this has happened through me. John Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - Crang, with his revolver pressed into the back of John Bruce's neck, - leaned over John Bruce's shoulder and read the letter carefully. - </p> - <p> - “Fold it, and put it in that envelope without sealing it, and address the - envelope to Mr. R. L. Peters at the Bayne-Miloy Hotel!” he instructed. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce folded the letter. As he did so, he noted that his signature - was a good two or three inches above the thumb nail mark. He placed the - letter in the envelope, and addressed the latter as Crang had directed. - </p> - <p> - Crang moved around to the other side of the table, tucked the envelope - into his pocket, and grinned mockingly. - </p> - <p> - And then without a word John Bruce got up from his chair, and flung - himself face down on the mattress again. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE CLEW - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL VENIZA, - propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his eyes as she - moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too ill of late - to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden shock at Claire's - appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her movements seemed - listless. - </p> - <p> - “What's to-night?” he asked abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Wednesday, father,” she answered. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire. - Besides—besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two - nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house. - </p> - <p> - “Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see him,” - he smiled. - </p> - <p> - Claire stared at the old pawnbroker. - </p> - <p> - “Why, father,” she protested, “it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides, - you would be all alone in the house.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” said Paul Veniza. “I'm all right. Much better. I'll be up - to-morrow. But I particularly want to see Hawkins to-night.” He did not - particularly want to see Hawkins or any one else, but if he did not have - some valid excuse she would most certainly refuse to go out and leave him - alone. A little walk and a breath of fresh air would do Claire a world of - good. And as for the lateness of the hour, Claire in that section of the - city was as safe as in her own home. “Please do as I ask you, Claire,” he - insisted. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, father,” she agreed after a moment's hesitation, and went and - put on her hat. - </p> - <p> - From downstairs, as she opened the front door, she called up to him a - little anxiously: - </p> - <p> - “You are sure you are all right?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite sure, dear,” Paul Veniza called back. “Don't hurry.” - </p> - <p> - Claire stepped out on the street. It was not far to go—just around - the first corner and halfway down the next block—and at first she - walked briskly, impelled by an anxiety to get back to the house again as - soon as possible, but insensibly, little by little, her footsteps dragged. - </p> - <p> - What was it? Something in the night, the darkness, that promised a kindly - cloak against the breaking of her self-restraint, that bade her let go of - herself and welcome the tears that welled so spontaneously to her eyes? - Would it bring relief? To-day, all evening, more than ever before, she had - felt her endurance almost at an end. She turned her face upward to the - night. It was black; not a star showed anywhere. It seemed as though - something dense and forbidding had been drawn like a somber mantle over - the world. God, even, seemed far away to-night. - </p> - <p> - She shivered a little. Could that really be true—that God was - turning His face away from her? She had tried so hard to cling to her - faith. It was all she had; it was all that of late had stood between her - and a despair and misery, a horror so overwhelming that death by contrast - seemed a boon. - </p> - <p> - Her lips quivered as she walked along. It almost seemed as though she did - not want to fight any more. And yet there had been a great and very - wonderful reward given to her before she had even made the final sacrifice - that she had pledged herself to make. If her soul revolted from the - association that must come with Doctor Crang, if every instinct within her - rose up in stark horror before the contamination of the man's wanton moral - filth, one strange and wondrous thing sustained her. And she had no right - to mistrust God, for God must have brought her this. She had bought an - unknown life—that had become dearer to her than her own, or anything - that might happen to her. She knew love. It was no longer a <i>stranger</i> - who would live on through the years because she was soon to pay the price - that had been set upon his life—it was John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - Claire caught her hands suddenly to her breast. John Bruce! She was still - afraid—for John Bruce. And to-night, all evening, that fear had been - growing stronger, chilling her with a sense of evil premonition and - foreboding. Was it only premonition? Crang had threatened. She had heard - the threats. And she knew out of her own terrible experience that Crang, - as between human life and his own desires, held human life as naught. And - yet, surely John Bruce was safe from him now—at least his life was - safe. That was how Crang had wrung the promise from her. No, she was not - so sure! There was personal enmity between them now. Besides, if anything - happened she would not be able to bring it to Crang's door—Crang - would take care of that—and her promise would still hold. And so she - was afraid. - </p> - <p> - She had not seen Crang since the night that John Bruce had thrown him down - the stairs. She had thanked God for the relief his absence had brought her—but - now, here again, she was not so sure! What had kept him away? Where was - John Bruce? She began to regret that she had told John Bruce he must not - attempt to see her or communicate with her any more, though she had only - done so because she had been afraid for his sake—that it would but - arouse the very worst in Doctor Crang. Perhaps John Bruce had yielded to - her pleading and had left the city. She shook her head. If she knew the - man she loved at all, John Bruce would run from no one, and—— - </p> - <p> - Claire halted abruptly. She had reached the dingy rooming house where - Hawkins lived. She brushed her hand resolutely across her eyes as she - mounted the steps. The tears had come after all, for her lashes were wet. - </p> - <p> - It was not necessary either to ring or knock; the door was always - unfastened; and, besides, she had been here so many, many times that she - knew the house almost as well as her own home. She opened the door, - stepped into a black hallway, and began to feel her way up the creaking - staircase. There was the possibility, of course, that Hawkins was either - out or already in bed; but if he were out she would leave a note in his - room for him so that he would come over to the old pawn-shop when he - returned, and if he were already in bed her message delivered through the - door would soon bring Hawkins out of it again—Hawkins, since he had - been driving that old car which he had created, was well accustomed to - calls at all hours of the night. - </p> - <p> - A thin, irregular streak of light, the only sign of light she had seen - anywhere in the house, showed now at the threshold under Hawkins' - ill-fitting door, as she reached the landing. She stepped quickly to the - door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. There was still - no answer. Claire smiled a little whimsically. Hawkins was growing - extravagant—he had gone out and left the light burning. She tried - the door, and, finding it unlocked, opened it, stepped forward into the - room—and with a sudden, low, half-hurt, half-frightened cry, stood - still. Hawkins was neither out, nor was he in bed. Hawkins was sprawled - partly on the floor and partly across a chair in which he had obviously - been unable to preserve his balance. Several bottles, all empty but one, - stood upon the table. There were two dirty glasses beside the bottles, and - another one, broken, on the floor. Hawkins was snoring stertorously. - </p> - <p> - It seemed somehow to Claire standing there that this was the last straw—and - yet, too, there was only a world of pity in her heart for the old man. All - the years rolled before her. She remembered as a child climbing upon his - knee and pleading for the <i>tick-tick</i>—that great cumbersome - silver watch, which, fallen out of his pocket now, dangled by its chain - and swung in jerky rhythm to his breathing. She remembered the days when, - a little older, she had dressed herself in her best clothes, and to - Hawkins' huge delight had played at princess, while he drove her about in - his old ramshackle hansom cab; and, later still, his gentle faithfulness - to Paul Veniza in his trouble, and to her—and the love, and a - strange, always welcome, tenderness that he had ever shown her. Poor frail - soul! Hawkins had been good to every one—but Hawkins! - </p> - <p> - She could not leave him like this, but she was not strong enough alone to - carry him to his bed. She turned and ran hurriedly downstairs. There was - the widow Hedges, of course, the old landlady. - </p> - <p> - Back at the end of the lower hall, Claire pounded upon a door. Presently a - woman's voice answered her. A moment later a light appeared as the door - was opened, and with it an apparition in an old gingham wrapper and curl - papers. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's you, Miss Claire!” the woman exclaimed in surprise. “What's - brought you over here to-night, dear? Is your father worse?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” Claire answered. “He wanted Hawkins, and——” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hedges shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “Hawkins ain't in,” she said; “but I'll see that he gets the message when - he comes back. He went out with the car quite a little while ago with some - men he had with him.” - </p> - <p> - “With the car?” Claire found herself suddenly a little frightened, she did - not quite know why. “Well, he's back now, Mrs. Hedges.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” asserted Mrs. Hedges positively. “I might not have heard him - going upstairs, but I would have heard the car coming in. It ain't come - back yet.” - </p> - <p> - “But Hawkins <i>is</i> upstairs,” said Claire a little heavily. “I—I've - been up.” - </p> - <p> - “You say Hawkins is upstairs?” Mrs. Hedges stared incredulously. “That's - very strange!” She turned and ran back into her room and to a rear window. - “Look, Miss Claire! Come here! You can see!” And as Claire joined her: - “The door of the shed, or the gradge as he calls it, is open, and you can - see for yourself it's empty. If he's upstairs what could he have done with - the car? It ain't out in front of the house, is it, and—oh!” She - caught Claire's arm anxiously. “There's been an accident, you mean, and - he's——” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure he never left the house,” said Claire, and her voice in its - composed finality sounded strange even in her own ears. She was thoroughly - frightened now, and her fears were beginning to take concrete form. There - were not many who would have any use for that queer old car that was so - intimately associated with Hawkins! She could think of only one—and - of only one reason. She pulled at Mrs. Hedges' arm. “Come upstairs,” she - said. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hedges reached the door of Hawkins' room first. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my God!” Mrs. Hedges cried out wildly. “He ain't dead, is he?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Claire in a strained voice. “He's—he's only had too much - to drink. Help me lift him on the bed.” - </p> - <p> - It taxed the strength of the two women. - </p> - <p> - “And the car's stole!” gasped Mrs. Hedges, fighting for her breath. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Claire; “I am afraid so.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we'll get the police at once!” announced Mrs. Hedges. - </p> - <p> - Claire looked at her for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “You mustn't do that. It—it - will come back.” - </p> - <p> - “Come back?” Mrs. Hedges stared helplessly. “It ain't a cat! You—you - ain't quite yourself, are you, Miss Claire? Poor dear, this has upset you. - It ain't a fit thing for young eyes like yours to see. Me—I'm used - to it.” - </p> - <p> - “I am quite myself.” Claire forced a calmness she was far from feeling - into her voice. “You mustn't notify the police, or do a thing, except just - look after Hawkins. It—it's father's car, you know; and he'll know - best what to do.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, maybe that's so,” admitted Mrs. Hedges. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know who the men were who were here with Hawkins?” Claire asked. - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't,” Mrs. Hedges answered excitedly. “The thieving devils, - coming here and getting Hawkins off like this! I just knew there were some - men up in his room with him because I heard them talking during the - evening, and then when I heard them go out and get the car I thought, of - course, that Hawkins had gone with them.” - </p> - <p> - “I—I see,” said Claire, striving to speak naturally. “I—I'll - go back to father now. I can't leave him alone very long, anyhow. I'll - tell him what has happened, and—and he'll decide what to do. You'll - look after Hawkins, won't you, Mrs. Hedges?” - </p> - <p> - “You run along, dear,” said Mrs. Hedges reassuringly. “Who else but me has - looked after him these ten years?” - </p> - <p> - Claire ran from the room and down the stairs, and out to the street. The - one thing left for her to do was to reach home and get to the telephone—get - the Bayne-Miloy Hotel—and John Bruce. Perhaps she was already too - late. She ran almost blindly along the street. Her intuition, the - foreboding that had obsessed her so heavily all evening, was only too - likely now to prove itself far from groundless. What object, save one, - could anybody have in obtaining possession of the traveling pawn-shop, and - at the same time of keeping Hawkins temporarily out of the road? Perhaps - her deduction would show flaws if it were subjected to the test of pure - logic, perhaps there were a thousand other reasons that would account - equally well, and even more logically, for what had happened, but she <i>knew</i> - it was Crang—and Crang could have but one object in view. The man - was clever, diabolically clever. In some way he was using that car and - Hawkins' helplessness to trap the man he had threatened. She must warn - John Bruce. There was not an instant to lose! To lose! How long ago had - that car been taken? Was there even a chance left that it was not already - far too late? She had not thought to ask how long ago it was when Mrs. - Hedges had heard the car leave the garage. - </p> - <p> - It had never seemed so far—just that little half block and halfway - along another. It seemed as though she had been an hour in coming that - little way when she finally reached her home. Her breath coming in hard, - short gasps, she opened the door, closed it, and, with no thought but one - in her mind, ran across the room to the telephone. She remembered the - number of the Bayne-Miloy. She snatched the telephone receiver from the - hook—and then, as though her arm had suddenly become incapable of - further movement, the receiver remained poised halfway to her ear. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang was leaning over the banister, and looking down at her. - </p> - <p> - With a stifled little cry, Claire replaced the receiver. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza's voice reached her from above. - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Claire?” he called. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, father,” she answered. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang came down the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “I just dropped in a minute ago—not professionally”—a snarl - crept into his voice—“for I have never been informed that your - father was ill.” - </p> - <p> - Claire did not look up. - </p> - <p> - “It—it wasn't serious,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “So!” Crang smiled a little wickedly. “I wonder where you get the <i>gambling</i> - spirit from? One of these days you'll find out how serious these attacks - are!” He took a step forward. “Your father tells me you have been over to - Hawkins' room.” - </p> - <p> - There was a curious hint of both challenge and perverted humor in his - voice. It set at rest any lingering doubt Claire might have had. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, and faced him now, her eyes, hard and steady, fixed on - his. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Hawkins!” sighed Doctor Crang ironically. “Even the best of us have - our vices! It should teach us to be tolerant with others!” - </p> - <p> - Claire's little form was rigidly erect. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you know how much I hate you?” she said in a tense, low - voice. - </p> - <p> - “You've told me often enough!” A savage, hungry look came into Crang's - eyes. “But you're mine, for all that! Mine, Claire! Mine! You understand - that, eh?” - </p> - <p> - He advanced toward her. The door of the inner room, that for weeks, until - a few days ago, had been occupied by John Bruce, was just behind her, and - she retreated through it. He followed her. She did not want to cry out—the - sound would reach the sick room above; and, besides, she dared not show - the man that she had any fear. - </p> - <p> - “Don't follow me like that!” she breathed fiercely. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” he retorted, as he switched on the light and closed the door. - “I've got the right to, even if I hadn't something that I came over here - particularly to-night to tell you about—quite privately.” - </p> - <p> - She had put the table between them. That he made no effort to come nearer - for the moment afforded her a certain relief, but there was something in - the smile with which he surveyed her now, a cynical, gloating triumph, - that chilled her. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what is it?” she demanded. - </p> - <p> - “I trapped that damned lover of yours to-night!” he announced coolly. - </p> - <p> - Claire felt her face go white. It <i>was</i> true, then! She fought madly - with herself for self-possession. - </p> - <p> - “If you mean Mr. Bruce,” she said deliberately, “I was just going to try - to warn him over the phone; though, even then, I was afraid I was too - late.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” he exclaimed sharply. “You knew, then?” - </p> - <p> - Claire shrugged her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes!” she said contemptuously. “My faith in you where evil is - concerned is limitless. I heard your threats. I saw Hawkins a few minutes - ago. He was quite—quite helpless. You, or some of your confederates, - traded on his weakness, took the key of the car away from him, and then - stole the car. Ordinary thieves would not have acted like that.” An icy - smile came to her lips. “His landlady thought the police should be - notified that the car had been stolen.” - </p> - <p> - “You always were clever, Claire,” Crang grinned admiringly. “You've got - some brains—all there are around here, as far as I can make out. - You've got it straight, all right. Mr. John Bruce, Esquire, came out of - Lavergne's on being informed that Hawkins was in bad shape—no lie - about that!—and walked into the car without a murmur. Too bad to - bother the police, though—the car will have been left in front of - Hawkins' door again by now.” - </p> - <p> - It was hard to keep her courage; hard to keep her lips from trembling; - hard to keep the tears back; hard to pretend that she was not afraid. - </p> - <p> - “What are you going to do with him?” Her voice was very low. “The promise - that I gave you was on the condition that he <i>lived</i>—not only - then, but now.” Crang laughed outright. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, don't worry about that! He'd never let it get that far. He thinks too - much of Mr. Bruce! He has already taken care of himself—at another - man's expense.” - </p> - <p> - Claire stared numbly. She did not understand. - </p> - <p> - “I'll tell you,” said Crang, with brutal viciousness. “He's a professional - gambler, this supposedly wealthy gentleman of leisure. He works for a man - in San Francisco named Larmon, who really is wealthy, but who poses as a - pillar of the church, or words to that effect. Never mind how, but Larmon - will be here to-night in New York—just at the right moment. And Mr. - Bruce has very kindly consented to assist in convincing Mr. Larmon that - exposure isn't worth the few dollars that would buy him immunity.” - </p> - <p> - Claire did not speak. Still she did not understand. She sat down wearily - in the chair beside the table. - </p> - <p> - Crang took a letter from his pocket abruptly, and, opening it, laid it in - front of Claire. - </p> - <p> - “I thought perhaps you would like to read it,” he said carelessly. - </p> - <p> - Claire rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. - She stared at the letter. At first the words ran together, and she could - not make them out. Then a sentence took form, and then another—and - she read them piteously. “... I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so - felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in... She read on - to the end. - </p> - <p> - “But it's not true!” she cried out sharply. “I don't believe it!” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, it isn't true!” said Crang complacently. “And, of course, you - don't believe it! But Larmon will. I've only shown you the letter to let - you see what kind of a yellow cur this would-be lover of yours is. - Anything to save himself! But so long as he wrote the letter, I had no - quarrel with him if he wanted to fake excuses for himself that gave him a - chance of holding his job with Larmon afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - It couldn't be true—true that John Bruce had even written the - letter, a miserable Judas thing that baited a trap, for one who trusted - him, with the good name of a woman for whom he had professed to care. It - couldn't be true—but the signature was there, and—and it was - genuine: “John Bruce.... John Bruce.... John Bruce.” It seemed to strike - at her with the cruel, stinging blows of a whip-lash: “John Bruce.... John - Bruce.... John——” - </p> - <p> - The words became blurred. It was the infinite hopelessness of everything - that crushed her fortitude, and mocked it, and made of it at last a beaten - thing. A tear fell and splashed upon the page—and still another. She - kept looking at the letter, though she could only see it through a - blinding mist. And there was something ominous, and something that added - to her fear, that she should imagine that her tears made <i>black</i> - splashes on the blurred letter as they fell, and——- - </p> - <p> - She heard a sudden startled snarl from Crang, and the letter was snatched - up from the table. And then he seemed to laugh wildly, without reason, as - a maniac would laugh—and with the letter clutched in his hand rushed - from the room. Claire crushed her hands against her temples. Perhaps it - was herself who had gone mad. - </p> - <p> - The front door banged. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SIXTEEN—A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>UTSIDE the house - Crang continued to run. He was unconscious that he had forgotten his hat. - His face worked in livid fury. Alternately he burst out into short, ugly - gusts of laughter that made of laughter an evil thing; alternately, racked - with unbridled passion, he mouthed a flood of oaths. - </p> - <p> - He ran on for some three blocks, and finally dashed up the steps of a - small, drab-looking, cheap frame house. A brass sign, greenish with mold - from neglect, flanked one side of the door. Under the street light it - could just barely be deciphered: SYDNEY ANGUS CRANG, M.D. - </p> - <p> - He tried the door. It was locked. He searched impatiently and hastily in - his pockets for his pass-key, and failing to find it instantly he rang the - bell; and then, without waiting for an answer to the summons, he - immediately began to bang furiously upon the panels. - </p> - <p> - An old woman, his housekeeper, whose bare feet had obviously been thrust - hurriedly into slippers, and who clutched at the neck of a woolen dressing - gown that also obviously, and with equal haste, had been flung around her - shoulders over her nightdress, finally opened the door. - </p> - <p> - “Get out of the road!” Crang snarled—and brushed his way roughly - past her. - </p> - <p> - He stepped forward along an unlighted hall, opened a door, and slammed it - behind him. He switched on the light. He was in his consulting room. The - next instant he was standing beside his desk, and had wrenched John - Bruce's letter from his pocket. He spread this out on the desk and glared - at it. Beyond any doubt whatever, where Claire's tears had fallen on the - paper, traces of writing were faintly discernible. Here, out of an - abortive word, was a well-formed “e”; and there, unmistakably, was a - capital “L.” - </p> - <p> - Crang burst into a torrent of abuse and oaths; his fists clenched, and he - shook one of them in the air. - </p> - <p> - “Double-crossed—eh?—damn him!” he choked. “He tried to - double-cross me—did he?” - </p> - <p> - Carrying the letter, he ran now into a little room behind his office, - where he compounded his medicines, and that was fitted up as a sort of - small laboratory. - </p> - <p> - “I'm a clever man,” Crang mumbled to himself. “We'll see about this!” - </p> - <p> - With sudden complacence he began to study the sheet of paper. He nodded - curtly to himself as he noted that the traces of the secret writing were - all on the lower edge of the paper. - </p> - <p> - “We'll be very careful, <i>very</i> careful”—Doctor Crang was still - mumbling—“it may be useful in more ways than one.” - </p> - <p> - He turned on the water faucet, wet a camel's-hair brush, and applied the - brush to the lower edge of the letter. The experiment was productive of no - result. He stared at the paper for a while with wrinkled brow, and then - suddenly he began to laugh ironically. - </p> - <p> - “No, of course, not!” He was jeering at himself now. “Clever? You are not - clever, you are a fool! She <i>cried</i> on the paper. Tears! Tears - possess a slight trace of”—he reached quickly for a glass container, - and began to prepare a solution of some sort—“a very slight trace... - that's why the characters that already show are so faint. Now we'll see, - Mr. John Bruce, what you've got to say.... Salt!... A little salt, eh?” - </p> - <p> - He dipped the camel's-hair brush in the solution and drew it across the - bottom edge of the paper again. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, ha!” exclaimed Doctor Crang in eager excitement. Letters, words and - sentences began to take form under the brush. “Ha, ha! He'd play that game - with me, would he? Damn him!” - </p> - <p> - Very carefully Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., worked his brush upward on the - paper line by line, until, still well below the signature that John Bruce - had affixed in his, Crang's, presence, there failed to appear any further - trace of the secret writing. He read as fast as a word appeared—like - a starving beast snatching in ferocious greed at morsels of food. It made - whole and complete sense. His eyes feasted on it now in its entirety: - </p> - <p> - Keep away. This is a trap. Stall till you can turn tables. Information - obtained while I was delirious. Am a prisoner in hands of a gang whose - leader is a doctor named Crang. Veniza will tell you where Crang lives. - Get Veniza's address from Lavergne at the house. The only way to save - either of Us is to trick Crang. Look out for yourself. Bruce. - </p> - <p> - He tossed the camel's-hair brush away, returned to his desk, spread the - letter out on a blotter to allow the lower edge to dry, and slumping down - in his desk chair, glued his eyes on the secret message, reading it over - and over again. - </p> - <p> - “Trick Crang—eh?—ha, ha!” He began to chuckle low; then - suddenly his fingers, crooked and curved until they looked like claws, - reached out as though to fasten upon some prey at hand. And then he - chuckled once more—and then grew somber, and slumped deeper in his - chair, and his eyes, brooding, were half closed. “Not to-night,” he - muttered. “One job of it to-morrow... squeal like a pair of rats that——” - </p> - <p> - He sat suddenly bolt upright in his chair. It came again—-a low - tapping on the window; two raps, three times repeated. He rose quickly, - crossed the room, opened the door, and stood motionless for a moment - peering out into the hall. It was a purely precautionary measure—he - had little doubt but that his old housekeeper had long since mounted the - stairs and returned to her bed. He stepped rapidly then along the hall, - and opened the front door. - </p> - <p> - “That you, Birdie?” he called in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - A man's form appeared from the shadow of the stoop. - </p> - <p> - “Sure!” the man answered. - </p> - <p> - “Come in!” Doctor Crang said tersely. - </p> - <p> - He led the way back into the consulting room, and slumped down again in - his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he demanded. - </p> - <p> - “Peters arrived all right,” Birdie reported. “He registered at the - Bayne-Miloy Hotel, and he's there now.” - </p> - <p> - “Good!” grunted Crang. - </p> - <p> - For a full five minutes he remained silent and without movement in his - chair, apparently utterly oblivious of the other, who stood, shifting a - little awkwardly from foot to foot, on the opposite side of the desk. - </p> - <p> - Then Crang spoke—more to himself than to Birdie. - </p> - <p> - “He'll be anxious, of course, and growing more so,” he said. “He might - make a break of some kind. I'll have to fix that. I'm not ready yet. - What?” - </p> - <p> - Birdie, from staring inanely at the wall, came to himself with a sudden - start at what he evidently interpreted as a direct question. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—sure!” he said hurriedly. “No—I mean, no, you're not - ready.” - </p> - <p> - Crang glared at the man contemptuously. - </p> - <p> - “What the hell do you know about it?” he inquired caustically. - </p> - <p> - He picked up the telephone directory, studied it for a moment, then, - reaching for the desk telephone, asked for his connection. Presently the - Bayne-Miloy Hotel answered him, and he asked for Mr. R. L. Peters' room. A - moment more and a voice reached him over the phone. - </p> - <p> - “Is that Mr. Peters?” Crang inquired quietly. “Mr. R. L. Peters, of San - Francisco?... Yes? Then I have a message for you, Mr. Peters, from the - person who sent you a telegram a few days ago... I beg your pardon?... - Yes, I am sure you do... Myself? I'd rather not mention any names over the - phone. You understand, don't you? He told me to tell you that it is - absolutely necessary that no connection is known to exist between you, and - for that reason he does not dare take the chance of getting into touch - with you to-night, but he will manage it somehow by early afternoon - to-morrow... What say?... Yes, it is very serious, otherwise he would - hardly have telegraphed you to come on from San Francisco... No, - personally, I don't know. That was his message; but I was also to warn you - on no account to leave your rooms, or have communication with anybody - until you hear direct from him.... No, I do not know the particulars. I - only know that he is apparently in a hole, and a bad one, and that he is - now afraid that you will get into it too.... Yes. You are sure you fully - understand?... No, not at all! I am only too glad.... Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - Crang, with a curious smile on his lips, hung up the receiver. He turned - abruptly to Birdie. - </p> - <p> - “You get a taxi to-morrow,” he said brusquely. “We'll want it for two or - three hours. Slip the chauffeur whatever is necessary, and change places - with him. See? You'll know where to find one that will fall for that. Then - you come here for me at—let's see—the boat sails at four—you - come here at half past one sharp. Get me?” - </p> - <p> - “Sure!” said Birdie, with a grin. “That's a cinch!” - </p> - <p> - “All right, then!” Crang waved his hand. “Beat it!” - </p> - <p> - Birdie left the room. A moment later the front door closed behind him. - </p> - <p> - Crang picked up the letter and examined it critically. The lower three or - four inches of the paper was slightly crinkled, but quite dry now; the - body of the original letter showed no sign whatever of his work upon the - lower portion. - </p> - <p> - Doctor Crang nodded contentedly. - </p> - <p> - He rose abruptly, secured his surgical bag, and from it selected a lance. - With the aid of a ruler and the keen-bladed little instrument, he very - carefully cut away the lower section of the paper. The slip containing the - erstwhile secret message he tucked away in his inside pocket; then he - examined the letter itself again even more critically than before. For all - evidence that it presented to the contrary, it might have been the - original size of the sheet. There was even a generous margin of paper - still left beneath John Bruce's signature. He folded the letter, replaced - it in its envelope—and now sealed the envelope. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow!” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang with a sinister smile, as he - produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket and rolled up the sleeve of - his left arm. He laughed as the needle pricked his flesh. “To-morrow—John - Bruce!” - </p> - <p> - He slumped far down in his chair once more. For half an hour he sat - motionless, his eyes closed. Then he spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “Damn you!” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—ALIAS MR. ANDERSON - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span> OCTOR Sydney - Angus Crang looked at his watch, as he stepped from a taxi the next - afternoon, and entered the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. It was fifteen minutes of - two. He approached the desk and obtained a blank card. “From J. B.,” he - wrote upon it. He handed it to the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Please send this up to Mr. R. L. Peters,” he requested. - </p> - <p> - He leaned nonchalantly against the desk as a bellboy departed with the - card. From where he stood the front windows gave him a view of the street, - and he could see Birdie parking the taxi a little way up past the - entrance. He smiled pleasantly as he waited. - </p> - <p> - Presently the bell-boy returned with the information that Mr. Peters would - see him; and, following the boy upstairs, he was ushered into the sitting - room of one of the Bayne-Miloy's luxurious suites. A tall man with a thin, - swarthy face confronted him. Between his fingers the tall man held the - card that he, Crang, had sent up; and between his lips the tall man sucked - assiduously at a quill toothpick. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Peters, of course?” Crang inquired easily, as the door closed behind - the bell-boy. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Peters, alias Gilbert Larmon, nodded quietly. “I was rather expecting - Mr. Bruce in person,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Crang looked cautiously around him. - </p> - <p> - “It still isn't safe,” he said in a lowered voice. “At least, not here; so - I am going to take you to him. But perhaps you would prefer that I should - explain my own connection with this affair first?” - </p> - <p> - Again Larmon nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it would be just as well,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Once more Crang looked cautiously around him. - </p> - <p> - “We—we are quite alone, I take it?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite,” said Larmon. - </p> - <p> - “My name is Anderson, William Anderson,” Crang stated smoothly. “I was the - one who telephoned you last night. I am a friend of John Bruce—the - only one he's got, I guess, except yourself. Bruce and I used to be boys - together in San Francisco. I hadn't seen him for years until we ran into - each other here in New York a few weeks ago and chummed up again. As I - told you over the phone, I don't know the ins and outs of this, but I know - he is in some trouble with a gang that he got mixed up with in the - underworld somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Tck!</i>” The quill toothpick flexed sharply against one of the tall - man's front teeth. “William Anderson”—he repeated the name musingly—“yes, - I remember. I sent a telegram in your care to Mr. Bruce a few days ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Crang. - </p> - <p> - The quill toothpick appeared to occupy the tall man's full attention for a - period of many seconds. - </p> - <p> - “Are you conversant with the contents of that telegram, Mr. Anderson?” he - asked casually at last. - </p> - <p> - Crang suppressed a crafty smile. Mr Gilbert Larmon was no fool! Mr. - Gilbert Larmon stood here as Mr. R. L. Peters—the telegram had been - signed: “Gilbert Larmon.” The question that Larmon was actually asking - was: How much do you really know? - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes,” said Crang readily. “I did not actually see the telegram, but - Bruce told me it was from a friend of his, a Mr. Peters, who would arrive - in New York Wednesday night, and whom he seemed to think he needed pretty - badly in his present scrape.” Larmon took a turn or two up and down the - room. He halted again before Crang. - </p> - <p> - “I am obliged to admit that I am both anxious and considerably at sea,” he - said deliberately. “There seems to be an air of mystery surrounding all - this that I neither like nor understand. You did not allay my fears last - night when you telephoned me. Have you no more to tell me?” - </p> - <p> - Crang shook his head slowly. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said. “You've got everything I know. Bruce has been like a clam - as far as the nature of what is between himself and this gang is - concerned. He will have to tell you himself—if he will. He won't - tell me. Meanwhile, he sent you this.” - </p> - <p> - Crang reached into his pocket and took out the envelope addressed to Mr. - R. L. Peters, that he had taken pains to seal the night before. - </p> - <p> - Larmon took the envelope, stepped over to the window, presumably for - better light, and opening the letter, began to read it. - </p> - <p> - Crang watched the other furtively. The quill toothpick, from a series of - violent gyrations, became motionless between Larmon's lips. The thin face - seemed to mold itself into sharp, dogged lines. Again and again Larmon - appeared to read the letter over; and then the hand that held the sheet of - paper dropped to his side, and he stood for a long time staring out of the - window. Finally he turned slowly and came back across the room. - </p> - <p> - “This is bad, Mr. Anderson—far worse than I had imagined,” he said - in a hard voice. “I believe you said you would take me to Bruce. This - letter asks me to accompany you, and I see we are to go at once.” He - motioned toward a box of cigars on the table. “Help yourself to a cigar, - Mr. Anderson, and take a chair while I change and get ready. I will only - be a few minutes, if you will excuse me for that length of time?” - </p> - <p> - Crang's face expressed concern. - </p> - <p> - “Why, certainly, Mr. Peters,” he agreed readily. He helped himself to a - cigar, and sat down in a chair. “I'm sorry if it's as bad as that.” - </p> - <p> - Larmon made no answer, save to nod his head gravely as he stepped quickly - toward the door of the apartment's adjoining room. - </p> - <p> - Crang struck a match and lighted his cigar. The door of the connecting - room closed behind Larmon. A cloud of blue smoke veiled Crang's face—and - a leer that lighted his suddenly narrowed eyes. - </p> - <p> - “So that's it, is it?” grinned Crang to himself. “I wondered how he was - going to work it! Well, I guess he would have got away with it, too—if - I hadn't got away with it first!” - </p> - <p> - He sat motionless in his chair—and listened. And suddenly he smiled - maliciously. The sound of running water from a tap turned on somewhere on - the other side of the connecting door reached him faintly. - </p> - <p> - “And now a little salt!” murmured Doctor Sydney - </p> - <p> - Angus Crang. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it dissolve. - “And, presto!—like the smoke ring—nothing!” - </p> - <p> - The minutes passed, perhaps five of them, and then the door opened again - and Larmon reappeared. - </p> - <p> - “I'm ready now,” he announced quietly. “Shall we go?” - </p> - <p> - Crang rose from his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. He glanced at Larmon, as he tapped the ash from the end of - his cigar. Larmon had <i>not</i> forgotten to change his clothes. “I've - got a taxi waiting.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” agreed Larmon briskly—and led the way to the elevator. - </p> - <p> - Out on the street, Crang led the way in turn—to the taxi. Birdie - reached out from his seat, and flung the door open. Crang motioned Larmon - to enter, and then leaned toward Birdie as though to give the man the - necessary address. He spoke in a low, quiet tone: - </p> - <p> - “Keep to the decent streets as long as you can, so that he won't have a - chance to get leery until it won't matter whether he does or not. - Understand?” - </p> - <p> - Birdie touched his cap. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The taxi jerked forward. - </p> - <p> - “It's not very far,” said Crang. He smiled engagingly as he settled back - in his seat—and his hand in his coat pocket sought and fondled his - revolver. - </p> - <p> - Larmon, apparently immersed in his own thoughts, made no immediate reply. - The taxi traversed a dozen blocks, during which time Crang, quite - contented to let well enough alone, made no effort at conversation. Larmon - chewed at his quill toothpick until, following a savage little click, he - removed it in two pieces from his mouth. He had bitten it in half. He - tossed the pieces on the floor, and produced a fresh one from his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “My word!” observed Crang dryly. “You've got good teeth.” - </p> - <p> - Larmon turned and looked at him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mr. Anderson, I have!” His voice was level. “And I am going to show - them—when I get hold of Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - Crang's expression was instantly one of innocent bewilderment. - </p> - <p> - “Why,” he said, “I thought you——” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever met the lady?” Larmon asked abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “The—lady?” Crang glanced out of the window. Birdie was making good - time, very good time indeed. Another five minutes at the outside and the - trick was done. - </p> - <p> - “The woman in the case,” said Larmon. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” Crang whistled low. “I see! No, I've never met her. I didn't know - there was one. I told you he had said nothing to me.” - </p> - <p> - Larmon was frowning heavily; his face was strained and worried. He laughed - out suddenly, jerkily. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I should give him credit for keeping you at least in the dark,” - he said shortly; “though it strikes me as more or less of a case of - locking the stable door after the horse has gone.” - </p> - <p> - Crang's eyebrows were raised in well-simulated perplexity. - </p> - <p> - “I don't quite get you, Mr. Peters,” he said politely. - </p> - <p> - “It's of no consequence.” Larmon's eyes were suddenly fastened on the - window. From an already shabby street where cheap tenements hived a - polyglot nationality, the taxi had swerved into an intersection that - seemed more a lane than anything else, and that was still more shabby and - uninviting. “This is a rather sordid neighborhood, isn't it?” he observed - curiously. - </p> - <p> - “It's safe,” said Crang significantly. - </p> - <p> - The taxi stopped. - </p> - <p> - “We get out here, Mr. Peters,” Crang announced pleasantly, as Birdie - opened the door. “It's a bit rough, I'll admit; but”—he shrugged his - shoulders and smiled—“you'll have to blame Bruce, not me. Just - follow me, Mr. Peters—it's down these steps.” - </p> - <p> - He began to descend the steps of a cellar entrance, which was - unprepossessingly black, and which opened from the rear of a seedy looking - building that abutted on the lane. He did not look behind him. Larmon had - made <i>sure</i> that the letter was to be relied upon, hadn't he?—and - it was John Bruce, not anybody else, that Larmon was trusting now. - Certainly, it was much easier to <i>lead</i> Larmon as long as Larmon - could be led; if Larmon hesitated about following, Birdie stood ready to - pitch the other headlong down the steps—the same end would be - attained in either case! - </p> - <p> - But Larmon still showed no suspicion of the good faith of one William - Anderson. He was following without question. The daylight streaking down - through the entrance afforded enough light to enable Crang, over his - shoulder, to note that Larmon was always close behind him. At a door - across the cellar Crang gave two raps, three times repeated, and as the - door was opened, entered with Larmon beside him. - </p> - <p> - The man who had let them in—one of three, who had evidently been - rolling dice at a table close to the entrance—closed the door behind - them, and resumed his game. - </p> - <p> - “If you'll just wait here a minute, Mr. Peters,” Crang said breezily, - “I'll find Bruce for you.” - </p> - <p> - He did not wait for a reply. It mattered very little as to what Larmon - said or did now, anyhow—Larmon's exit was barred by three men! He - walked up the length of the low-ceiled, evil-smelling place, and with a - key which he took from his pocket unlocked a door at the farther end. As - he stepped through the door his revolver was in his hand. - </p> - <p> - He laughed in an ugly way, as John Bruce rose from the mattress and faced - him. - </p> - <p> - “Salt is a great thing, isn't it?” he jeered. He drew from his pocket the - slip of paper he had cut from the bottom of the letter, and held it so - that John Bruce could see it. Then he put it back in his pocket again. - “Understand? He got the <i>rest</i> of the letter, all right; and so he - has come down to pay you a little visit. He's outside there now.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce made no answer. - </p> - <p> - Crang laughed again. - </p> - <p> - “You thought you'd double-cross me, did you? You poor fool! Well, it's a - showdown now. I'm going to bring him in here—and let you tell him - what he's up against. I guess you can convince him. He's got less than an - hour in which to come across—if you are going to sail on that - steamer. If you don't make yourself useful to that extent, you go out—for - keeps; and Larmon stays here until he antes up—or rots! Is that - quite clear?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's lips scarcely moved. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; it is quite clear,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I thought it would be!” snarled Crang—and backed out through the - door. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—THE HOSTAGE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S Crang - disappeared through the doorway, John Bruce stepped noiselessly forward - across the earthen floor. With the door half open and swung inward, it - left a generous aperture at the hinges through which he could see down the - length of the cave-like den outside. - </p> - <p> - He was strangely calm. Yes, there was Larmon down there—and Crang - was walking toward him. And Crang had left the door open here. Well, why - not?—with those three apaches at that table yonder! Yes, why not?—except - that Crang had also left open the way to one last move, left him, John - Bruce, one last card to play! - </p> - <p> - Strange, the cold, unnatural calmness that possessed him! His mind seemed - instantaneously to have conceived and created a project that almost - subconsciously he was now in the act of putting into effect. He reached - out, and extracting the key from the outside of the door, inserted it on - the inside of the lock. He smiled grimly. So far, it was quite safe! The - door was swung so far inward that the inner edge of it, and therefore his - act, certainly could not be seen by any one out there. - </p> - <p> - A last card! His lips tightened. Well, perhaps! But it was more than that. - His unnatural composure had something deeper than that behind it—a - passionate fury smoldering on the verge of flame. Larmon was out there—trapped! - He could not put Larmon in greater jeopardy now, no matter what he, John - Bruce, did personally, because Larmon dead would not be worth anything to - them. But for himself—to stand and take it all like a sheep at the - hands of a damned, cringing—— - </p> - <p> - He shook his head in quick, curious self-rebuke. Not yet! He needed that - cold composure a little longer since it was to be a showdown now. That was - what Crang had said—a showdown. And Crang was right! It meant the - end—one way or the other. But with luck, if Crang was as yellow as - he believed the man to be, the idea of the bluff that had leaped into his - mind would work successfully; and if it didn't work—well, then, - there was the end—and at least it would not be a scatheless one for - Crang! - </p> - <p> - The mind works swiftly. Had Crang had time only to walk down <i>half</i> - the length of that room out there toward Larmon? Yes, he saw Crang halt - now, and heard Crang call out sharply to the three men at the table: - </p> - <p> - “See if he's got a gun!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce, through the crack, saw Larmon whirl around suddenly, as though - aware for the first time that he was in danger; saw two of the men grasp - Larmon roughly, while the third searched through his clothes. - </p> - <p> - And then Crang laughed out raucously: - </p> - <p> - “This way, <i>Mr. Peters</i>—please! You three can stay where you - are—I'll call you if I need you!” - </p> - <p> - For still another instant John Bruce watched through the crack. Larmon, - though his face was set and stern, advanced calmly to where Crang stood. - Crang, with a prod of his revolver, pushed him onward. They were coming - now—Larmon first, and Crang immediately behind the other. Without a - sound, John Bruce slipped around to the other side of the door; and, back - just far enough so that he would not be seen the instant the threshold was - reached, crouched down close against the wall. - </p> - <p> - A second passed. - </p> - <p> - “Go on in there!” he heard Crang order. - </p> - <p> - Larmon's form crossed the threshold; and then Crang's—and John Bruce - hurled himself forward, striking, even while his hands flew upward to lock - like a vise around Crang's throat, a lightning blow at Crang's wrist that - sent the revolver to the soft earthen floor without a sound—and a - low, strangling, gurgling noise was alone the result of Crang's effort at - a shout of alarm. - </p> - <p> - “Shut the door—<i>quietly!</i> And lock it, Larmon!” John Bruce - flung out. - </p> - <p> - It was an impotent thing. It struck at the air blindly, its fists going - like disjointed flails. Strong! He had not just risen from a sick bed this - time! John Bruce and the soul within him seemed to chuckle In unison - together at this wriggling thing that he held up by the neck with its feet - off the ground. But he saw Larmon, though for the fraction of a second - held spellbound in amazement, spring and lock the door. - </p> - <p> - “If you make a sound that reaches out there”—John Bruce was - whispering now with panting, labored breath, as he swung Crang over to the - corner and forced him down upon the mattress—“it will take too long - to break that door in to be of any use to you! Understand?” - </p> - <p> - “Bruce!” - </p> - <p> - It was Larmon standing over them. John Bruce scarcely turned his head. His - hands were still on Crang's throat, though the man lay cowed and passive - now. - </p> - <p> - “His inside coat pocket!” John Bruce jerked out. “It will save a lot of - explanation.” - </p> - <p> - Larmon leaned over and thrust his hand into Crang's pocket. He produced - several envelopes and the slip of paper cut from John Bruce's letter. - </p> - <p> - “Read the slip!” said John Bruce grimly. “He showed it to me a minute ago - when he came in to tell me you were here. It was written in our invisible - ink at the bottom of the letter he brought you.” He laughed shortly. “When - you've read it, I'll introduce you.” - </p> - <p> - Larmon read the slip hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” he cried out. - </p> - <p> - “This is Crang,” said John Bruce evenly. - </p> - <p> - “But”—Larmon's face was tense and strained—“how———” - </p> - <p> - “How did he discover there was anything there to begin with, and then hit - on the salt solution?” John Bruce interrupted. “I don't know. We'll find - out.” He relaxed his hold a little on Crang's throat, and taking the slip - of paper from Larmon, thrust it into his own pocket. “Go on, Crang! Tell - us!” - </p> - <p> - Crang's eyes roved from John Bruce to Larmon and back to John Bruce again. - His face was ashen. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You'll <i>talk!</i>” said John Bruce with ominous quiet. - </p> - <p> - “And the less urging”—his grip began to tighten again—“the - better for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Wait!” Crang choked. “Yes—I—I'll tell you. I showed the - letter to Claire. She—she cried on it. A tear splash—black - letter began to appear. I took the letter home, and—trace of salt in - tears—and——” - </p> - <p> - Crang's voice died away in a strangling cry. Claire! John Bruce had barely - caught any other word but that. Claire! The face beneath him began to grow - livid. Claire! So the devil had brought Claire into this, too. <i>Too!</i> - Yes, there was something else. Something else! He remembered now. There - was a reckoning to come that was beyond all other reckonings, wasn't - there? He would know now what hold this thing, that was beast, not man, - had upon her. He would know now—or it would end now! - </p> - <p> - “Claire! D'ye hear?” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. “You know what I mean! - What trick of hell did you play to make her promise to marry you? Answer - me!” - </p> - <p> - The thing on the mattress moaned. - </p> - <p> - “Bruce! For God's sake, Bruce, what are you doing?” Larmon cried out - sharply. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce raised his head and snarled at Larmon. Neither Larmon, nor any - other man, would rob him of this now! - </p> - <p> - “You stand aside, Larmon!” he rasped out. “This is between me and Crang. - Keep out of the way!” - </p> - <p> - He shook at Crang again. He laughed. The man's head bobbed limply. - </p> - <p> - “Answer me!” He loosened his grip suddenly. Queer, he had forgotten that—Crang - couldn't speak, of course, if he wouldn't let him! - </p> - <p> - The man gasped, and gasped again, for his breath. - </p> - <p> - “I give you one second.” John Bruce's lips did not move as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - Twice Crang tried to speak. - </p> - <p> - “Quick!” John Bruce planted his knees on the other's chest. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—yes, yes, yes!” Crang gurgled out. “It's you—the night - you—you were stabbed. You were—were nearly gone. I—I - gave her the—the choice—to marry me, or—or I'd let you—go - out.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce felt his shoulders surge forward, felt his muscles grow taut as - steel, and he shook at something flabby that made no resistance, and his - knees rocked upon something soft where they were bedded. <i>him</i>—Claire - had faced that inhuman choice, born in this monster's brain—to save - <i>his</i> life! Madness seized upon him. The room, everything before him - whirled around in great, red, pulsing circles. A fury that shook at the - roots of his soul took possession of him. He knew nothing, saw nothing, - was moved by nothing save an overwhelming lust for vengeance that seemed - to give him superhuman strength, that enabled him to crush between his two - bare hands this nauseous thing that——- - </p> - <p> - He heard a voice. It seemed to come from some infinite distance: - </p> - <p> - “You are killing the man! In the name of God, John Bruce, come away!” - </p> - <p> - It was Larmon's voice. He looked up. He was vaguely conscious that it was - Larmon who was pulling at his shoulders, wrenching madly at his hands, but - he could not see Larmon—only a blurred red figure that danced - insanely up and down. Killing the man! Of course! What an inane thing to - say! Then he felt his hands suddenly torn away from a hold they had had - upon something, and he felt himself pulled to his feet. And then for a - little he stood swaying unsteadily, and he shuddered, then he groped his - way over to the chair by the table and dropped into it. - </p> - <p> - He stared in front of him. Something on the floor near the door glittered - and reflected the light from the single, dim incandescent. He lurched up - from the chair, and going toward the object, snatched it up. It was - Crang's revolver—but Larmon was upon him <i>in</i> an instant. - </p> - <p> - “Not that way, either!” said Larmon hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “No, not that way, either,” he repeated like a child. - </p> - <p> - He went back to the chair and sat down. He was aware that Larmon was - kneeling beside the mattress, but he paid no attention to the other. - </p> - <p> - “The man's unconscious,” Larmon said. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce did not turn his head. - </p> - <p> - The minutes passed. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's brain began to clear; but the unbalanced fury that had - possessed him was giving place now only to one more implacable in its - considered phase. He looked around him. Crang, evidently recovered, was - sitting up on the mattress. The letters Larmon had taken from Crang's - pocket lay on the table. John Bruce picked them up idly. From one of them - a steamer ticket fell out. He stared at this for a moment. A passage for - John Bruce to South America! Then low, an ugly sound, his laugh echoed - around the place. - </p> - <p> - South America! It recalled him to his actual surroundings—that on - the other side of the door were Crang's apaches. There was still time to - catch the steamer, wasn't there—for South America? “If the bluff - worked”—he remembered his thoughts, the plan that had actuated him - when he had crouched there at the door, waiting for Crang to enter. - Strange! It wouldn't be a <i>bluff</i> any more! All that was gone. What - he would do now, and carry it through to its end, was what he had intended - to bluff Crang into believing he would do. And Crang, too, would - understand now how little of bluff there was—or, misunderstanding, - pay for it with his life. - </p> - <p> - He thrust the ticket suddenly into his pocket, stepped from his chair, the - revolver in his hand, and confronted Crang. The man shrank back, - trembling, his face gray with fear. - </p> - <p> - “Stand up!” John Bruce commanded. - </p> - <p> - Crang, groveling against the wall, got upon his feet. - </p> - <p> - It was a full minute before John Bruce spoke again, and then the words - came choking hot from his lips. - </p> - <p> - “You damned cur!” he cried. “That's what you did, was it? The price Claire - paid was for my life. Well, it's hers, then; it's no longer mine. Can you - understand that, and understand that I am going to pay it back, if - necessary, to rid her of you? We are going to walk out of here. You will - lead the way. We are going down to that steamer, and you are going on John - Bruce's ticket where you proposed to send me—to South America. - Either that—or you are going on a longer journey. I shall carry this - revolver in the pocket of my coat, and walk beside you. It is your affair - how we pass those men out there. If you make any attempt at trickery in - getting out of here, or later in the street attempt to escape, I will fire - instantly. It does not matter in the slightest degree what happens to me - at the hands of your men, or at the hands of a thousand people in the most - crowded street. You will have gone out <i>first</i>. The only - consideration that exists is that Claire shall be free of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick flexing against one of Larmon's teeth. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce turned. - </p> - <p> - “I did not understand,” said Larmon in a low, grim way. “If I had, I am - not sure I should have stopped you from throttling him when I did.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce nodded curtly. He spoke again to Crang. - </p> - <p> - “I am not asking you whether you agree to this or not,” he said with level - emphasis. “You have your choice at any moment to do as you like—you - know the consequences.” He slipped his hand with his revolver into the - right-hand side pocket of his coat, and took his place at Crang's left - side. “Now, go ahead and open that door, and lead the way out! Mr. Larmon, - you follow close behind me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” Crang stammered, “yes—for God's sake—I—I'll do it—I—-” - </p> - <p> - “Open that door!” said John Bruce monotonously. “I didn't ask you to talk - about it!” - </p> - <p> - Crang opened the door. The little procession stepped out into the long, - low cellar, and started down toward the lower end. The three men, from - playing dice at the table near the door, rose uncertainly to their feet. - John Bruce's revolver in his pocket pressed suggestively against Crang's - side. - </p> - <p> - “It's all right, boys,” Crang called out. “Open the door. I've got Birdie - outside.” - </p> - <p> - They passed the table, passed through the doorway, and the door closed - behind them. In the semi-darkness here, as they headed for the exit to the - lane, Larmon touched John Bruce's elbow. - </p> - <p> - “He brought me down here in a taxi,” Larmon whispered. “I suppose now it - was one of his men who drove it.” - </p> - <p> - “Birdie, he just told those rats,” said John Bruce tersely. “Do you hear, - Crang? If he's still out there, send him away!” - </p> - <p> - They emerged into the lane. A taxi-cab stood opposite the exit; Birdie - lounged in the driver's seat. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's revolver bored into Crang's side. - </p> - <p> - “Beat it!” said Crang surlily to the man. “I won't want you any more.” - </p> - <p> - “You won't—what?” Birdie leaned out from his seat. He stared for a - moment in bewilderment, and then started to climb out of the taxi. - </p> - <p> - The pressure of John Bruce's revolver increased steadily. - </p> - <p> - “Damn it, you fool!” Crang screamed out wildly. “Beat it! Do you hear? - Beat it!” - </p> - <p> - Birdie's face darkened. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—sure!” he muttered, with a disgruntled oath. He shot the gears - into place with a vicious snap. “Sure—anything <i>you</i> say!” The - taxi roared down the lane, and disappeared around the corner in a volley - of exhausts. - </p> - <p> - “Go on!” John Bruce ordered. - </p> - <p> - At the corner of the lane John Bruce turned to Larmon. - </p> - <p> - “You are safe, and out of it now,” he said. “I am going to ask you to step - into the first store we pass and get me some good light rope, but after - that I think you had better leave us. If anything happened between here - and the steamer, or on the steamer, you would be implicated.” - </p> - <p> - “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick again. “I'll get the rope with - pleasure,” Larmon said calmly; “but I never lay down a good hand. I am - going to the steamer.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. Larmon somehow seemed an abstract - consideration at the moment—but Larmon had had his chance. - </p> - <p> - “What time does the steamer sail, Crang?” John Bruce bit off his words, as - he looked at his watch. - </p> - <p> - “Four o'clock,” Crang mumbled. - </p> - <p> - “Walk faster!” - </p> - <p> - They stopped for a moment in front of a store. Larmon entered, and came - out again almost immediately with a package under his arm. - </p> - <p> - A block farther on John Bruce hailed a passing taxi. - </p> - <p> - Fifteen minutes later, pushing through the throng on the dock, John Bruce - produced the ticket, they mounted the gangway, and a steward led them to a - stateroom on one of the lower decks. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce closed the door and locked it. His revolver was in his hand - now. - </p> - <p> - “There isn't much time left,” he said coldly. “About ten minutes.” - </p> - <p> - At the end of five, Crang, bound hand and foot, and gagged, lay lashed - into his bunk. - </p> - <p> - A bugle sounded the “All Ashore!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce tossed the ticket on the couch. - </p> - <p> - “There's your ticket!” he said sternly. “I wouldn't advise you to come - back—nor worry any further about exposing Mr. Larmon, unless you - want to force a showdown that will place some very interesting details - connected with the life of Doctor Crang in the hands of the police!” - </p> - <p> - The bugle rang out again. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce, without a further glance in Crang's direction, opened the - cabin window slightly, then unlocking the door, he motioned Larmon to pass - out. He locked the door on the outside, stepped to the deck, tossed the - key through the window to the floor of Crang's cabin, and drew the window - shut again. A minute more, and with Larmon beside him, he was standing on - the dock. - </p> - <p> - Neither John Bruce nor Larmon spoke. - </p> - <p> - And presently the tugs caught hold of the big liner and warped her out of - her berth. - </p> - <p> - “John Bruce” had sailed for South America. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER NINETEEN—CABIN H-14 - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a time, Crang - lay passive. Fear was dominant. He could move his head a little, and he - kept screwing it around to cast furtive glances at the cabin door. He was - sure that Bruce was still outside there, or somewhere near—Bruce - wouldn't leave the ship until the last moment, and.... - </p> - <p> - The craven soul of the man shrivelled within him. Bruce's eyes! Damn - Bruce's eyes, and that hideous touch of Bruce's pocketed revolver! The - fool would even have killed him back there in the cellar if it hadn't been - for Larmon! He could still feel those strangling fingers at his throat. - </p> - <p> - Mechanically he made to lift his hand to touch the bruised and swollen - flesh—but he could not move his hands because they were bound behind - his back and beneath him. The fool! The fool had <i>wanted</i> to shoot. - Perhaps with Larmon out of the road, and just at the last minute, that was - what he still meant to do—to open the door there, and—and <i>kill</i>. - Terror swept upon him. He tried to scream—but a gag was in his - mouth. - </p> - <p> - What was that? He felt a slight jar, another, and another. He listened - intently. He heard a steady throbbing sound. The ship was moving—moving! - That meant that Bruce was ashore—that he need not fear that door - there. He snarled to himself, suddenly arrogant with courage. To the - devil's pit with John Bruce! - </p> - <p> - He began to work at his bonds now—at first with a measure of - contained persistence; and then, as he made no progress, angry impatience - came, and he began to struggle. He tossed now, and twisted himself about - on the bunk, and strained with all his might. The gag choked him. The - bonds but grew the tighter and cut into his wrists. He became a madman in - his frenzy. Passion and fury lashed him on and on. He flogged himself into - effort beyond physical endurance—and finally collapsed through utter - exhaustion, a limp thing bathed in sweat. - </p> - <p> - Then he began the struggle again, and after that again. The periods came - in cycles... the insensate fury... exhaustion... recuperation... - </p> - <p> - After a time he no longer heard the throbbing of the engines or the - movement of the ship during those moments when he lay passive in weakness, - nor did the desire for freedom, for merely freedom's sake, any longer - actuate him; instead, beneath him, in his pocket, he had felt the little - case that held his hypodermic syringe, and it had brought the craving for - the drug. And the craving grew. It grew until it became torture, and to - satisfy it became the one incentive that possessed him. It tormented, it - mocked him. He could feel it there in his pocket, always there in his - pocket. Hell could not keep him from it. He blasphemed at the ropes that - kept it from his fingers' reach, and he wrenched and tore at them, and - sobbed and snarled—and after long minutes of maniacal struggle would - again lie trembling, drained of the power either to move or think. - </p> - <p> - It grew dark in the cabin. - </p> - <p> - And now, in one of his series of struggles, something snapped beneath him—a - cord! One of the cords around his wrists had given away. He tore one hand - free. Yes, yes—he could reach his pocket! Ha, ha—his pocket! - And now his other hand was free. He snatched at the hypodermic syringe - with feverish greed—and the plunger went home as the needle pricked - its way beneath the skin of his forearm. - </p> - <p> - He reached up then, unloosened the knots at the back of his head, and spat - the gag from his mouth. His penknife freed his legs. He stood up—tottered—and - sat down on the edge of his bunk. He remained motionless for a few - minutes. The drug steadied him. - </p> - <p> - He looked around him. It was dark. The ship was very still; there was no - sense of movement, none of vibration from the engines. It seemed to him - that in a hazy, vague way he had noticed that fact a long time ago. But, - nevertheless, it was very curious! - </p> - <p> - He stood up again. This was better! He felt secure enough now on his feet. - It was only as though a great fatigue were upon him, and that he seemed to - be weighted down with lead—nothing more than that. He crossed to the - window, drew the shade, and opened the window itself. - </p> - <p> - And then, for a long time, puzzled, his brows drawn together, he stood - there staring out. Close at hand, though but faintly outlined in the - darkness, he could see the shore. And it was not imagination, for beyond - the shore line, he could see innumerable little lights twinkling. - </p> - <p> - It was strange! He rubbed his eyes. Here was something else! The window - opened on a narrow, dimly lighted and deserted deck—one of the lower - decks, he remembered. Below this deck, and evidently alongside of the - steamer's hull, he could make out the upper-structure of some small - vessel. - </p> - <p> - A figure came along the deck now from the forward end—one of the - crew, Crang could see from the other's dress, as the man drew nearer. - Crang thrust his head out of the window. - </p> - <p> - “I say, look here!” he called, as the other came opposite to him. “What's - all this about? Where are we?” - </p> - <p> - “Down the bay a bit, that's all, sir,” the man answered. “We've had some - engine trouble.” - </p> - <p> - Crang pointed to the small vessel alongside. A sudden, wild elation surged - upon him. - </p> - <p> - “That's a tug down there, isn't it?” he said. “They're going to tow us - back, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, sir,” the man replied. “It's the company's tug, all right, that - they sent down to us, but she'll be going back as soon as we're off again. - It's nothin' serious, and we won't be more'n another hour, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Crang snarled under his breath. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon, sir?” inquired the man. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing!” said Crang. “I'm much obliged to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, sir,” said the man, and went on along the deck. - </p> - <p> - Crang returned to his bunk and sat down again on its edge. He could still - see the reflection of the shore lights. This seemed to obsess him. He kept - staring out through the window. Suddenly he chuckled hoarsely—and - then, as suddenly, his fist clenched and he shook it in the air. - </p> - <p> - “Another hour, eh?” he muttered. “Then, I'll get you yet, Bruce—ha, - ha, I'll get you yet! But I'll make sure of Claire <i>first</i> this time! - That's where I made the mistake—but Doctor Sydney Angus Crang - doesn't make two mistakes alike!” - </p> - <p> - He relapsed into silent meditation. At the end of five minutes he spoke - again. - </p> - <p> - “I'm a clever man,” said Doctor Crang between his teeth. “First Claire—then - you, Bruce. And I'll take good care that you know nothing, Mr. John Bruce—not - this time—not until it is too late—both ways! I'll show you! - I'll teach you to pit your clumsy wits against me!” - </p> - <p> - He got up from the bunk and turned on a single incandescent light. Bruce - had thrown the key in through the window, he remembered. Yes, there it was - on the floor! He picked it up; and quickly and methodically he began to - work now. He gathered together the pieces of rope with which he had been - bound, tucked them under his coat, and running to the window, thrust his - head outside again. The deck was clear, there was not a soul in sight. He - unlocked the door now, stepped noiselessly out on the deck, dropped the - pieces of rope overboard, and then, returning to the cabin, smiled - ironically as he made a mental note of the number on the cabin door. - </p> - <p> - “H-14,” observed Doctor Crang grimly. “Quite so—H-14!” - </p> - <p> - He halted before the mirror and removed the more flagrant traces of his - dishevelled appearance; then he took off his coat, flung it on a chair, - pushed the electric button, and returned to his bunk. - </p> - <p> - He was sitting up on the edge of the bunk, and yawning, as the steward - answered his summons. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, steward!” said Crang somewhat thickly. “I guess I've overslept - myself. Overdid the send-off a little, I'm afraid. What are we stopping - for?” - </p> - <p> - “A little engine trouble, sir,” the steward answered. “It was right after - we started. We're only a little way down the bay. But it's all right, sir. - Nothing serious. We'll be off again shortly.” - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” Crang dismissed the subject with a grunt. “I suppose I've missed - my dinner, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, sir,” replied the steward. “It's only just a little after seven - now, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “That's better!” smiled Crang. “Well, get my traps right up here, like a - good fellow, and I'll clean up a bit. And hurry, will you?” - </p> - <p> - The steward looked a little blank. - </p> - <p> - “Your traps, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Luggage—traps—baggage,” defined Crang with facetious - terseness. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I knew what you meant, sir,” said the steward. “It's where your traps - are, sir? I—I thought it a bit strange you didn't have anything with - you when you came aboard this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you, now?” inquired Crang sweetly. “Well, then, the sooner you get - them here the less strange it will seem. Beat it!” - </p> - <p> - “But where are they, sir?” persisted the man. “Where are they? Good God, - how do I know!” ejaculated Crang sarcastically. “I sent them down to the - ship early this morning to be put aboard—in your baggage room. - You've got a baggage room aboard, haven't you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir; but——” - </p> - <p> - “I would suggest the baggage room, then!” interrupted Crang crisply. “And - if they are not there, ask the captain to let you have any of the crew who - aren't too busy on this engine trouble, and get them to help you search - the ship!” - </p> - <p> - The steward grinned. - </p> - <p> - “Very good, sir. Would you mind describing the pieces?” - </p> - <p> - “There are four,” said Crang with exaggerated patience, as he created the - non-existent baggage out of his imagination. “And they have all got your - 'wanted on the voyage' labels, with my name and cabin written on them—Mr. - John Bruce; Cabin H-14. There is a steamer trunk, and two brown - alligator-leather—which I do not guarantee to be genuine in spite of - the price—suit-cases, and a hat box.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, sir,” said the steward again—and hurried from the cabin. - </p> - <p> - Crang got up and went to the window. The tug alongside seemed to furnish - him with engrossing reflections, for he stood there, smiling queerly, - until he swung around in answer to a knock upon his door. - </p> - <p> - A man in ship's uniform entered ahead of the steward. - </p> - <p> - “The steward here, sir,” said the man, “was speaking about your baggage.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Speaking</i> about it!” murmured Crang helplessly. “I told him to get - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the man; “but I am sorry to say that no such baggage as - you describe has come aboard the ship. There has been no baggage at all - for Mr. Bruce, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Not aboard!” gasped Crang. “Then—then where is it?” - </p> - <p> - “I can't say, sir, of course,” said the other sympathetically. “I am only - stating a fact to you.” - </p> - <p> - “But—but I sent it down to the dock early this morning.” Crang's - voice was rising in well-affected excitement. “It must be here! I tell - you, it must be here!” - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “It's my job, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I know positively your - baggage is not aboard this ship.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what's to be done?” Crang's voice rose louder. “You've left it on - the dock, that's what—fools, thundering idiots!” - </p> - <p> - The man with the baggage job looked uncomfortable. - </p> - <p> - Crang danced up and down on the floor of the cabin. - </p> - <p> - “On the way to South America to stay six months,” he yelled insanely, “and - my baggage left behind! I can't go on without my baggage, do you hear?” - </p> - <p> - There was a whispered conference between the two men. The steward vanished - through the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “I've sent for the purser, sir,” volunteered the other. - </p> - <p> - Crang stormed up and down the floor. - </p> - <p> - Presently the purser appeared. Crang swung on him on the instant. - </p> - <p> - “You've left my baggage behind!” he shouted. “My papers, plans, - everything! I can't go on without them!” He shook his fist. “You'll either - get that baggage here, or get me ashore!” - </p> - <p> - The purser eyed Crang's fist, and stiffened perceptibly. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not a magician, Mr. Bruce,” he said quietly. “I am very sorry indeed - that this should have happened; but it is quite impossible, of course, to - get your baggage here.” - </p> - <p> - “Then get me ashore!” Crang snatched up his coat and put it on. “There's a - tug, or something, out there, isn't there?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the purser, “that's the company's tug, and I suppose you could - go back on her, if you think you——” - </p> - <p> - “Think!” howled Crang. “I don't <i>think</i> anything about it! I know - that——” His eye suddenly caught the envelope on the couch - containing the ticket. “And what about this?” He picked it up, jerked out - the ticket, and waved it in the purser's face. - </p> - <p> - The purser refused the document. - </p> - <p> - “You'll have to see the New York office, sir, about that,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I will, will I?” snapped Crang. “Well, that isn't all I'll see them - about!” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure they will do what they can, sir, to make things right—if - they are to blame,” said the purser a little sharply. “But it might have - been your teamer, you know, who made the mistake.” He turned to the door. - “I will arrange about your going ashore, Mr. Bruce.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes!” growled Crang savagely—and five minutes later, swearing - volubly for the benefit of those within hearing, he wriggled his way down - a rope ladder to the tug's deck. - </p> - <p> - A deck hand led him to the pilot house. - </p> - <p> - “The captain 'll be along as soon as we start,” the man informed him. - </p> - <p> - Crang made himself comfortable in a cushioned chair. He sat chuckling - maliciously, as he stared up at the towering hull that twinkled with - lights above him—and then the chuckle died away, and little red - spots came and burned in his sallow cheeks, and his lips worked, and his - hands curled until the nails bit into the palms. - </p> - <p> - He lost track of time. - </p> - <p> - A man came into the pilot house, and gave the wheel a spin. - </p> - <p> - “We're off!” said the man heartily. “You've had tough luck, I hear.” - </p> - <p> - Crang's fingers caressed his bruised and swollen throat. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Crang with a thin smile; “but I think somebody is going to pay - the bill—in full.” - </p> - <p> - The tug was heading toward New York. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWENTY—OUTSIDE THE DOOR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AWKINS very - cautiously got out of bed, and consulted his watch. It was five minutes - after nine. He stole to the door and listened. There was no sound from - below. Mrs. Hedges, who had been his jailor all day, had now, he was - fairly certain, finally retired for the night. - </p> - <p> - The old blue eyes blinked in perplexity and he scratched at the fringe of - hair behind his ear in a perturbed way, as he began, still cautiously, to - dress. It had been a very dreary day, during which he had suffered not a - little physical discomfort. Mrs. Hedges had been assiduous in her - attentions; more than that, even—motherly. - </p> - <p> - “God bless her!” said Hawkins to one of his boots, as he laced it up. - “Only she wouldn't let me out.” - </p> - <p> - He stopped lacing the boot suddenly, and sat staring in front of him. Mrs. - Hedges had been more than even motherly; she had been—been—yes, - that was it—been puzzling. If she had said Paul Veniza wanted to see - him, why had she insisted that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him? - Hawkins' gaze at the blank wall in front of him became a little more - bewildered. He tried to reconstruct certain fragments of conversation that - had taken place between Mrs. Hedges and himself. - </p> - <p> - “Now, you just lie still,” Mrs. Hedges had insisted during the afternoon, - when he had wanted to get up. “Claire told me——” - </p> - <p> - He remembered the sinking of his heart as he had interrupted her. - </p> - <p> - “Claire,” he had said anxiously, “Claire ain't—she don't know about - this, does she?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly <i>not!</i>” Mrs. Hedges had assured him. - </p> - <p> - “But you said she told you something”—Hawkins continued to - reconstruct the conversation—“so she must have been here.” - </p> - <p> - “Law!” Mrs. Hedges had returned. “I nearly put my foot in it, didn't I—I—I - mean starting you in to worry. Certainly she don't know anything about it. - She just came over to say her father wanted to see you, and I says to her - you ain't feeling very well, and she says it's all right.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins resumed his dressing. His mind continued to mull over the - afternoon. Later on he had made another attempt to get up. He was feeling - quite well enough to go over and find out what Paul Veniza wanted. And - then Mrs. Hedges, as though she had quite forgotten what she had said - before, said that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him, or else he'd send - word. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins scratched behind his ear again. His head wasn't quite clear. Maybe - he had not got it all quite straight. Suddenly he smiled. Of course! There - wasn't anything to be bewildered about. Mrs. Hedges was just simply - determined that he would not go out—and he was equally determined - that he would. Paul Veniza or not, he had been long enough in bed! - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Hawkins; “God bless her, that's it!” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins completed his toilet, and picking up his old felt hat, - reconnoitered the hallway. Thereafter he descended the stairs with amazing - stealth. - </p> - <p> - “God bless her!” said Hawkins softly again, as he gained the front door - without raising any alarm and stepped outside—and then Hawkins - halted as though his feet had been suddenly rooted to the spot. - </p> - <p> - At the curb in front of the house was an old closed motor car. Hawkins - stared at it. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at it again. He - stared for a long time. No; there was no doubt about it—it was the - traveling pawn-shop. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' mind harked back to the preceding evening. He had met two men in - the saloon around the corner, whom he had seen there once or twice before. - He had had several drinks with them, and then at some one's suggestion, he - could not recollect whose, there had followed the purchase of a few - bottles, and an adjournment to his room for a convivial evening. After - that his mind was quite blank. He could not even remember having taken out - the car. - </p> - <p> - “I—I must have been bad,” said Hawkins to himself, with a rueful - countenance. - </p> - <p> - He descended the steps, and approached the car with the intention of - running it into the shed that served as garage behind the house. But again - he halted. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Hawkins, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the front - door; “if I started it up, Mrs. Hedges would hear me. I guess I'll wait - till I come back.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins went on down the street and turned the corner. He had grown a - little dejected. - </p> - <p> - “I'm just an old bum,” said Hawkins, “who ain't ever going to swear off - any more 'cause it don't do any good.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke aloud to himself again, as he approached the door of Paul - Veniza's house. - </p> - <p> - “But I <i>am</i> her daddy,” whispered the old man fiercely; “and she is - my little girl. It don't change nothing her not knowing, except—except - she ain't hiding her face in shame, and”—Hawkins' voice broke a - little—“and that I ain't never had her in these arms like I'd ought - to have.” A gleam of anger came suddenly into the watery blue eyes under - the shaggy brows. “But he ain't going to have her in <i>his!</i> That - devil from the pit of hell ain't going to kill the soul of my little girl—somehow - he ain't—that's all I got to live for—old Hawkins—ha, - ha!—somehow old Haw-kins 'll——” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' soliloquy ended abruptly. He was startled to find himself in the - act of opening the front door of the one-time pawn-shop. He even - hesitated, holding the door ajar—and then suddenly he pushed the - door wider open and stepped softly inside, as the sound of a voice, angry - and threatening in its tones, though strangely low and muffled, reached - him. He knew that voice. It was Doctor Crang's. - </p> - <p> - It was dark here in the room that had once been the office of the - pawn-shop, and upon which the front door opened directly; but from under - the door leading into the rear room there showed a thread of light, and it - was from there that Hawkins now placed the voice. - </p> - <p> - He stood irresolute. He stared around him. Upstairs it was dark. Paul - Veniza, because he had not been well, had probably gone to bed early—unless - it was Paul in there with Crang. No! He caught the sound of Claire's voice - now, and it seemed to come to him brokenly, in a strangely tired, dreary - way. And then Crang's voice again, and an ugly laugh. - </p> - <p> - The wrinkled skin of Hawkins' old weather-beaten hands grew taut and white - across the knuckles as his fists clenched. He tiptoed toward the door. He - could hear distinctly now. It was Crang speaking: - </p> - <p> - “... I'm not a fool! I did not speak about it to make you lie again. I - don't care where you met him, or how long you had been lovers before he - crawled in here. That's nothing to do with it. It's enough that I know you - were lovers before that night. But you belong to me now. Understand? I - spoke of it because the sooner you realize that <i>you</i> are the one who - is the cause of the trouble between Bruce and me, the better—<i>for - him!</i> I wasn't crowding you before, but I'm through fooling with it now - for keeps. I let you go too long as it is. To-day, for just a little - while, he won out—yes, by God, if you want the truth, he nearly - killed me. He got me tied in a cabin of a ship that sailed this afternoon - for South America; but the engines broke down in the harbor, and, damn - him, I'm back! You know what for. I've told you. There's one way to save - him. I've told you what that is, too. I'm waiting for your answer.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be me?” Claire's voice was dull and colorless. “Why cannot - you leave me alone—I, who hate and loathe you? Do you look for - happiness with me? There will be none.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be you?” Crang's voice was suddenly hoarse with passion. - “Because you have set my brain on fire, because you have filled me with a - madness that would mock God Himself if He stood between us. Do you - understand—Claire? Claire! Do you understand? Because I want you, - because I'm going to have you, because I'm going to own you—yes, <i>own</i> - you, one way or another—by marriage, or——” - </p> - <p> - A low cry came from Claire. It tore at Hawkins' heart in its bitter shame - and anguish. His face blanched. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you asked for it, and you got it!” Crang snarled. “Now, I'm waiting - for your answer.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause, then Claire spoke with an obvious effort to steady - her voice: - </p> - <p> - “Have I got to buy him <i>twice?”</i> - </p> - <p> - “You haven't bought him <i>once</i> yet,” Crang answered swiftly. “I - performed my part of the bargain. I haven't been paid.” - </p> - <p> - And Hawkins, standing there, listening, heard nothing for a long time; and - then he distinguished Claire's voice, but it was so low that he could not - catch the words. But he heard Crang's reply because it was loud with what - seemed like passionate savagery and triumph: - </p> - <p> - “You're wise, my dear! At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, then. And since - Mr. John Bruce's skin is involved in this, you quite understand that he is - not to be communicated with in any way?” - </p> - <p> - “I understand.” Hawkins this time caught the almost inaudible reply. - </p> - <p> - “All right!” Crang said. “There's a padre I know, who's down on Staten - Island now. We'll go down there and be married without any fuss. I'll be - here at eight o'clock. Your father isn't fit to ride in that rattle-trap - old bus of yours. I'll have a comfortable limousine for him, and you can - go with him. Hawkins can drive me, and”—he was laughing softly—“and - be my best man. I'll see that he knows about it in time to——” - </p> - <p> - Like a blind man, Hawkins was groping his way toward the front door. - Married! They were to be married to-morrow morning! - </p> - <p> - He found himself on the street. He hurried. Impulse drove him along. He - did not reason. His mind was a tortured thing. And yet he laughed as he - scurried around the corner, laughed in an unhinged way, and raised both - hands above his head and pounded at the air with his doubled fists. They - were to be married to-morrow morning, and he—he was to be <i>best - man</i>. And as he laughed, his once ruddy, weather-beaten face was white - as a winding-sheet, and in the whiteness there was stamped a look that it - was good on no man's face to see. - </p> - <p> - And then suddenly two great tears rolled down his cheeks, opening the - flood gates of his soul. - </p> - <p> - “My little girl!” he sobbed. “Daddy's little girl!” - </p> - <p> - And reason and a strange calmness came. - </p> - <p> - “John Bruce,” he said. “He loves her too.” - </p> - <p> - And in front of Mrs. Hedges' rooming-house he climbed into the driver's - seat of the old traveling pawn-shop. - </p> - <p> - It didn't matter now how much noise he made. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—THE LAST CHANCE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE closed - the door of Larmon's suite, and, taking the elevator, went up to his own - room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, two floors above. Here, he flung himself - almost wearily into a chair. Larmon had gone to bed; but bed offered no - appeal to him, John Bruce, in spite of the fact that he was conscious of - great mental fatigue. Bed without sleep was a horror, and his spirits were - too depressed to make sleep even a possibility. - </p> - <p> - From a purely selfish standpoint, and he admitted to utter selfishness - now, it had been a hollow victory. Crang was gone, disposed of, and as far - as Larmon was concerned the man no longer existed, for if Crang had held - certain intimate knowledge of Larmon's life over Larmon's head, Larmon was - now in exactly the same position in respect to Crang. And Crang, too, for - the time being at least, was no longer a factor in Claire's life. - </p> - <p> - He smiled grimly to himself. Hollow! The victory had been sweeping, - complete, conclusive—for every one but himself! He had not even - waited to leave the dock before he had telephoned Claire. And Claire had—— - He rose suddenly and began to walk feverishly up and down the room. - Hollow! He laughed out shortly. She had curtly refused to talk to him. - </p> - <p> - He had only meant to telephone to say that he was on the way up to her - house, and he had managed to say that much—and she had coldly, - contemptuously informed him that she would not be at home, and had hung up - the receiver. She had given him no opportunity to say any more. - </p> - <p> - It was not like Claire. It had been so unexpected that he had left the - dock mentally dazed. The sight of the liner out in the stream had seemed - to mock him ironically. After that, until now, he had followed the line of - least resistance. He had come back here to the hotel, and dined with - Larmon. - </p> - <p> - He stood still in the middle of the room. Larmon! It had been a singular - evening that he had just spent with Larmon. He had got a new viewpoint on - Larmon—a strange, grave, sympathetic Larmon. He had given Larmon the - details of everything that had happened; and Larmon had led him on to talk—of - everything, and anything, it seemed now, as he looked back upon it. And - somehow, he could not tell why, even while he felt that Larmon was drawing - him out, urging him even to speak of Claire and the most intimate things - of the last few weeks, he had been glad to respond. It was only when - Larmon for a little while had discussed his great chain of gambling houses - that he, John Bruce, had felt curiously detached from it all and estranged - from the other, as though he were masquerading as some one else, as some - one whom Larmon believed to be John Bruce, and as though he in his true - self had no interest in these matters any longer in a personal sense, as - though his connection with them had automatically ceased with the climax - of Crang's removal. It was queer! But then his mind had been obsessed, - elsewhere. And yet here, too, he had been frank with Larmon—frank - enough to admit the feelings that had prompted him to refrain from actual - play only two nights before. He remembered the quick little tattoo of - Larmon's quill toothpick at this admission, and Larmon's tight little - smile. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it had been a singular evening! In those few hours he seemed to have - grown to know Larmon as though he had known the man all his life, to be - drawn to Larmon in a personal way, to admire Larmon as a man. There was - something of debonair sang-froid about Larmon. He had made no fuss over - his escape that day, and much less been effusive in any thanks. Larmon's - philosophy of life was apparently definitely fixed and settled; and, in so - far as Larmon was concerned, satisfactorily so. The whole world to Larmon - was a gamble—and, consistently enough, his own activities in that - respect were on as vast a scale as possible. - </p> - <p> - Larmon with his unemotional face and his quill toothpick! No; not - unemotional! When Larmon had finally pleaded fatigue and a desire to go to - bed, there had been something in Larmon's face and Larmon's “good-night,” - that still lingered with him, John Bruce, and which even now he could not - define. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's brows gathered into tight furrows. His mind had flown off at - a tangent. There was Claire! It had not been like Claire. Nor had he - meant, nor did he intend now to accept her dismissal as final. But what - was it that had happened? What was it? He could think of only one thing—the - letter he had written to Larmon, and which, on that account, he had asked - for and received back from the other. - </p> - <p> - It was a certainty that Crang's hand was in this somewhere, and Crang had - said that he had shown the letter to Claire, but—— - </p> - <p> - The telephone rang. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stepped to the desk, and picked up the instrument. - </p> - <p> - “Yes? Hello!” he said. - </p> - <p> - The clerk's voice from the office answered him: - </p> - <p> - “There's a man down here, Mr. Bruce, who insists on seeing you. He's - pretty seedy, and looks as though he had been on a bat for a week. I'm - sorry to bother you, but we can't get rid of him. He says his name is - Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - “Send him up at once!” said John Bruce sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” The clerk coughed deprecatingly. “Very well, Mr. Bruce. Thank - you.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins! John Bruce walked to the door of his suite, and opened it. He - looked at his watch. It was getting on now to eleven o'clock. What on - earth had brought Hawkins up here to the Bayne-Miloy at this hour? He - smiled a little grimly as he stood waiting on the threshold, and the - recollection of the night before last came back to him. Well, at least, he - was safe to-night from any kidnaping through the medium of Hawkins! - </p> - <p> - The elevator door clanged a little way down the corridor, and Hawkins, - followed by a bell boy, stepped out. - </p> - <p> - “This way, Hawkins!” John Bruce called—and dismissed the bell boy - with a wave of his hand. - </p> - <p> - And then, as Hawkins reached the door, John Bruce stared in amazement, and - for a moment absolved the clerk for his diagnosis. Hawkins' face was like - parchment, devoid of color; his hands, twisting at the old felt hat, - trembled as with the ague; and the blue eyes, fever-burned they seemed, - stared out in a fixed way from under the shaggy brows. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce pulled the old man inside the apartment, and closed the door. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, Hawkins!” he exclaimed anxiously. “What's the matter with - you?” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins caught at John Bruce's arm. - </p> - <p> - “It's to-morrow morning,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow morning at eight - o'clock.” - </p> - <p> - “What is?” inquired John Bruce. He forced the old cabman gently into a - chair. “You're upset, Hawkins. Here—wait! I'll get you something.” - </p> - <p> - But Hawkins held him back. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want a drink.” There was misery, bitterness, in Hawkins' voice. - “I don't want a drink—for once. It's come! It—it's come to the - end now. Crang and—and my little girl are going to be married - to-morrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - And then John Bruce laughed quietly, and laid his hand reassuringly on the - old cabman's shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “No, Hawkins,” he said. “I don't know where you got that idea; but it - won't be to-morrow morning, nor for a good many to-morrow mornings either. - Crang at the present moment is on board a ship on his way to South - America.” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” said Hawkins dully. “But half an hour ago I left him with Claire - in Paul Veniza's house.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's hand tightened on Hawkins' shoulder until the old man winced. - </p> - <p> - “You what?” John Bruce cried out. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Hawkins. “I heard him talking about it in the back room. They - didn't know I was there. He said there was something the matter with the - engines.” - </p> - <p> - Crang back! John Bruce's face was set as chiselled marble. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what you are saying, Hawkins?” he demanded fiercely, as - though to trample down and sweep aside by the brute force of his own - incredulity the other's assertion. “Do you know what you are saying—<i>do - you?"''</i> - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know,” said Hawkins helplessly. “He said you nearly killed him - to-day, and——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's laugh, with a savagery that had him now at its mercy and in - its grip, rang suddenly through the room. - </p> - <p> - “Then, for once, he told the truth!” he cried. “He tricked me cold with - that old bus last night, and trapped me in the rats' hole where his gang - holds out, but——” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins stumbled to his feet. His face seemed to have grown grayer still, - more haggard and full of abject misery. - </p> - <p> - “That's it, then!” he whispered. “I—I understand now. I was drunk - last night. Oh, my God, I'm to blame for this, too!” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce pushed Hawkins almost roughly back into his chair. Last night - was gone. It was of no significance any more. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind about that!” he said between his teeth. “It doesn't matter - now. Nothing matters now except Claire. Go on, tell me! What does it mean? - To-morrow morning, you said. Why this sudden decision about to-morrow - morning?” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' lips seemed dry. He circled them again and again with his tongue. - </p> - <p> - “He said you nearly killed him to-day, as I—I told you,” said - Hawkins, fumbling for his words. “And he said that you had been lovers - before that night when you were stabbed, and that he wasn't going to stand - for it any longer, and—and”—Hawkins' voice broke—“and - that she belonged to him. And he said she was the only one who could stop - this trouble between you and him before it was too late, and that was by - marrying him at once. And—and Claire said she would.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins stopped. His old felt hat was on his knees, and he twisted at it - aimlessly with shaking fingers. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stood motionless. - </p> - <p> - “Go on!” he bit off his words. - </p> - <p> - “That's all,” said Hawkins, “except he made her promise not to let you - know anything about it. They're going to leave the house to-morrow - morning, and are going down to Staten Island to get married because - there's some minister down there he knows, Crang said. And I'm to take - Crang, and—and”—the old man turned away his face—“I—I'm - to be best man. That—that's what he said—best man.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce walked abruptly to the window, and stared blindly out into the - night. His brain seemed afire. - </p> - <p> - For a time neither man spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You said you loved her,” said Hawkins at last. “I came to you. There - wasn't any other place to go. Paul Veniza can't do anything.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce turned from the window, and walking to - </p> - <p> - Hawkins, laid his two hands on the other's shoulders. He was calmer now. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I love her,” he said huskily. “And I think—I am not sure—but - I think now there is a chance that she can be made to change her mind even - here at the last minute. But that means I must see her; or, rather, that - she must see me.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins paused in the twisting of his felt hat to raise bewildered eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I've got the car here,” he said. “I'll take you down.” - </p> - <p> - “The car!” exclaimed John Bruce quickly. “Yes, I never thought of that! - Listen, Hawkins! Claire refused to see me this afternoon, or even to talk - to me over the telephone. I am not quite sure why. But no matter what her - reason was, I must see her now at once. I have something to tell her that - I hope will persuade her not to go on with this to-morrow morning—or - ever.” His voice was growing grave and hard. “I hope you understand, - Hawkins. I believe it may succeed. If it fails, then neither you nor I, - nor any soul on earth can alter her decision. That's all that I can tell - you now.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins nodded his head. A little color, eagerness, hope, had come into - his face. - </p> - <p> - “That's enough,” he said tremulously, “as long as you—you think - there is a chance even yet. And—and you do, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said John Bruce, “I think there is more than a chance—if I - can see her alone and make her listen to me. The car will be just the - thing. But she would refuse to come out, if she knew I were in it. I - depend on you for that. We'll drive down there, and you will have to make - some excuse to get her to come with you. After that you can keep on - driving us around the block until I either win or lose.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins rose hurriedly to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go, John Bruce! For God's sake, let us go!” he cried eagerly. - “I'll—I'll tell her Mrs. Hedges—that's my landlady—has - got to see her at once. She'll come quick enough.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce put on his hat and coat, and without a word led the way to the - door—but at the door he paused for an instant. There was Larmon—and - Crang was back. And then he shook his head in quick decision. There was - time enough later. It would serve no purpose to tell Larmon now, other - than the thankless one of giving Larmon a restless night. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce went on. He did not speak again until, outside the hotel, he - stepped into the traveling pawnshop as Hawkins opened the car door for - him. - </p> - <p> - “You will have to make sure that Crang has gone,” he said quietly. “Don't - stop in front of the house, Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll make sure,” whispered Hawkins, as he climbed to his seat. “Oh, my - God, my little girl!” - </p> - <p> - The old car jolted forward. John Bruce's face was set again in hard, - chiselled lines. He tried to think—but now his brain seemed - curiously impotent, as though it groped through chaos and through turmoil - only to stagger back bewildered, defeated, a wounded thing. And for a time - it was like that, as he sat there swaying with the lurch of the speeding - car, one thought impinging fast upon another only to be swallowed up so - quickly in turn by still another that he could correlate-no one of them. - </p> - <p> - And then, after a little time again, out of this strange mental strife - images began to take form, as sharply defined and distinct one from the - other as before they had been mingled in hopeless confusion—and he - cried out aloud in sudden agony of soul. It was to save his life that this - had happened. He had wrung that knowledge from Crang. That was the lever - he meant to use with Claire now, and it <i>must</i> succeed. He must make - it succeed! It seemed to drive him mad now, that thought—that - to-morrow morning she should die for him. Not physical death—worse - than that! God! It was unthinkable, horrible, abominable. It seemed to - flaunt and mock with ruthless, hell-born sacrilege what was holiest in his - heart. It stirred him to a fury that brought him to his feet, his fists - clenched. Claire in her purity—at the mercy of a degenerate beast! - </p> - <p> - He dropped back on the seat. He battled for calmness. In a little while - Claire would be here beside him—<i>for a little while</i>. He shook - his head. This was not real, nothing of his life had been real since that - moon-mad night on the sands of Apia. No; that was not true! Soul, mind and - body rose up in fierce denial. His love was real, a living, breathing, - actual reality, Claire—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce sank his face in his hands. Hours seemed to pass. And then he - was conscious that the car had stopped. He roused himself, and drawing the - window curtain slightly, looked out. Hawkins had stopped a few houses down - past the one-time pawnshop. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce rose suddenly and changed his seat to the one in the far - opposite corner, his back to the front of the car. The time seemed - interminable. Then he heard a light footstep ring on the pavement, and he - heard Hawkins' voice. The car door was opened, a dark form entered, sat - down, the door closed, and the car started forward. - </p> - <p> - It was strange! It was like that, here in this car, that he had stepped in - one night and found Claire—as she would now find him. That was so - long ago! And it seemed so long too since even he had last seen her—since - that night when, piqued so unwarrantably, he had left Paul Veniza's house. - He felt his hands tremble. He steadied himself. He did not want to - frighten or startle her now. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” he said softly. - </p> - <p> - He heard a slight, quick rustle of garments—and then the light in - the car was flashed on. - </p> - <p> - She was leaning tensely forward, a little figure with loose cloak flung - over her shoulders, without hat, a wondrous sheen from the light on the - dark, silken hair, her eyes wide, her finger still on the electric-light - button. - </p> - <p> - “You!” she cried sharply. “And Hawkins, too, in this!” - </p> - <p> - She reached for the door handle; but John Bruce caught her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Wait! If it is a trick, at least you know - that with Hawkins and me you will come to no harm. What else could I do? - You would not speak to me this afternoon, you would not let me see you, - and I must talk to you to-night.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him steadily. - </p> - <p> - <i>“Must?”</i> she repeated coldly. “And to-night? Why to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “Because,” John Bruce answered quickly, “to-morrow would be too late. I - know about to-morrow morning. Hawkins told me. He was outside the door of - that room when Crang was talking to you to-night.” She sank back in her - seat with a little cry. Her face had gone white—but again she - steadied herself. - </p> - <p> - “And—and do you think that is any reason why you should have - inveigled me into this car?” she asked dully. “Do you think that anything - you can say will alter—to-morrow morning?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I do!” said John Bruce earnestly. “But”—he smiled a little - bitterly—“I am afraid, too, that it will be hopeless enough if first - you will not tell me what has so suddenly come between us. Claire, what is - it?” - </p> - <p> - The dark eyes lighted with a glint, half angry, half ironical. - </p> - <p> - “Is <i>that</i> what you brought me here for?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” she said coolly, “if you do not know, I will tell you. I read a - letter that you wrote to a certain Mr. Larmon.” - </p> - <p> - It was a long minute before he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “I—I thought it might be that,” he said slowly. “I knew you had seen - it. Crang told me so. And—and I was afraid you might believe it—Claire.” - </p> - <p> - “Believe it!” she returned monotonously. “Had I any choice? Have I any - now? I knew you were in danger. I knew it was written to save your life. I - knew it was your handwriting. I knew you wrote it.” She turned away her - head. “It was so miserable a lie, so cowardly a betrayal—to save - your life.” - </p> - <p> - “But so hard to believe, and so bitter a thing to believe”—there was - a sudden eager thrill in John Bruce's voice—“that you wept upon it. - Look, Claire!” he cried. “I have that letter here—and this, that I - took from Crang to-day when I turned the tables on him. See! Read them - both!” He took from his pocket the letter and the slip cut from the bottom - of the sheet, and laid them in her lap. “The bottom was written in - invisible ink—the way always communicated privately with Larmon. - Salt brings it out. I knew Larmon would subject it to the test, so I was - willing to write anything that Crang dictated. I wrote that secret message - on the bottom of the paper while Crang was out of the room where he had me - a prisoner. Oh, don't you see now, Claire? When your tears fell on the - paper faint traces of the secret writing began to appear. That gave Crang - the clew, and he worked at it until he had brought out the message, and - then he cut off the bottom before delivering the letter to Larmon, and——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stopped. Claire's face was buried in the cushions, and, huddled - in the corner of the car, she was sobbing bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “Don't! Don't cry, Claire!” John Bruce whispered, and laid his hand over - hers where it crushed the letter in her lap. - </p> - <p> - “I believed it,” she said. “I did you that wrong. There is no forgiveness - for such meanness of soul as that.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” John Bruce answered gently, “there is no forgiveness—because - there is nothing to forgive. It was only another piece of that miserable - hound's cunning that tricked us both. I did not appreciate what he was - after in that reference to you; I thought he was only trying to make the - letter bullet-proof in its plausibility for Larmon's benefit—I never - thought that he would show it to you.” - </p> - <p> - She had not drawn her hand away, but her face was still hidden; and for a - moment there was silence between them. - </p> - <p> - “Claire,” John Bruce said in a low voice, “the night I left your house you - said that, rather than regretting your promise to marry Crang, you had - come to be glad you had made it. Can you still say that?” - </p> - <p> - She lifted her face now, tear-stained, the brown eyes strangely radiant - through the wet lashes. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said. “I am glad. So glad—because I know now that it was - worth it all so many, many times over.” - </p> - <p> - “Claire”—his voice was lower still—“I left your house that - night, angry, jealous, misjudging you because you had said that. You asked - for forgiveness a minute ago when there was nothing to forgive; I asked - for forgiveness from you after that night, but even then I did not know - how far beyond the right to forgiveness I had gone.” - </p> - <p> - She stared at him in a startled way. - </p> - <p> - “What—what do you mean?” she breathed. - </p> - <p> - And now John Bruce's face was alight. - </p> - <p> - “You have confessed your love, Claire!” he cried passionately. “It was not - fair, perhaps, but I am past all that now—and you would not have - confessed it in any other way. Glad! I was a stranger that night when you - bought my life—and to-night you are glad, not because my life is now - or ever could be worth such a sacrifice as yours, but because love has - come to make you think so, sweetheart, and you care—you care for - me.” - </p> - <p> - “You know!” Her face was deathly white. “You know about—about that - night?” she faltered. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce had both her hands imprisoned now. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I know!” He laughed with a strange buoyancy; passion, triumph, were - vibrant in his voice. “Did Crang not tell you how near to death he came - to-day? I choked the truth out of him. Yes; I know! I know that it was to - save my life you made that promise, that you sold everything you held dear - in life for me—but it is over now!” - </p> - <p> - He was beside her. He raised her two hands to draw her arms around his - neck. - </p> - <p> - She struggled back. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” she cried wildly. “Oh, you must not—you must not!” - </p> - <p> - “Must not!” His voice rang his challenge to the world. The blood was - pounding in mad abandon through his veins. His soul itself seemed aflame. - Closer, closer he drew her to him. “Must not! There is only you and me—and - our love—on all the earth!” - </p> - <p> - But still she struggled—-and then suddenly the tears came. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you are so strong—so strong,” she sobbed—and like some - weary child finding rest her head dropped upon his shoulder and lay hidden - there. - </p> - <p> - “Claire! Claire!” It was his soul that spoke. - </p> - <p> - He kissed the silken hair, and fondled it; and kissed the tear-wet eyes; - and his cheek lay against hers; and she was in his arms, and he held her - there tight-clasped so that she might never go again. - </p> - <p> - And after a time she sobbed no more; and her hand, lifting, found his face - and touched it gently, and creeping upward, brushed the hair back from his - forehead—and then suddenly she clung to him with all her strength - and drew his head down until her lips met his. - </p> - <p> - And there was no world about them, and time was non-existent, and only - they two lived. - </p> - <p> - It was Claire at last who put his arms from her in a wistful, lingering - way. - </p> - <p> - “We have been mad for a little while,” she whispered. “Take me back home - now, John—and—and you must never try to see me again.” - </p> - <p> - And something seemed to grow chill and cold within John Bruce's heart. - </p> - <p> - “Not that, Claire!” he cried out. “You do not mean that—that, after - this, you will go on with—with tomorrow morning!” - </p> - <p> - A brave little effort at a smile quivered on her lips. - </p> - <p> - “We have had our hour, John,” she said; “yours and mine. It can never be - taken from us, and I shall live in it all my life; but it is over now. - Yes; I shall go through with it to-morrow morning. There is no other way. - I must keep my promise.” - </p> - <p> - “No!” he cried out again. “It shall never be! Claire, you cannot mean what - you are saying! A promise like that! It was forced upon you inhumanly, - horribly. He would have murdered me.” - </p> - <p> - “But to-night you are alive,” she answered quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Alive! Yes!” he said fiercely. “I am alive, and——” - </p> - <p> - “It is because you are alive that I promised,” she broke in gently. “He - kept his word. I cannot break mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Alive!” John Bruce laughed now in sudden, bitter agony. “Alive—yes! - And do you think that I can walk about the streets, and talk, and smile, - and suck the honey out of life, while you have paid for it with a tortured - soul? Claire, you shall not! That man is—— No, wait! There is - myself. He called me a snivelling hypocrite. You shall know the worst of - me before you know the worst of him. There is not much to tell—because - he has told you. I am a gambler. All my life I've gambled. As far back as - I can remember I've been a rolling stone. My life has been useless, - utterly worthless. But I was never ashamed of it; I never saw any reason - to be ashamed until you came into my life. It hasn't been the same since - then '—and it will never be the same again. You have given me - something to live for now, Claire.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “You do not argue well,” she said softly. “If I have - brought this to you, John, I am so glad—so glad for this, too. Oh, I - cannot tell you how glad I am, for, because I loved you, the knowledge of - what your life was hurt me. But I had faith in you, John, as I always - shall have. So don't you see”—the brave little smile came again—“that - this is a reward, something tangible and great, to make still more worth - while the promise that I made?” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her. He swept his hand across his eyes. She seemed—she - seemed to be slipping away from him—beyond—beyond his reach. - </p> - <p> - “That man!” he said desperately. “You said you knew him—but you do - not know him. He is the head and front and brains of a gang of crooks. I - know! He held me a prisoner in their dirty lair, a hidden place, a cellar - over in the slums—like rats they were. He is a criminal, and a - dangerous one—while he masquerades with his medicine. God alone - knows the crimes, if there are any, that he has not committed. He is a - foul, unclean and filthy thing, debauched and dissolute, a moral leper. - Claire, do you understand all this—that his life is pollution and - defilement, that love to him is lust, that your innocence——” - </p> - <p> - With a broken, piteous cry, Claire stopped him. - </p> - <p> - And again he stared at her. She did not speak, but in her eyes he read the - torment of a far greater and fuller appreciation of the price than he, he - knew, though it turned his soul sick within him, could ever have. - </p> - <p> - And suddenly he covered his face with his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Bought!” he said brokenly in his agony. “Oh, my God, this has bought me!” - </p> - <p> - He felt his hands drawn away, and her two palms laid upon his cheeks. He - looked at her. How white she was! - </p> - <p> - “Help me, John,” she said steadily. “Don't—don't make it harder.” - </p> - <p> - She reached out and touched the bell button beside the seat. In a - subconscious way he remembered that was the signal for Hawkins to bring - the traveling pawn-shop to the end of its circuit around the block in its - old-time trips to Persia. He made no effort to stop her. There was - something of ultimate finality in her face and eyes that answered, before - it was uttered, the question that stumbled on his lips. - </p> - <p> - “Claire! Claire!” he pleaded wildly. “Will nothing change you?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no other way,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He stretched out his arms to draw her to him again, to lay her head once - more upon his shoulder—but now she held him back. - </p> - <p> - “No!” she whispered. “Be merciful now, John—my strength is almost - gone.” - </p> - <p> - And there was something in her voice that held him from the act. - </p> - <p> - The car stopped. - </p> - <p> - And then, as the door was opened and she stood up, suddenly she leaned - swiftly forward and pressed her lips to his—and springing from the - car, was gone. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce groped his way out of the car. Across the sidewalk the door of - Paul Veniza's house closed. Hawkins, standing by the car door, clutched at - his arm. And Hawkins' hand was trembling violently. Slowly his eyes met - Hawkins'. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - The old lined face seemed to gray even in the murky light of a distant - street lamp. - </p> - <p> - “I'd rather see her dead,” said the old cab driver brokenly. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce made no answer. - </p> - <p> - Then Hawkins, gulping his words, spoke again: - </p> - <p> - “I—where'll I drive you?” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce started blindly on past Hawkins down the street. - </p> - <p> - “Nowhere,” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—THROUGH THE NIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> GAUNT and haggard - figure stalked through the night; around him only shuttered windows, - darkened houses, and deserted streets. The pavements rang hollow to the - impact of his boot-heels. Where the way lay open he went. But always he - walked, walked incessantly, without pause, hurrying—nowhere. - </p> - <p> - There was a raw, biting chill in the air, and his hands, ungloved, as they - swung at his sides, were blue with cold. But sweat in great beads stood - out upon his forehead. At times his lips moved and he spoke aloud. It was - a hoarse sound. - </p> - <p> - “Or him!” he said. “Or him!” - </p> - <p> - On! Always on! There was no rest. It was ceaseless. The gray came into the - East. - </p> - <p> - And then at last the figure halted. - </p> - <p> - There was a large window with wire grating, and a light burned within. In - the window was a plate mirror, and a time-piece. It was a jeweler's - window. - </p> - <p> - The man looked at the time-piece. It was five o'clock. He looked at the - mirror. It reflected the face of a young man grown old. The eyes burned - deep in their sockets; the lines were hard, without softness; the skin was - tightly drawn across the cheek bones, and was colorless. And he stared at - the face, stared for a time without recognition. And then as he smiled and - the face in the mirror smiled with him in a distorted movement of the - lips, he swept his hand across his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “John Bruce,” he said. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to arouse him from some mental absorption in which his physical - entity had been lost. It was five o'clock, and he was John Bruce. At - eleven o'clock—or was it twelve?—last night he had left - Hawkins standing by the door of the traveling pawn-shop, and since then—— - </p> - <p> - He stared around him. He was somewhere downtown. He did not know where. He - began to walk in an uptown direction. - </p> - <p> - Something had been born in those hours. Something cataclysmic. What was - it? - </p> - <p> - “Or him!” The words came again—aloud—without apparent - volition. - </p> - <p> - What did that mean? It had something to do with Hawkins; with what Hawkins - had said, standing there by the traveling pawn-shop. What was it Hawkins - had said? Yes; he remembered: “I'd rather see her dead.” - </p> - <p> - “Or him!” - </p> - <p> - With cold judicial precision now the hours unrolled themselves before him. - </p> - <p> - “Or him!” - </p> - <p> - He was going to kill Crang. - </p> - <p> - The hours of mental strife, of torment through which he had just passed, - were as the memory of some rack upon which his soul had been put to - torture. They came back vividly now, those hours—every minute of - them a living eternity. His soul had shrunk back aghast at first, and - called it murder; but it was not murder, or, if it was, it was imperative. - It was the life of a foul viper—or Claire's. It was the life of an - unclean thing that mocked and desecrated all decency, that flung its - sordid challenge at every law, both human and divine—or the life of - a pure, clean soul made the plaything of this beast, and dragged into a - mire of unutterable abomination to suffocate and strangle in its noxious - surroundings and die. - </p> - <p> - And that soul was in jeopardy because at this moment he, John Bruce, had - the power of movement in his limbs, the sense of sight, the ability to - stretch out his hand and feel it touch that lamp-post there, and, if he - would, to speak aloud and designate that object for what it was—a - lamp-post. She had bought him these things with her life. Should she die—and - he live? - </p> - <p> - And he remembered back through those hours since midnight, when his soul - had still faltered before the taking of human life, how it had sought some - other way, some alternative, <i>any</i> alternative. A jail sentence for - Crang. There was enough, more than enough now with the evidence of Crang's - double life, to convict the man for the robbery of that safe. But Claire - had answered that in the long ago: “I will marry him when he comes out.” - Or, then, to get Crang away again like this afternoon—no, <i>yesterday</i> - afternoon. It was <i>this</i> morning, in a few hours, that they were to - be married. There was no time left in which to attempt anything like that; - but, even if there were, he knew now, that it but postponed the day of - reckoning. Claire would wait. Crang would come back. - </p> - <p> - He was going to kill Crang. - </p> - <p> - If he didn't, Crang would kill him. He knew that, too. But his decision - was not actuated, or even swayed, by any consideration of - self-preservation. He had no thought of his future or his safety. That was - already settled. With his decision was irrevocably coupled the forfeiting - of his own life. Not his own life! It belonged to Claire. Claire had - bought it. He was only giving it back that the abysmal price she had - agreed to pay should not be extorted from her. Once he had accomplished - his purpose, he would give himself up to the police. - </p> - <p> - He was going to kill Crang. - </p> - <p> - That was what had been born out of the travail of those hours of the - night. But there were other things to do first. He walked briskly now. The - decision in itself no longer occupied his thoughts. The decision was - absolute; it was final. It was those “other things” that he must consider - now. There was Larmon. He could not tell Larmon what he, John Bruce, was - going to do, but he must warn Larmon to be on his guard against any past - or present connection with John Bruce coming to light. Fortunately Larmon - had come to New York and registered as Peters. He must make Larmon - understand that Larmon and John Bruce had never met, even if he could not - give Larmon any specific reason or explanation. Larmon would probably - refuse at first, and attribute it as an attempt to break, for some - ulterior reason, the bond they had signed together that night on the beach - at Apia. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce smiled gravely. The bond would be broken in any case. Faustus - was at the end of the play. A few months in prison, the electric chair—how - apt had been his whistling of that aria <i>in his youth!</i> - </p> - <p> - Youth! Yes, he was old now; he had been young that night on the beach at - Apia. - </p> - <p> - He took off his hat and let the sharp air sweep his head. He was not - thinking clearly. All this did not express what he meant. There was - Larmon's safety. He must take care of that; see to it, first of all, that - Larmon could not be implicated, held by law as an accomplice through - foreknowledge of what was to happen; then, almost of as great importance - for Larmon's sake and future, the intimacy between them, their business - relations of the past, must never be subjected to the probe of the trial - that was to come. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce nodded his head sharply. Yes, that was better! But there was - still something else—that bond. He knew to-night, even if prison - walls and a death penalty were not about to nullify that bond far more - effectively than either he or Larmon ever could, that the one thing he - wanted now, while yet he was a free agent, while yet it was not - arbitrarily his choice, was to cancel that agreement which was so typical - of what his life up to the present time had always stood for; and in its - cancellation, for what little time was left, to have it typify, instead, a - finer manhood. The future, premonitive, grim in its promise, seemed to - hold up before him as in a mirror where no lines were softened, where only - the blunt, brutal truth was reflected, the waste and worthlessness of the - past. He had no wish to evade it, or temporize with it, or seek to - palliate it. He knew only a vain and bitter regret; knew only the desire - now at the end, in so far as he could, to face death a changed man. - </p> - <p> - He walked on and on. He was getting into the uptown section now. How many - miles he must have covered since he had left Hawkins, and since the door - of the one-time pawn-shop had closed on that little bare-headed figure - with the loose cloak clutched about her throat—the last sight he had - had of Claire! How many miles? He did not know. It must have been many, - very many. But he felt no weariness. It was strange! It was as though his - vitality and energy flowed into him from some wholly extraneous source; - and as though physically he were non-existent. - </p> - <p> - He wondered what Larmon would say. Larmon alone had the right to cancel - the bond. That was the way it had been written. Would Larmon refuse? He - hoped not, because he wanted to part with Larmon as a friend. He hoped - not, though in the final analysis, in a practical way, Larmon's refusal - must be so futile a thing. Would Larmon laugh at him, and, not knowing, - call him a fool? He shook his head. He did not know. At least Larmon would - not be surprised. The conversation of last evening—— - </p> - <p> - John Bruce looked up. He was at the entrance to the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. He - entered, nodded mechanically to the night clerk, stepped into the - elevator, and went up to his room. There was his revolver to be got. - Afterward he would go down to Larmon's room. Somehow, even in the face of - that other thing which he was to do, this interview which was to come with - Larmon obsessed him. It seemed to signify some vital line of demarcation - between the old life and the new. - </p> - <p> - The new! He smiled grimly, without mirth, as, entering his room, he - switched on the light, stepped quickly to his desk, pulled open a drawer, - and took out his revolver. The new! There would be very little of the new! - He laughed now in a low, raucous way, as he slipped the weapon into his - pocket. The new! A few weeks, a few months of a prison cell, and then—— - His laugh died away, and a half startled, half perplexed look settled on - his face. For the first time he noticed that a letter, most obviously - placed to attract his attention, lay on the center of the desk pad. - Strange, he had not seen it instantly! - </p> - <p> - He stared at it now. It was a plain envelope, unstamped, and addressed to - him. The writing was familiar too! Larmon's! He picked it up, opened it—and - from the folds of the letter, as he drew it from the envelope, four torn - pieces of paper fluttered to the desk. And for a long time, in a dazed - way, he gazed at them. The letter dropped from his hand. Then mechanically - he pieced the four scraps together. It was one of the leaves torn from - Larmon's notebook that night in Apia—and here was the heavy scrawl - where he, John Bruce, had signed with the quill toothpick. It was Larmon's - copy of the bond. - </p> - <p> - And again for a long time he stared at it, then he picked up the letter - again. He read it slowly, for somehow his brain seemed only able to absorb - the words in a stunned way. Then he read it again: - </p> - <p> - Dear Bruce:—11 P. M. - </p> - <p> - Something has come into your life that was not there on a night you will - remember in the Southern Seas, and I know of no other way to repay you for - what you did for me to-day than to hand you this. I knew from what you - said to-night, or, rather perhaps, from what you did not say, that this - was in your heart. And if I were young again, and the love of a good woman - had come to me, I too should try—and fail, I fear, where you will - succeed—to play a man's part in life. - </p> - <p> - And so I bid you good-by, for when you read this I shall be on my way back - West. What I lose another will gain. Amongst even my friends are men of - honorable callings and wide interests who need a John Bruce. You will hear - from one of them. Godspeed to you, for you are too good and clean a man to - end your days as I shall end mine—a gambler. - </p> - <p> - Yours, - </p> - <p> - Gilbert Larmon. - </p> - <p> - The love of a good woman—and young again! John Bruce's face was - white. A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to surge upon him. There was - something fine and big in what Larmon had done, like the Larmon whose real - self he had come to glimpse for the first time last night; and something - that was almost ghastly in the unconscious irony that lay behind it all. - And for a little while he stood there motionless, holding the letter in - his hand; then with a quick, abrupt return to action, he began to tear the - letter into little shreds, and from his pocket he took his own copy of the - bond and tore that up, and the four pieces of Larmon's copy he tore into - still smaller fragments, and gathering all these up in his hands, he - walked to the window and let them flutter out into the night. - </p> - <p> - The way was clear. There was nothing to connect Gilbert Larmon with the - man who to-morrow—no, <i>to-day</i>—would be in the hands of - the police charged with murder. Nothing to bring to light Larmon's private - affairs, for nothing bearing Larmon's signature had ever been kept; it was - always destroyed. Larmon was safe—for, at least, they could never - make John Bruce <i>talk</i>. - </p> - <p> - There was a strange relief upon him, a strange uplift; not only for - Larmon's sake, but for his own. The link that had bound him to the past - was gone, broken, dissolved. He stood free—for the little time that - was left; he stood free—to make a fresh start in the narrow confines - of a prison cell. He smiled grimly. There was no irony here where it - seemed all of irony. It meant everything—all. It was the only - atonement he could make. - </p> - <p> - He switched off the light, left his room, and went down to the desk. Here - he consulted the directory. He requested the clerk to procure a taxi for - him. - </p> - <p> - It was five minutes after six by the clock over the desk. - </p> - <p> - He entered the taxi and gave the chauffeur the address. He was unconscious - of emotion now. He knew only a cold, fixed, merciless purpose. - </p> - <p> - He was going to kill Crang. - </p> - <p> - The taxi stopped in front of a frame house that bore a dirty brass - name-plate. He dismissed the taxi, and mounted the steps. His right hand - was in the pocket of his coat. He rang the bell, and obtaining no - response, rang again—and after that insistently. - </p> - <p> - The door was finally opened by an old woman, evidently aroused from bed, - for she clutched tightly at a dressing gown that was flung around her - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “I want to see Doctor Crang,” said John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “The doctor isn't in,” she answered. - </p> - <p> - “I will wait for him,” said John Bruce. - </p> - <p> - Again she shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know when he will be back. He hasn't been here since yesterday - morning.” - </p> - <p> - “I will wait for him,” said John Bruce monotonously. - </p> - <p> - “But——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce brushed his way past her into the hall. - </p> - <p> - “I will wait for him,” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - A door was open off the hallway. John Bruce looked in. It was obviously - Crang's office. He went in and sat down by the window. - </p> - <p> - The woman stood for a long time in the doorway watching him. Finally she - went away. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce's mind was coldly logical. Crang was not aware that his escape - was known to any one except Claire, and he had been cunning enough to keep - under cover. That was why he had not been home. But he would be home - before he went out to be married. Even a man like Crang would have a few - preparations to make. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce sat by the window. Occasionally the old woman came and stood in - the doorway—and went away again. - </p> - <p> - There was no sign of Crang. - </p> - <p> - At fifteen minutes of eight John Bruce rose from his chair and left the - house. - </p> - <p> - “He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight,” said John Bruce to himself with - cool precision. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—THE BEST MAN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AWKINS sat at the - table in his room, and twined and twined one old storm-beaten hand over - the other. For hours he had sat like that. It was light in the room now, - for it was long after seven o'clock. His bed had not been slept in. He was - dressed in his shiny best suit; he wore his frayed black cravat. He had - been dressed like that since midnight; since he had returned home after - Claire had fled into her house, and John Bruce had strode by him on the - sidewalk with set, stony face and unseeing eyes; since, on reaching his - room here, he had found a note whose signature was false because it read - “Paul Veniza,” when he knew that it came from Crang. Crang was taking - precautions that his return should not leak out! The note only - corroborated what he had heard through the door. He was to be at Paul - Veniza's at eight o'clock with the traveling pawn-shop.. - </p> - <p> - The note had said nothing about any marriage; but, then, he knew! He was - to be the best man. And so he had dressed himself. After that he had - waited. He was waiting now. - </p> - <p> - “The first,” said Hawkins, with grave confidence to the cracked mirror. - “Yes, that's it—the first in line, because I <i>am</i> her old - father, and there ain't nothing can change that.” - </p> - <p> - His own voice seemed to arouse him. He stared around the shabby room that - was his home, his eyes lingering with strange wistfulness on each old - battered, and long familiar object—and then suddenly, with a choking - cry, his head went down, buried in his arms outflung across the table. - </p> - <p> - “Pawned!” the old man cried brokenly. “It's twenty years ago, I pawned her—twenty - years ago. And it's come to this because—because I ain't never - redeemed her—but, oh God, I love her—I love my little girl—and—and - she ain't never going to know how much.” - </p> - <p> - His voice died away. In its place the asthmatic gas-jet spat venomous - defiance at the daylight that was so contumaciously deriding its puny - flame. - </p> - <p> - And after a little while, Hawkins raised his head. He looked at his watch. - </p> - <p> - “It's time to go,” said Hawkins—and cleared his throat. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins picked up his hat and brushed it carefully with his coat sleeve; - his shoulders, and such of his attire as he could reach, he brushed with - his hands; he readjusted his frayed black cravat before the cracked - mirror. - </p> - <p> - “I'm the best man,” said Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - Oblivious to the chattering gas-jet, he descended the stairs, and went out - to the shed in the rear that housed the traveling pawn-shop. - </p> - <p> - “The first in line,” said the old cab driver, as he climbed into the seat. - </p> - <p> - Five minutes later, he drew up in front of the onetime pawn-shop. He - consulted his watch as he got down from his seat and entered the house. It - was twenty-five minutes of eight. - </p> - <p> - He twisted his hat awkwardly in his hands, as he entered the rear room. He - felt a sudden, wild rush of hope spring up within him because there was no - sign of Crang. And then the hope died. He was early; and, besides, Claire - had her hat on and was dressed to go out. Paul Veniza, also dressed, lay - on the cot. - </p> - <p> - No one spoke. - </p> - <p> - Then Paul Veniza's frame was racked with a fit of coughing, and out of a - face ashen in pallor his eyes met Hawkins' in silent agony—and then - he turned his head away. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins twisted at his hat. - </p> - <p> - “I came a little early;” he said wistfully, “because I thought mabbe you - might—that mabbe there might be some change—that mabbe you - might not——” - </p> - <p> - He stopped. He was looking at Claire. Her face was very white too. Her - smile seemed to cut at his heart like a knife. - </p> - <p> - “No, Hawkins,” she said in a low voice; “there is no change. We are going - to Staten Island. You will drive Doctor Crang. There is a limousine coming - for father and me, that will be more comfortable for father.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “I—I didn't mean that kind of a change,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I know you didn't, Hawkins. But—but I am trying to be practical.” - Her voice broke a little in spite of herself. “Doctor Crang doesn't know - that you overheard anything last night, or that you know anything about - the arrangements, so—so I am explaining them to you now.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' eyes were still on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Ain't there nothing”—his voice was thick and husky—“ain't - there nothing in all the world that any of us can do to make you change - your mind? Claire, ain't there nothing, nothing at all? John Bruce said - there wasn't, and you love John Bruce, but——” - </p> - <p> - “Don't, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully. - </p> - <p> - The old shoulders came slowly up, and the old head; and the old blue eyes - were of a sudden strangely flints like. - </p> - <p> - “I've got to know,” said Hawkins, in a dead, stubborn way. - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing,” she answered. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' eyes reverted to the floor. He spoke now without lifting them. - </p> - <p> - “Then—then it's—it's like saying good-by,” he said, and the - broken note was back again in his voice. “It's—it's so many years - that mabbe you've forgotten, but when you were a little girl, and before - you grew up, and—and were too big for that, I—I used to hold - you in my arms, and you used to put your little arms around my neck, and - kiss me, and—and you used to say that—Hawkins would never let - the bugaboos get you, and—and I wonder if—if——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Hawkins!” Claire's eyes were full of tears. “I remember. Dear, dear - Hawkins! And I used to call you Daddy Hawkins. Do <i>you</i> remember?” - </p> - <p> - A tear found a furrow and trickled down the old weather-beaten face - unchecked, as Hawkins raised his head. - </p> - <p> - “Claire! Claire!” His voice trembled in its yearning. “Will—will you - say that again, Claire?” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Daddy Hawkins,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - His arms stretched out to her, and she came to them smiling through her - tears. - </p> - <p> - “You've been so good to me,” she whispered again. “You <i>are</i> so good - to me—dear, dear Daddy Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - A wondrous light was in the old cabman's face. He held the slight form to - him, trying to be so tenderly careful that he should not hurt her in his - strength. He kissed her, and patted her head, and his fingers lingered as - they smoothed the hair back from where it made a tiny curl about her ear. - </p> - <p> - And then he felt her drawing him toward the couch—and he became - conscious that Paul Veniza was holding out his hands to them both. - </p> - <p> - And Claire knelt at the side of the couch and took one of Paul Veniza's - hands, and Hawkins took the other. And no one of them looked into the - other's face. - </p> - <p> - The outer door opened, and Doctor Crang came in. He stood for an instant - surveying the scene, a half angry, half sarcastic smile spreading over his - sallow face, and then he shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you're here, like me, ahead of time, Hawkins, I see!” he said - shortly. “You're going to drive me to Staten Island where——” - </p> - <p> - Claire rose to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “I have told Hawkins,” she said quietly. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins' hand tightened over Paul Veniza's for a moment, and then he - turned away. - </p> - <p> - “I—I'll wait outside,” said Hawkins—and brushed has hand - across his eyes as he went through the doorway. - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza was racked with a sudden fit of coughing again. Doctor Crang - walked quickly to the couch and looked at the other sharply. After a - moment he turned to Claire. - </p> - <p> - “Are you ready to go?” he asked crisply. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I am ready,” she answered steadily. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, then,” said Crang, “you had better go out and get into the old - bus. You can go with Hawkins and me.” - </p> - <p> - “But”—Claire looked in a bewildered way at Paul Veniza—“but - you said——” - </p> - <p> - “I know I did,” Crang interrupted brusquely, “but we're all here a little - early and there's lots of time to countermand the other car.” He indicated - Paul Veniza with a jerk of his head. “He's far from as well as he was last - night. At least you'll admit that I'm a <i>good</i> doctor, and when I - tell you he is not fit to go this morning that ought to be enough for both - of you. I'll phone and tell them not to send the limousine.” - </p> - <p> - Still Claire hesitated. Paul Veniza had closed his eyes. - </p> - <p> - Crang shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “You can do as you like, but I don't imagine”—a snarl crept into his - voice—“that it will give him any joy to witness the ceremony, or you - to have him. Suit yourselves; but I won't answer for the consequences.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll go,” said Claire simply—and as Paul Veniza lifted himself up - suddenly in protest, she forced him gently back upon the couch again. - “It's better that way,” she said, and for a moment talked to him in low, - earnest tones, then kissed him, and rose, and walked out from the room. - </p> - <p> - Crang, with a grunt of approval, started toward the telephone. - </p> - <p> - “Wait!” Paul Veniza had raised himself on his elbow. - </p> - <p> - Crang turned and faced the other with darkened face. - </p> - <p> - “It is not too late even now at the last moment!” Paul Veniza's face was - drawn with agony. “I know you for what you are, and in the name of God I - charge you not to do this thing. It is foul and loathsome, the basest - passion—and whatever crimes lay at your door, even if murder be - among them, no one of them is comparable with this, for you do more than - take a human life, you desecrate a soul pure as the day God gave it life, - and——” - </p> - <p> - The red surged into Crang's face, and changed to mottled purple. - </p> - <p> - “Damn you!” he flung out hoarsely. “Hold your cackling tongue! This is my - wedding morning—understand?” He laughed out raucously. “My wedding - morning—and I'm in a hurry!” - </p> - <p> - Paul Veniza raised himself a little higher. White his face was—white - as death. - </p> - <p> - “Then God have mercy on your soul!” he cried. - </p> - <p> - And Crang stared for a moment, then turned on his heel—and laughed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—THE RIDE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE turned - the corner, and, on the opposite side of the street, drew back under the - shelter of a door porch where he could command a view of the entrance to - Paul Veniza's house. And now he stood motionless, waiting with cold - patience, his eyes fixed on the doorway across the street. He was there - because Crang was either at the present moment within the house, or - presently would come to the house. It was nearly eight o'clock. The old - traveling pawn-shop was drawn up before the door. - </p> - <p> - He had no definite plan now. No plan was needed. He was simply waiting for - Crang. - </p> - <p> - His eyes had not left the doorway. Suddenly, tense, he leaned a little - forward. The door opened. No; it was only Hawkins! He relaxed again. - </p> - <p> - Only Hawkins! John Bruce's face grew a little sterner, his lips a little - more tightly compressed. Only Hawkins—only an old man who swayed - there outside the door, and whose face was covered with his hands. - </p> - <p> - He watched Hawkins. The old cabman moved blindly along the sidewalk for - the few steps that took him to the corner, and turning the corner, out of - sight of the house, sat down on the edge of the curb, and with his - shoulders sunk forward, buried his face in his hands again. - </p> - <p> - And John Bruce understood; and his fingers, in his pocket, snuggled - curiously around the revolver that was hidden there. He wanted to go to - that old bent figure there in its misery and despair, who was fighting now - so obviously to get a grip upon himself. But he did not move. He could not - tell Hawkins what he meant to do. - </p> - <p> - Were they minutes or were they hours that passed? Again the front door of - Paul Veniza's house opened, and again John Bruce leaned tensely forward. - But this time he did not relax. Claire! His eyes drank in the slim, - little, dark-garbed figure, greedy that no smallest gesture, no movement, - no single line of face or form should escape him. It was perhaps the last - time that he would see her. He would not see her in his prison cell—he - would not let her go there. - </p> - <p> - A queer sound issued from his throat, a strange and broken little cry. She - was gone now. She had crossed the sidewalk and entered the traveling - pawn-shop. The curtains were down, and she was hidden from sight. And for - a moment there seemed a blur and mist before John Bruce's eyes—then - Hawkins, still around the corner, still with crouched shoulders, still - with his face hidden in his hands, took form and grew distinct again. And - then after a little while, Hawkins rose slowly, and came back along the - street, and climbed into the driver's seat of the traveling pawnshop, and - sat fumbling at the wheel with his hands. - </p> - <p> - The door of Paul Veniza's house opened for the third time—and now - John Bruce laughed in a low, grim 'way, and his hand, hugging the revolver - in his pocket, tightened and grew vise-like in its grip upon the weapon. - It was Crang at last! - </p> - <p> - And then John Bruce's hand came out from his pocket—empty. - </p> - <p> - <i>Not in front of Claire!</i> - </p> - <p> - He swept his hand across his forehead. It was as though a sudden shock had - aroused him to some stark reality to which he had been strangely - oblivious. Not in front of Claire! Claire was in the car there. He felt - himself bewildered for a moment. Hawkins had said nothing about driving - Claire too. - </p> - <p> - Crang's voice reached him from across the street: - </p> - <p> - “All right, Hawkins! Go ahead!” - </p> - <p> - Where was Paul Veniza? Crang had got into the car, and the car was moving - forward. Wasn't Paul Veniza going too? - </p> - <p> - Well, it did not matter, did it? Crang was there. And it was a long way to - Staten Island, and before then a chance would come, <i>must</i> come; he - would make one somehow, and——- - </p> - <p> - John Bruce ran swiftly out into the street, and, as the car turned the - corner, swung himself lightly and silently in beside Hawkins. Crang would - not know. The curtained panel at the back of the driver's seat hid the - interior of the car from view. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins turned his head, stared into John Bruce's face for an instant, - half in a startled, half in a curiously perplexed way, made as though to - speak—and then, without a word, gave his attention to the wheel - again. - </p> - <p> - The car rattled on down the block. - </p> - <p> - John Bruce, as silent as Hawkins, stared ahead. On the ferry! Yes, that - was it! It was a long way to Staten Island. Claire would not stay cooped - up in a closed car below; she would go up on deck to get the air. And even - if Crang accompanied her, it would not prove very difficult to separate - them. - </p> - <p> - He looked around suddenly and intercepted a furtive, puzzled glance cast - at him by Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - And then Hawkins spoke for the first time. - </p> - <p> - “You'd better get off, John Bruce,” he said in a choked voice. “You've - done all you could, and God bless you over and over again for it, but you - can't do anything more now, and it won't do you any good to come any - further.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said John Bruce, “I'm going all the way, Hawkins.” - </p> - <p> - Hawkins relapsed into silence. They were near the Battery when he spoke - again. - </p> - <p> - “All the way,” Hawkins repeated then, as though it were but a moment gone - since John Bruce had spoken. “All the way. Yes, that's it—after - twenty years. That's when I pawned her—twenty years ago. And I - couldn't never redeem her the way Paul Veniza said. And she ain't never - known, and thank God she ain't never going to know, that I—that I——” - A tear trickled down the old face, and splashed upon the wrinkled skin of - the hand upon the wheel. And then old Hawkins smiled suddenly, and nodded - toward the clock on the cowl-board—and the speed of the car - increased. “I looked up the ferry time,” said Hawkins. - </p> - <p> - They swung out in front of the ferry house, and the car stopped. A ferry, - just berthing, was beginning to disgorge its stream of motors and - pedestrians. - </p> - <p> - “We're first in line,” said Hawkins, nodding his head. “We'll have to wait - a minute or two.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce nodded back indifferently. His eyes were fixed on the ferry - that he could just see through the ferry house. Certainly, Claire would - not stay down in the confined space of the ferry's run-way all the trip; - or if she did, Crang wouldn't. His face set. Quite unconsciously his hand - had gone to his pocket, and he found his fingers now snuggling again - around the weapon that lay there. - </p> - <p> - And then he looked at Hawkins—and stared again at the other, - startled. Strange, he had not noticed it before! The smile on Hawkins' - face did not hide it. The man seemed to have aged a thousand years; the - old face was pinched and worn, and deep in the faded, watery blue eyes - were hurt and agony. And a great sympathy for the man surged upon John - Bruce. He could not tell Hawkins, but—— He reached out, and - laid his hand on the other's arm. - </p> - <p> - “Don't take it too hard, Hawkins,” he said gently. “I—perhaps—perhaps, - well, there's always a last chance that something may happen.” - </p> - <p> - “Me?” said Hawkins, and bent down over his gears as he got the signal to - move forward. “Do I look like that? I—I thought it all out last - night, and I don't feel that way. I'll tell you what I was thinking about. - I was just thinking that I did something to-day when I left my room that I - haven't done before—in twenty years. I've left the light burning.” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce stared a little helplessly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Hawkins. He smiled at John Bruce. “Don't you worry about me. - Mabbe you don't understand, but that's all I've been thinking about since - we've been waiting here. I've left the light burning.” - </p> - <p> - Sick at heart, John Bruce turned his head away. He made no response. - </p> - <p> - Hawkins paid the fare, ran the car through the ferry house, and aboard the - ferry itself. He was fumbling with a catch of some kind behind his seat, - as he proceeded slowly up the run-way. - </p> - <p> - “He'll want a little air in there,” said Hawkins, “because it's close down - here. It opens back, you know—the whole panel. I had it made that - way when the car was turned into a traveling pawn-shop—didn't know - what tough kind of a customer Paul might run into sometime, and I'd want - to get in beside him quick to help, and I——” The old cabman - straightened up. - </p> - <p> - The car was at the extreme forward end of the ferry—and suddenly it - leaped forward. “Jump, John Bruce! Jump clear!” old Hawkins cried. - “There's only two of us going all the way—and that's Crang and me! - Claire and Paul 'll be along in another car—tell them it was an - accident, and——” - </p> - <p> - John Bruce was on his feet—too late. There was a crash, and the - collapsible steel gates went down before the plunging car, and the guard - chain beyond was swept from its sockets. He reeled and lost his balance as - something, a piece of wreckage from the gates or chain posts, struck him. - He felt the hot blood spurt from shoulder and arm. And then, as the car - shot out in mid-air, diving madly for the water below, and he was thrown - from his feet, he found himself clinging to the footboard, fighting wildly - to reach the door handle. Claire was in there! Claire was in there! - </p> - <p> - There was a terrific splash. A mighty rush of water closed over him. - Horror, fear, madness possessed his soul. Claire was in there! Claire was - in there—and somehow Hawkins had not known! Yes, he had the door - handle now! He wrenched and tore at the door. The pressure of the water - seemed to pit itself against his strength. He worked like a maniac. It - opened. He had it now! It opened. He could scarcely see in the murky water—only - the indistinct outlines of two forms undulating grotesquely, the hands of - one gripped around the throat of the other—only that, and floating - within his reach a woman's dress. He snatched at the dress. His lungs were - bursting. Claire! It was Claire! She was in his arms—then blackness—then - sunlight again—and then, faintly, he heard a cheer. - </p> - <p> - He held her head above the water. She was motionless, inert. - </p> - <p> - “Claire! Claire!” he cried. Fear, cold, horrible, seized upon him. He swam - in mad haste for the iron ladder rungs at the side of the slip. - </p> - <p> - Faces, a multitude of them, seemed to peer at him from above, from the - brink of this abyss in which he was struggling. He heard a cheer again. - Why were they cheering? Were they cheering because two men were locked in - a death grip deep down there in the water below? - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” he cried out again. - </p> - <p> - And then, as his hand grasped the lower rung, she opened her eyes slowly, - and a tremor ran through her frame. - </p> - <p> - She lived! Was he weak with the sudden revulsion that swept upon him now? - Was that it? He tried to carry her up—and found that it was beyond - his strength. And he could only cling there and wait for assistance from - above, thankful even for the support the water gave his weight. It was - strange! What were those red stains that spread out and tinged the water - around him? His arm! Yes, he remembered now! His shoulder and arm! It was - the loss of blood that must have sapped his strength, that must be sapping - it now so that—- - </p> - <p> - “John!” Claire whispered. “You—John!” - </p> - <p> - He buried his face in the great wet masses of hair that fell around her. - Weak? No, he was not weak! He could hold her here always—always. - </p> - <p> - He felt her clutch spasmodically at his arm. - </p> - <p> - “And—and Hawkins, John?” she faltered. - </p> - <p> - He lifted his head and stared at the water. Little waves rippled across - its surface, gamboling inconsequentially—at play. There wasn't - anything else there. There never would be. He made no answer. - </p> - <p> - A sob shook her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “How—how did it happen?” she whispered again. - </p> - <p> - “I think a—a gear jammed, or something,” he said huskily. - </p> - <p> - He heard her speak again, but her voice was very low. He bent his head - until it rested upon hers to catch the words. - </p> - <p> - She was crying softly. - </p> - <p> - “Dear, dear Hawkins—dear Daddy Hawkins,” she said. - </p> - <p> - A great mist seemed to gather before John Bruce's eyes. A voice seemed to - come again, Hawkins' voice; and words that he understood now, Hawkins' - words: - </p> - <p> - “I've left the light burning.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. 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- Pawned, by Frank L. Packard
- </title>
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pawned, by Frank L. Packard
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-
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-Title: Pawned
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-Author: Frank L. Packard
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51965]
-Last Updated: March 13, 2018
-
-Language: English
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-Character set encoding: UTF-8
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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAWNED ***
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-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
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-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- PAWNED
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank L. Packard
- </h2>
- <h4>
- The Copp, Clark Co., Limited Toronto
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1921
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> PAWNED </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> HER STORY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TWENTY YEARS LATER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE—ALADDIN'S LAMP </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO—THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE—SANCTUARY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR—A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE—HAWKINS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX—THE ALIBI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN—THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING
- PAWN-SHOP </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT—ALLIES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE—THE CONSPIRATORS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER TEN—AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVEN—THE RENDEZVOUS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELVE—THE FIGHT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN—TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN—THE TWO PENS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE CLEW </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER SIXTEEN—A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—ALIAS MR. ANDERSON </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—THE HOSTAGE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER NINETEEN—CABIN H-14 </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER TWENTY—OUTSIDE THE DOOR </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—THE LAST CHANCE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—THROUGH THE NIGHT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—THE BEST MAN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—THE RIDE </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- PAWNED
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- HER STORY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> HANSOM cab,
- somewhat woebegone in appearance, threaded its way in a curiously dejected
- manner through the heart of New York's East Side. A fine drizzle fell,
- through which the street lamps showed as through a mist; and, with the
- pavements slippery, the emaciated looking horse, the shafts jerking and
- lifting up at intervals around its ears, appeared hard put to it to
- preserve its footing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman on his perch drove with his coat collar turned up and his chin
- on his breast. He held the reins listlessly, permitting the horse to
- choose its own gait. At times he lifted the little trap door in the roof
- of the cab and peered into the interior; occasionally his hand,
- tentatively, hesitantly, edged toward a bulge in his coat pocket-only to
- be drawn back again in a sort of panic haste.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cab turned into a street where, in spite of the drizzle, hawkers with
- their push-carts under flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a
- thriving business. The horse went more slowly. There was very little room.
- With the push-carts lining the curbs on both sides, and the overflow of
- pedestrians from the sidewalks into the street, it was perhaps over-taxing
- the horse's instinct to steer a safe course for the vehicle it dragged
- behind it. Halfway along the block a wheel of the hansom bumped none too
- gently into one of the push-carts, nearly upsetting the latter. The
- hawker, with a frantic grab, saved his wares from disaster-by an
- uncomfortably narrow margin, and, this done, hurled an impassioned flood
- of lurid oratory at the two-wheeler.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman lifted his chin from his breast, stared stonily at the hawker,
- slapped the reins mechanically on the roof of the cab as an intimation to
- the horse to proceed, and the cab wended its way along again.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the end of the block, it turned the corner, and drew up before a small
- building that was nested in between two tenements. The cabman climbed down
- from his perch, and stood for a moment surveying the three gilded balls
- that hung over the dingy doorway, and the lettering—“Paul Veniza.
- Pawnbroker”—that showed on the dully-lighted windows which
- confronted him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew his hand across his eyes; then, reaching suddenly inside the cab,
- lifted a bundle in his arms, and entered the shop. A man behind the
- counter stared at him, and uttered a quick ejaculation. The cabman went on
- into a rear room. The man from behind the counter followed. In the rear
- room, a woman rose from a table where she had been sewing, and took the
- bundle quickly from the cabman's arms, as it emitted a querulous little
- cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman spoke for the first time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's dead,” he said heavily.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman, buxom, middle-aged, stared at him, white-faced, her eyes
- filling suddenly with tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She died an hour ago,” said the cabman, in the same monotonous voice. “I
- thought mabbe you'd look after the baby girl for a bit, Mrs. Veniza—you
- and Paul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course!” said the woman in a choked voice. “I wanted to before, but—but
- your wife wouldn't let the wee mite out of her sight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's dead now,” said the cabman. “An hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza, the pawnbroker, crossed to the cabman's side, and, placing
- his hands on the other's shoulders, drew the man down into a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins,” he said slowly, “we're getting on in years, fifty each of us,
- and we've known each other for a good many of those fifty.” He cleared his
- throat. “You've made a mess of things, Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman, holding the baby, started suddenly forward, a red flush dyeing
- her cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Paul!” she cried out sharply. “How can you be so cruel at such an hour as
- this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The pawnbroker shook his head. He had moved to the back of the cabman's
- chair. Tall, slight, grave and kindly-faced, with high forehead and the
- dark hair beginning to silver at the temples, there seemed something
- almost esthetic about the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is <i>the</i> hour,” he said deliberately; “the one hour in which I
- must speak plainly to my old friend, the one hour that has come into his
- life which may mean everything to him.” His right hand slipped from the
- cabman's shoulder and started, tentatively, hesitantly, toward a bulge in
- the cabman's coat pocket—but was drawn back again, and found its
- place once more on the cabman's shoulder. “I was afraid, Hawkins, when you
- married the young wife. I was afraid of your curse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman's elbows were on the table; he had sunk his chin in his hands.
- His blue eyes, out of a wrinkled face of wind-beaten tan, roved around the
- little room, and rested finally on the bundle in the woman's arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's finished now,” he said dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I pray God it is,” said Paul Veniza earnestly; “but you said that before—when
- you married the young wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's finished now—so help me, God!” The cabman's lips scarcely
- moved. He stared straight in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence in the little, plainly furnished room for a moment; then
- the pawnbroker spoke again:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was born here in New York, you know, after my parents came from Italy.
- There was no money, nothing—only misery. I remember. It is like
- that, Hawkins, isn't it, where you have just come from, and where you have
- left the young wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Paul!” his wife cried out again. “How can you say such things? It—it
- is not like you!” Her lips quivered. She burst into tears, and buried her
- face in the little bundle she snuggled to her breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman seemed curiously unmoved—as though dazed, almost detached
- from his immediate surroundings. He said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The pawnbroker's hands still rested on the cabman's shoulders, a strange
- gentleness in his touch that sought somehow, it seemed, to offer sympathy
- for his own merciless words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been thinking of this for a long time, ever since we knew that
- Claire could not get better,” he said. “We knew you would bring the little
- one here. There was no other place, except an institution. And so I have
- been thinking about it. What is the little one's name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has no name,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall it be Claire, then?” asked the pawnbroker gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman's fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold of
- flesh and tightened until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. He
- nodded his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again the pawnbroker was silent for a little while.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My wife and I will take little Claire—on one condition,” he said at
- last, gravely. “And that condition is that she is to grow up as our child,
- and that, though you may come here and see her as often as you like, she
- is not to know that you are her father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman turned about a haggard face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not to know that I am her father—ever,” he said huskily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not say that,” said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, leaning
- over the cabman. “I am a pawnbroker; this is a pawn-shop. There is a way
- in which you may redeem her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman pressed a heavy hand over his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is that way?” He swallowed hard as he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By redeeming yourself.” The pawnbroker's voice was low and earnest. “What
- have you to offer her to-day, save a past that has brought only ruin and
- misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no home. There was no
- home for the young wife. You said when you married Claire, as you have
- said to-night, that it was all finished. But it was not finished. And your
- curse was the stronger. Well, little Claire is only a baby, and there
- would be years, anyhow, before just a man could take care of her. Do you
- understand, my old friend? If, at the end of those years, enough of them
- to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you have changed your life and
- overcome your weakness, then you shall have little Claire back again, and
- she shall know you as her father, and be proud of you. But if you do not
- do this, then she remains with us, and we are her parents, and you pledge
- me your word that it shall be so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying—but
- more softly now. The cabman's chin had sunk into his hands again. The
- minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and, pushing
- back his chair, stumbled to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God—God bless you both!” he whispered. “It's all finished now for
- good, as I told you, but you are right, Paul. I—I ain't fit to have
- her yet. I'll stand by the bargain.” He moved blindly toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- The pawnbroker interposed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait, Hawkins, old friend,” he said. “I'll go with you. You'll need some
- help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things that
- are to be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not to-night,” he said in a choked way. “Leave me alone to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside,
- but, following, stood bareheaded in the doorway as the other clambered to
- his perch on the hansom cab.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins slapped his reins on the roof of the cab. The horse started slowly
- forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- The drizzle had ceased; but the horse, left to his own initiative, was
- still wary of the wet pavements and moved at no greater pace than a walk.
- Hawkins drove with his coat collar still turned up and his chin on his
- breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street—and the night
- grew late.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the cabman's hand reached tentatively, hesitantly, a great many times,
- toward a bulge in his coat pocket, and for a great many times was
- withdrawn as empty as it had set forth. And then, once, his fingers
- touched a glass bottle neck... and then, not his fingers, but his lips...
- and for a great many times.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had begun to rain again.
- </p>
- <p>
- The horse, as if conscious of the futility of its own movements, had
- stopped, and, with head hanging, seemed to cower down as though seeking
- even the slender protection of the shafts, whose ends now made half
- circles above his ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something slipped from the cabman's fingers and fell with a crash to the
- pavement. The cabman leaned out from his perch and stared down at the
- shattered glass.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Broken,” said the cabman vacantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- TWENTY YEARS LATER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was silver
- light. Inside the reefs the water lay placid and still, mirroring in a
- long, shimmering line the reflection of the full tropic moon; beyond, ever
- and anon, it splashed against its coral barriers in little crystal
- showers. It was a soundless night. No breeze stirred the palms that,
- fringing white stretches of beach around the bay, stood out in serene
- beauty, their irregular tops etched with divine artistry into the sky-line
- of the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Out from the shore, in that harbor which holds no sanctuary in storm, the
- mail boat, dark save for her riding lights, swung at her moorings;
- shoreward, the perspective altered in the moonlight until it seemed that
- Mount Vaea had lowered its sturdy head that it might hover in closer
- guardianship over the little town, Apia straggled in white patches along
- the road. And from these white patches, which were dwellings and stores,
- there issued no light.
- </p>
- <p>
- From a point on the shore nearest the mail boat, a figure in cotton
- drawers and undershirt slipped silently into the water and disappeared.
- Thereafter, at intervals, a slight ripple disturbed the surface as the
- man, coming up to breathe, turned upon his back and lay with his face
- exposed; for the rest he swam under water. It was as though he were in his
- natural element. He swam superbly even where, there in the Islands, all
- the natives were born to the sea; but his face, when visible on the few
- occasions that it floated above the surface, was the face, not of a
- native, but of a white man.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now he came up in the shadow of the steamer's hull where, near the
- stern, a rope dangled over the side, almost touching the water's edge. And
- for a moment he hung to the rope, motionless, listening. Then he began to
- swarm upward with fine agility, without a sound, his bare feet finding
- silent purchase against the iron plates of the hull.
- </p>
- <p>
- Halfway up he paused and listened intently again. Was that a sound as of
- some one astir, the soft movement of feet on the deck above? No, there was
- nothing now. Why should there be? It was very late, and Nanu, the man who
- lisped, was no fool. The rope had hung from exactly that place where, of
- all others, one might steal aboard without attracting the attention of the
- watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went on again, and finally raised his head above the rail. The deck,
- flooded with moonlight, lay white and deserted below him. He swung himself
- over, dropped to the deck—and the next instant reeled back against
- the rail as a rope-end, swung with brutal force, lashed across his face,
- raising a welt from cheek to cheek. Half stunned, he was still conscious
- that a form had sprung suddenly at him from out of the darkness of the
- after alleyway, that the form was one of the vessel's mates, that the form
- still swung a short rope-end that was a murderous weapon because it was
- little more flexible than iron and was an inch in thickness, and that,
- behind this form, other forms, big forms, Tongans of the crew, pressed
- forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- A voice roared out, hoarse, profane, the mate's voice:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thought you'd try it again, did you, you damned beachcomber? I'll teach
- you! And when I find the dog that left that rope for you, I'll give him a
- leaf out of the same book! You bloody waster! I'll teach you! I'll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The rope-end hissed as it cut through the air again, aiming for the
- swimmer's face. But it missed its mark. Perhaps it was an illusion of the
- white moonlight, lending unreality to the scene, exciting the imagination
- to exaggerate the details, but the swimmer seemed to move with incredible
- speed, with the lithe, terrible swiftness of a panther in its spring. The
- rope-end swished through the air, missing a suddenly lowered head by the
- barest fraction of an inch, and then, driven home with lightning-like
- rapidity, so quick that the blows seemed as one, the swimmer's fists
- swung, right and left, crashing with terrific impact to the point of the
- mate's jaw. And the mate's head jolted back, quivered grotesquely on his
- shoulders for an instant like a tuning fork, sagged, and the great bulk of
- the man collapsed and sprawled inertly on the deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a shuffle of feet from the alleyway, cries. The swimmer swung to
- face the expected rush, and it halted, hesitant. It gave him time to
- spring and stand erect upon the steamer's rail. On the upper deck faces
- and forms began to appear. A man in pajamas leaned far out and peered at
- the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a shout from out of the dark, grouped throng in the alleyway; it
- was chorused. The rush came on again for the rail; and the dripping figure
- that stood there, with the first sound that he had made—a laugh,
- half bitter, half of cool contempt—turned, and with a clean dive
- took the water again and disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently he reached the shore. There were more than riding lights out
- there on the steamer now. He gave one glance in that direction, shrugged
- his shoulders, and started off along the road. At times he raised his hand
- to brush it across his face where the welt, raw and swollen now, was a
- dull red sear. He walked neither fast nor slow.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moonlight caught the dripping figure now and then in the open spaces,
- and seemed to peer inquisitively at the great breadth of shoulder, and the
- rippling play of muscle under the thin cotton drawers and shirt, which,
- wet and clinging, almost transparent, scarce hid the man's nakedness; and
- at the face, that of a young man, whose square jaw was locked, whose gray
- eyes stared steadily along the road, and over whose forehead, from the
- drenched, untrimmed mass of fair hair, the brine trickled in little
- rivulets as though persistent in its effort to torture with its salt
- caress the raw, skin-broken flesh across the cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then presently a point of land ran out, and, the road ignoring this, the
- bay behind was shut out from view. And presently again, farther on, the
- road came to a long white stretch of beach on the one hand, and foliage
- and trees on the other. And here the dripping figure halted and stood
- hesitant as though undecided between the moonlit stretch of sand, and the
- darkness of a native hut that was dimly outlined amongst the trees on the
- other side of the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a moment he made his way to the hut and, groping around, secured
- some matches and a box of cigarettes. He spoke into the empty blackness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You lose, Nanu,” he muttered whimsically. “They wouldn't stand water and
- I left them for you. But now, you see, I'm back again, after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lighted a cigarette, and in the flame of the match stared speculatively
- at the small, broken pieces of coral that made the floor of the hut, and
- equally, by the addition of a thin piece of native matting, his bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sand is softer,” he said with a grim drawl.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out from the hut, crossed the road, flung himself upon his back on
- the beach, and clasped his hands behind his head. The smoke from his
- cigarette curled languidly upward in wavering spirals, and he stared for a
- long time at the moon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moon madness,” he said at last. “They say if you look long enough the old
- boy does you in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cigarette finished, he flung the stub away. After a time, he raised
- his head and listened. A moment later he lay back again full length on the
- sand. The sound of some one's footsteps coming rapidly along the road from
- the direction of the town was now unmistakably audible.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The jug for mine, I guess,” observed the young man to the moon. “Probably
- a file of native constabulary in bare feet that you can't hear bringing up
- the rear!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The footsteps drew nearer, until, still some distance away, the white-clad
- figure of a man showed upon the tree-fringed road. The sprawled figure on
- the beach made no effort toward flight, and less toward concealment. With
- a sort of studied insolence injected into his challenge, he stuck another
- cigarette between his lips and deliberately allowed full play to the flare
- of the match.
- </p>
- <p>
- The footsteps halted abruptly. Then, in another moment, they crunched upon
- the sand, and a tall man, with thin, swarthy face, a man of perhaps forty
- or forty-five, who picked assiduously at his teeth with a quill toothpick,
- stood over the recumbent figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Found you, have I?” he grunted complacently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you like to put it that way,” said the young man indifferently. He
- raised himself on his elbow again, and stared toward the road. “Where's
- the army?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man allowed the point of the quill toothpick to flex and strike
- back against his teeth. The sound was distinctive. <i>Tck!</i> He ignored
- the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When the mate came out of dreamland,” he said, “he lowered a boat and
- came ashore to lay a complaint against you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't say I'm surprised,” admitted the young man. “I suppose I am to go
- with you quietly and make no trouble or it will be the worse for me—I
- believe that's the usual formula, isn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man with the quill toothpick sat down on the sand. He appeared to be
- absorbed for a moment in a contemplation of his surroundings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “These tropic nights are wonderful, aren't they? Kind of get you.” He
- plied the quill toothpick industriously. “I'm a passenger on the steamer,
- and I came ashore with the mate. He's gone back—without laying the
- complaint. There's always a way of fixing things—even injured
- feelings. One of the native boat's-crew said he knew where you were to be
- found. He's over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man sat bolt upright.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't get you,” he said slowly, “except that you are evidently not
- personifying the majesty of the law. What's the idea?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said the other, “I had three reasons for coming. The first was
- that I thought I recognized you yesterday when they threw you off the
- steamer, and was sure of it to-night when—I am a light sleeper—I
- came out on the upper deck at the sound of the row and saw you take your
- departure from the vessel for the second time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no idea,” said the young man caustically, “that I was so well
- known. Are you quite sure you haven't made a mistake?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite!” asserted the other composedly. “Of course, I am not prepared to
- say what your present name is—you may have considered a change
- beneficial—so I will not presume in that respect. But you are, or
- were, a resident of San Francisco. You were very nice people there. I have
- no knowledge of your mother, except that I understand she died in your
- infancy. A few years ago your father died and left you, not a fortune, but
- quite a moderate amount of money. I believe the pulpits designate it as a
- 'besetting sin.' You had one—gambling. The result was that you
- traveled the road a great many other young men have traveled; the only
- difference being that, in so far as I am competent to speak, you hold the
- belt for speed and all-round proficiency. You went utterly, completely and
- whole-heartedly to hell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man became absorbed again in his surroundings. “And I take it,”
- he said presently, “that in spite of the wonders of a tropic night, you are still there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have put it very delicately,” he said, with a grim smile. “I'm sorry,
- but I am obliged to confess that the recognition isn't mutual. Would you
- mind telling me who you are?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll get to that in due course,” said the other. “My second reason was
- that it appeared to me to be logical to suppose that, having once been the
- bona fide article, you could readily disguise yourself as a gentleman
- again, and your interpretation of the rôle would be beyond suspicion or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By God!” The welt across the young man's face grew suddenly white, as
- though the blood had fled from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose,
- staring levelly into the other's eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man apparently was quite undisturbed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the third reason is that I have been looking for just such a—there
- really isn't any other word—gentleman, providing he was possessed of
- another and very essential characteristic. You possess that characteristic
- in a most marked degree. Your actions tonight are unmistakable evidence
- that you have nerve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It strikes me that you've got a little of it yourself,” observed the
- young man evenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The quill toothpick under the adroit guidance of his tongue traveled from
- the left- to the right-hand side of the other's mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is equally as essential to me,” he said dryly. “You appear to fill the
- bill; but there is always the possibility of a fly in the ointment;
- complications—er—unpleasant complications, perhaps, you know,
- that might have arisen since you left San Francisco, and that might—er—complicate
- matters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man relapsed into a recumbent position upon the sand, his hands
- clasped under his head again, and in his turn appeared to be absorbed in
- the beauty of the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moon-madness!” he murmured pityingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A myth!” said the tall man promptly. “Would you mind sketching in roughly
- the details of your interesting career since you left the haunts of the
- aristocracy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't see any reason why I should.” The young man yawned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you see any reason why you shouldn't?” inquired the other composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “None,” said the young man, “except that the steamer sails at daybreak,
- and I should never forgive myself if you were left behind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor forgive yourself, perhaps, if you failed to sail on her as a
- first-class passenger,” said the tall man quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” ejaculated the young man sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It depends on the story,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I don't understand.” The young man frowned. “There's a chance for
- me to get aboard the mail boat?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It depends on the story,” said the other again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moon-mad!” murmured the young man once more, after a moment's silence.
- “But it's cheap at the price, for it's not much of a story. Beginning
- where you left off in my biography, I ducked when the crash came in San
- Francisco, and having arrived in hell, as you so delicately put it, I
- started out to explore. Mr. Dante had it right—there's no use
- stopping in the suburbs. I lived a while in his last circle. It's too bad
- he never knew the 'Frisco water-front; it would have fired his
- imagination! I'm not sure, though, but Honolulu's got a little on 'Frisco,
- at that! Luck was out. I was flat on my back when I got a chance to work
- my way out to Honolulu. One place was as good as another by then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man lit a cigarette, and stared at the glowing tip reminiscently
- with his gray eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said something about gambling,” he went on; “but you didn't say
- enough. It's a disease, a fever that sets your blood on fire, and makes
- your life kind of delirious, I guess—if you get it chronic. I guess
- I was born with it. I remember when I was a kid I—but I forgot,
- pardon me, the mail boat sails at daybreak.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go as far as you like,” said the tall man, picking at his teeth with the
- quill toothpick.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Honolulu is the next stopping place,” he said. “On the way out I picked
- up a few odd dollars from my fellow-members of the crew, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man's eyes narrowed, and his jaw set challengingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever else I've done,” he stated in a significant monotone, “I've
- never played crooked. It was on the level.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” agreed the tall man hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sat in with the only stakes I had,” said the young man, still
- monotonously. “A bit of tobacco, a rather good knife that I've got yet,
- and a belt that some one took a fancy to as being worth half a dollar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly! Of course!” reiterated the tall man in haste.
- </p>
- <p>
- The quill toothpick was silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A pal of mine, one of the stokers, said he knew of a good place to play
- in Honolulu where there was a square deal,” continued the young man; “so,
- a night or so after we reached there, we got shore leave and started off.
- Perhaps you know that part of Honolulu. I don't. I didn't see much of it.
- I know there's some queer dumps, and queer doings, and the scum of every
- nationality under the sun to run up against. And I know it was a queer
- place my mate steered me into. It was faro. The box was run by an old
- Chinaman who looked as though he were trying to impersonate one of his
- ancestors, he was so old. My mate and I formed the English-speaking
- community. There were a Jap or two, and a couple of pleasant-looking
- cutthroats who cursed in Spanish, and a Chink lying on a bunk rolling his
- pill. Oh, yes, the place stunk! Every once in a while the door opened and
- some other Godforsaken piece of refuse drifted in. By midnight we had a
- full house of pretty bad stuff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ended in a row, of course. Some fool of a tout came in chaperoning a
- party of three men, who were out to see the sights; they were passengers,
- I found out later, from one of the ships in port. I don't know what
- started the rumpus; some private feud, I guess. The first thing I knew one
- of the Spaniards had a knife out and had jumped for the tout. It was a
- free-for-all in a minute. I saw the tout go down, and he didn't look good,
- and the place suddenly struck me as a mighty unhealthy place to be found
- in on that account. The stoker and I started to fight our way through the
- jam to the door. There was a row infernal. I guess you could have heard it
- a mile away. Anyway, before we could break from the clinches, as it were,
- the police were fighting their way in just as eagerly as we were fighting
- our way out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't like the sight of that tout lying on the floor, or the thought
- of what might happen in the police court the next morning if I were one of
- the crowd to adorn the dock. And things weren't going very well. The
- police were streaming in through the doorway. And then I caught sight of
- something I hadn't seen before because it had previously been hidden by a
- big Chinese screen—one of those iron-shuttered windows they seem so
- fond of down there. Things weren't very rosy just at that moment because
- about the worst hell-cat scramble on record was being made a little worse
- by some cheerful maniac starting a bit of revolver practice, but I
- remember that I couldn't help laughing to save my soul. In the mêlée one
- of the folding wings of the screen had suddenly doubled up, and, besides
- the window, I saw hiding behind there for dear life, his face pasty-white
- with terror, a very courageous gentleman—one of the rubbernecks who
- had come in with the tout. He was too scared, I imagine, even to have the
- thought of tackling such formidable things as iron shutters enter his
- head. I yelled to the stoker to get them open, and tried to form a sort of
- rear guard for him while he did it. Then I heard them creak on their
- hinges, and heard him shout. I made a dash for it, but I wasn't quite
- quick enough. One of the policemen grabbed me, but I was playing in luck
- then. I got in a fortunate swing and he went down for the count. I
- remember toppling the screen and the man behind it over on the floor as I
- jumped sideways for the window; and I remember a glimpse of his terrorized
- face, his eyes staring at me, his mouth wide open, as I took a headlong
- dive over the window sill. The stoker picked me up, and we started on the
- run.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The police were scrambling through the window after us. I didn't need to
- be told that there wouldn't be a happy time ahead if I were caught. Apart
- from that tout who, though I had nothing to do with it, gave the affair a
- very serious aspect, I was good for the limit on the statute books for
- resisting arrest in the first place, and for knocking out an officer in
- the second. But the stoker knew his way about. We gave the police the
- slip, and a little later on we landed up in a sailors' boarding-house run
- by a one-eyed cousin of Satan, known as Lascar Joe. We lay there hidden
- while the tout got better, and the Spanish hidalgo got sent up for a long
- term for murderous assault. Finally Lascar Joe slipped the stoker aboard
- some ship; and a week or so later he slipped me, the transfer being made
- in the night, aboard a frowsy tramp, bound for New Zealand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man paused, evidently inviting comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on,” prompted the man with the quill toothpick softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There isn't very much more,” said the young man. He laughed shortly. “As
- far as I know I'm the sole survivor from that tramp. She never got to New
- Zealand; and that's how I got here to Samoa. She went down in a hurricane.
- I was washed ashore on one of this group of islands about forty or fifty
- miles from here. I don't know much about the details; I was past knowing
- anything when the bit of wreckage on which I had lashed myself days before
- came to port. There weren't any—I was going to say white people on
- the island, but I'm wrong about that. The Samoans are about the whitest
- people on God's green earth. I found that out. There were only natives on
- that island. I lived with them for about two months, and I got to be
- pretty friendly with them, especially the old fellow who originally picked
- me up half drowned and unconscious on the beach, and who took me into the
- bosom of his family. Then the missionary boat came along, and I came back
- with it to Apia here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man laughed again suddenly, a jarring note in his mirth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't suppose you've heard that original remark about the world being
- such a small place after all! I figured that back here in Apia a
- shipwrecked and destitute white man would get the glad hand and at least a
- chance to earn his stake. Maybe he would ordinarily; but I didn't. I
- hadn't said anything to the missionary about that Honolulu escapade, and I
- was keeping it dark when I got here and started to tell the shipwreck end
- of my story over again. Queer, isn't it? Lined up in about the first
- audience I had was the gentleman with the pasty face that I had toppled
- over with the screen in the old Chink's faro dump. He was one of the big
- guns here, and had been away on a pleasure trip, and Honolulu had been on
- his itinerary. That settled it. The missionary chap spoke up a bit for me,
- I'll give him credit for that, though I had a hunch he was going to use
- that play as an opening wedge in an effort to reform me later on. But I
- had my fingers crossed. The whites here turned their backs on me, and I
- turned my back on the missionary. That's about all there was to it. That
- was about two weeks ago, and for those two weeks I've lived in another of
- Mr. Dante's delightful circles.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat suddenly upright, a clenched fist flung outward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a cent! Not a damned sou-marquee! Nothing but this torn shirt, and
- what's left of these cotton pants! Hell!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lay back on the sand quite as suddenly again, and fell to laughing
- softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But at that,” said the young man, “I'm not sure you could call me a
- cynic, though the more I see of my own breed as compared with the
- so-called heathen the less I think of—my own breed! I still had a
- card up my sleeve. I had a letter of introduction to a real gentleman and
- landed proprietor here. His name was Nanu, and he gave me his house to
- live in, and made me free of his taro and his breadfruit and all his
- worldly possessions; and it was the old native who took care of me on the
- other island that gave me the letter. It was a queer sort of letter, too—but
- never mind that now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Splendid isolation! That's me for the last two weeks as a cross between a
- pariah and a mangy cur! What amazes me most is myself. The gentleman of
- the Chinese screen is still in the land of the living and walking blithely
- around. Funny, isn't it? That's one reason I was crazy to get away—before
- anything happened to him.” The tanned fist closed fiercely over a handful
- of sand, then opened and allowed the grains to trickle slowly through the
- fingers, and its owner laughed softly again. “I've lived through hell here
- in those two weeks. I guess we're only built to stand so much. I was about
- at the end of my rope when the mail steamer put in yesterday. I hope I
- haven't idealized my sojourn here in a way that would cause you to
- minimize my necessity for getting away, no matter to where or by what
- means! Nanu and I went out to the ship in his outrigger. Perhaps I would
- have had better luck if I had run into any other than the particular mate
- I did. I don't know. I offered to work my passage. Perhaps my fame had
- already gone abroad—or aboard. He invited me to make another
- excursion into Dante-land. But when he turned his back on me I slipped
- below, and tucked myself in behind some of the copra sacks they were
- loading. Once the steamer was away I was away with her, and I was willing
- to take what was coming. But I didn't get a chance. I guess the mate was
- sharper than I gave him credit for. After about four hours of heat and
- stink down there below decks that I had to grit my teeth to stand, he
- hauled me out as though he knew I had been there all the time. I was
- thrown off the steamer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I wasn't through. Steamers do not call here every day. I wonder if
- you'll know what I mean when I say I was beginning to be afraid of myself
- and what might happen if I had to stick it out much longer? That mangy cur
- I spoke of had me lashed to the mast from a social standpoint. I tried it
- again—to-night. Nanu fixed it for me with one of the crew to hang
- that rope over the side, and—well, I believe you said you had seen
- what happened. I believe you said, too, that a chance still existed of my
- sailing with the mail boat, depending upon my story.” He laughed a little
- raucously. “I hope it's been interesting enough to bail me out; anyway,
- that's all of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man sat for a moment in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said at last; “I am quite satisfied. Dressed as a gentleman,
- with money in your pockets, and such other details as go with the rôle,
- you would never be associated with that affair in Honolulu. As a matter of
- fact your share in it was not so serious that the police would dog you all
- over the world on account of it. In other words, and what really interests
- me, is that you are not what is commonly designated as a 'wanted' man.
- Yes, I may say I am thoroughly satisfied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man yawned and stretched himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm delighted to hear it. I haven't any packing to do. Shall we stroll
- back to the ship?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope so.” The quill toothpick was busy again. “The decision rests with
- you. I am not a philanthropist. I am about to offer you a situation—to
- fill which I have been searching a good many years to find some one who
- had the necessary qualifications. I am satisfied you are that man. You do
- not know me; you do not know my name, and though you have already asked
- what it is, I shall still withhold that information until your decision
- has been given. If you agree, I will here and now sign a contract with you
- to which we will both affix our bona fide signatures; if you refuse, we
- will shake hands and part as friends and strangers who have been—shall
- we use your expression?—moon-mad under the influence of the wonders
- of a tropic night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something tells me,” said the young man softly, “that the situation is
- not an ordinary one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you are right,” replied the other quietly. “It is not only not
- ordinary, but is, I think I may safely say, absolutely unique and without
- its counterpart. I might mention in passing that I am not in particularly
- good health, and the sea voyage I was ordered to take explains my presence
- here. I am the sole owner of one of the largest, if not the largest,
- business enterprises in America; certainly its turn-over, at least, is
- beyond question the biggest on the American continent. I have
- establishments in every city of any size in both the United States and
- Canada—and even in Mexico. The situation I offer you is that of my
- confidential representative. No connection whatever will be known to exist
- between us; your title will be that of a gentleman of leisure—but
- your duties will be more arduous. I regret to say that in many cases I
- fear my local managers are not—er—making accurate returns to
- me, and they are very hard to check up. I would require you to travel from
- place to place as a sort of, say, secret inspector of branches, and
- furnish me with the inside information from the lack of which my business
- at present, I am afraid, is suffering severely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that business?” The young man had raised himself to his elbow on the
- sand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The one that is nearest to your heart,” said the tall man calmly.
- “Gambling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man leaned slowly forward, staring at the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if I quite get you?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure you do.” The tall man smiled. “My business is a chain of select
- and exclusive gambling houses where only high play is indulged in, and
- whose clientele is the richest in the land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man rose to his feet, walked a few steps away along the beach,
- and came back again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're devilishly complimentary!” he flung out, with a short laugh. “As I
- understand it, then, the price I am to pay for getting away from here is
- the pawning of my soul?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you anything else to pawn?” inquired the other—and the quill
- toothpick punctuated the remark: “Tck!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the young man, with a twisted smile. “And I'm not sure I've got
- that left! I am beginning to have a suspicion that it was in your 'branch'
- at San Francisco that I lost my money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did,” said the other coolly. “That is how I came to know you. Though
- not personally in evidence in the 'house' itself, San Francisco is my
- home, and my information as to what goes on there at least is fairly
- accurate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man resumed his pacing up and down the sand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I might add,” said the tall man after a moment, “that from a point of
- ethics I see little difference in the moral status between one who comes
- to gamble and one who furnishes the other with the opportunity to do so.
- You are perhaps hesitating to take the hurdle on that account?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moral status!” exclaimed the young man sharply. He halted abruptly before
- the other. “No—at least I am not a hypocrite! What right have I to
- quarrel with moral status?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, then,” said the other; “I will go farther. I will give you
- everything in life that you desire. You will live as a gentleman of wealth
- surrounded by every luxury that money can procure, for that is your rôle.
- You may gamble to your heart's content, ten, twenty, fifty thousand a
- night—in my houses. You will travel the length and breadth of
- America. I will pay every expense. There is nothing that you may not have,
- nothing that you may not do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man was silent for a full minute then, with his hands dug in his
- pockets, he fell to whistling under his breath very softly—but very
- deliberately.
- </p>
- <p>
- An almost sinister smile spread over the tall man's lips as he listened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I am not mistaken,” he observed dryly, “that is the aria from Faust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the young man—and stared the other in the eye. “It is
- the aria from Faust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man nodded—but now his lips were straight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I accept the rôle of Mephistopheles, then,” he said softly. “Doctor
- Faustus, you know, signed the bond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man squatted on the sand again. His face was curiously white;
- only the ugly welt, dull red, across his cheeks, like the mark of some
- strange branding-iron, held color.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, draw it!” he said shortly. “And be damned to you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man took a notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket. He wrote
- rapidly, tore out the leaf, and on a second leaf made a copy of the first.
- This, too, he tore out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will read it,” he said. “You will observe that no names are mentioned;
- that I have still reserved the privilege of keeping my identity in
- abeyance until the document is signed. This is what I have written: <i>For
- good and valid consideration the second signatory to this contract hereby
- enters unreservedly into the employ of the first signatory for a period
- which shall include the lifetime of one or other of the undersigned, or
- until such time as this agreement may be dissolved either by mutual
- consent or at the will of the first signatory alone. And the first
- signatory to this contract agrees to maintain the second signatory in a
- station in life commensurate with that of a gentleman of wealth
- irrespective of expense, and further to pay to the second signatory as a
- stated salary the sum of one thousand dollars a month.</i>” He looked up.
- “Shall I sign?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Body and soul,” murmured the young man. He appeared to be fascinated with
- the restless movement of the quill toothpick in the other's mouth. “Have
- you another toothpick you could let me have?” he inquired casually.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man mechanically thrust his fingers into his vest pocket; and
- then, as though but suddenly struck with the irrelevancy, and perhaps
- facetiousness, of the request, frowned as he found himself handing over
- the article in question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I sign?” His tone was sterner. “It is understood that the
- signatures are to be bona fide and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sign it. It is quite understood.” The young man spoke without
- looking up. He seemed to be engrossed in carefully slitting the point of
- the quill toothpick he had acquired with his knife.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other signed both sheets from the notebook.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man accepted the two slips of paper, but refused the proffered
- fountain pen. In the moonlight he read the other's signature: Gilbert
- Larmon. His lips tightened a little. It was a big name in San Francisco, a
- name of power. Few dreamed perhaps where the sinews of that power came
- from! He drew from his pocket a small bottle, uncorked it, dipped in the
- quill toothpick, and with his improvised pen wrote with a rasping,
- spluttering noise beneath the other's signature on each of the two slips
- of paper. One of these slips he returned to the other—but beneath
- the tall man's signature there was no mark of any kind whatever.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through narrowing eyes the tall man had been watching, and now his face
- darkened ominously, and there was something of deadly coolness in his
- voice as he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What tomfoolery is this?” he demanded evenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; it's quite all right,” said the young man placidly. “Just a whim of
- mine. I can't seem to get that Doctor Faustus thing out of my head.
- According to the story, I think, he signed in a drop of blood—and I
- thought I'd carry a sort of analogy along a bit. That stuff's all right. I
- got it from my old native friend on that island I was telling you about.
- It's what my letter of introduction to Nanu was written with. And—well,
- at least, I guess it stands for the drop of blood, all right! Take it down
- there to the shore and dip that part of the paper in the salt water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall man made no answer. For a moment he remained staring with
- grim-set features at the other, then he got up, walked sharply to the
- water's edge, and, bending down, moistened the lower portion of the paper.
- He held it up to the moonlight. Heavy black letters were slowly taking
- form just beneath his own signature. Presently he walked back up the beach
- to the young man, and held out his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us get back to the ship—John Bruce,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER ONE—ALADDIN'S LAMP
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE,
- stretched at full length on a luxurious divan in the most sumptuous
- apartment of the Bayne-Miloy, New York's newest and most pretentious
- hostelry, rose suddenly to his feet and switched off the lights. The same
- impulse carried him in a few strides to the window. The night was still,
- and the moon rode high and full. It was the same moon that, three months
- ago, he had stared at from the flat of his back on the beach at Apia. A
- smile, curiously tight, and yet curiously whimsical, touched his lips. If
- it had been “moon-madness” that had fallen upon the gambler king and
- himself that night, it had been a madness that was strangely free in its
- development from hallucination! That diagnosis no longer held. It would be
- much more apposite to lay it bluntly to the door of—Mephistopheles!
- From the moment he had boarded the mail steamer he had lived as a man
- possessed of unlimited wealth, as a man with unlimited funds always in his
- possession or at his instant command.
- </p>
- <p>
- He whistled softly. It was, though, if not moon-madness, perhaps the moon,
- serene and full up there as it had been that other night, which he had
- been watching from the divan a few moments before, that had sent his mind
- scurrying backward over those intervening months. And yet, perhaps not;
- for there would come often enough, as now, moments of mind groping, yes,
- even the sense of hallucination, when he was not quite sure but that a
- certain bubble, floating at one moment in dazzlingly iridescent beauty
- before his eyes, would dissolve the next into blank nothingness, and——
- Well, what would it be then? Another beach at some Apia, until another
- Mephistopheles, in some other guise, came to play up against his rôle of
- Doctor Faustus again?
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked sharply behind him around the darkened room, whose darkness did
- not hide its luxury. His shoulder brushed the heavy silken portière at his
- side; his fingers touched a roll of banknotes in his pocket, a generous
- roll, whose individual units were of denominations more generous still.
- These were realities!
- </p>
- <p>
- Mephistopheles at play! He had left Larmon at Suva, Fiji. Thereafter,
- their ways and their lives lay apart—outwardly. Actually, even here
- in New York with the continent between them, for Larmon had resumed his
- life in which he played the rôle of a benevolent and retired man of wealth
- in San Francisco, they were in constant and extremely intimate touch with
- each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- A modern Mephistopheles! Two men only in the world knew Gilbert Larmon for
- what he was! One other besides himself! And that other was a man named
- Maldeck, Peter Maldeck. But only one man knew him, John Bruce, in his new
- rôle, and that was Gilbert Larmon. Maldeck was the manager of the entire
- ring of gambling houses, and likewise the clearing house through which the
- profits flowed into Larmon's coffers; but to Maldeck, he, John Bruce, was
- exactly what he appeared to be to the world at large, and to the local
- managers of the gambling houses in particular—a millionaire plunger
- to whom gambling was as the breath of life. The “inspector of branches”
- dealt with Gilbert Larmon alone, and dealt confidentially and secretively
- over Maldeck's head—even that invisible writing fluid supplied by
- the old Samoan Islander playing its part when found necessary, for it had
- been agreed between Larmon and himself that even the most innocent
- appearing document received from him, John Bruce, should be subjected to
- the salt water test; and he had, indeed, already used it in several of the
- especially confidential reports that he had sent Larmon on some of the
- branches.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders. The whole scheme of his changed existence had
- all been artfully simple—and superbly efficient. He was under no
- necessity to explain the source of his wealth except in his native city,
- San Francisco, where he was known—and San Francisco was outside his
- jurisdiction. With both Larmon and Maldeck making that their headquarters,
- other supervision of the local “branch” was superfluous; elsewhere, his
- wealth was inherited—that was all. So, skipping San Francisco, he
- had come leisurely eastward, gambling for a week or two weeks, as the case
- might be, in the various cities, following as guidance apparently but the
- whim of his supposedly roué inclinations, and he had lost a lot of money—which
- would eventually find its way back to its original source in the pockets
- of Gilbert Larmon, via the clearing house conducted by Peter Maldeck. It
- was extremely simple—but, equally, extremely systematic. The
- habitues of every branch were carefully catalogued. He had only—and
- casually—to make the acquaintance of one of these in each city, and,
- in turn, quite inevitably, would follow an introduction to the local
- “house”; and, once introduced, the entrée, then or on any subsequent visit
- to that city, was an established fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce laughed suddenly, softly, out into the night. It had been a
- good bargain that he had made with Mephistopheles! Wealth, luxury,
- everything he desired in life was his. On the trail behind him in the
- cities he had already visited he had nightly lost or won huge sums of
- money until he had become known as the millionaire plunger. It was quite
- true that, in as much as the money, whether lost or won, but passed from
- his right- to his left-hand pocket—the pockets being represented by
- one Gilbert Larmon—the gambler craving within him was but ill
- served, almost in a sense mocked; but that phase of it had sunk into
- insignificance. The whole idea was a gigantic gamble—a gamble with
- life. The whole fabric was of texture most precarious. It exhilarated him.
- Excitement, adventure, yes, even peril, beckoned alluringly and always
- from around the corner just ahead. He stood against the police; he stood a
- very excellent chance of being discovered some morning minus his life if
- the men he was set to watch, and who now fawned upon him and treated him
- with awe and an unholy admiration, should get an inkling of his real
- identity and his real purpose in their houses!
- </p>
- <p>
- He yawned, and as though glorying in his own strength flexed his great
- shoulders, and stretched his arms to their full length above his head.
- God, it was life! It made of him a superman. He had no human ties to bind
- him; no restraint to know; no desire that could not be satiated. The past
- was wiped away. It was like some reincarnation in which he stood supreme
- above his fellow men, and they bowed to their god. And he was their god.
- And if he but nodded approval they would lie, and cheat, and steal, and
- commit murder in their greed of worship, they whose souls were in pawn to
- their god!
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned suddenly from the window, switched on the lights, drew from his
- pocket a great sum of money in banknotes, and stood staring at it. There
- were thousands in his hand. Thousands and thousands! Money! The one
- universally-orthodox god! For but one of these pieces of paper in his hand
- he could command what he would, play upon human passions at his whim, and
- like puppets on a stage of his own setting move the followers of the Great
- Creed, that were numbered in their millions, at his will! It was only over
- the few outcasts, the unbelievers, that he held no sway. But he could
- afford to ignore the minority! Was he not indeed a god?
- </p>
- <p>
- And it had cost him nothing. Only the pawning of his soul; and, like
- Faustus, the day of settlement was afar off. Only the signing of a bond
- that postulated a denial of what he had already beforehand held in light
- esteem—a code of canting morals. It was well such things were out of
- the way! Life stretched the fuller, the rosier, the more red-blooded
- before him on that account. He was well content. The future lured him. Nor
- was it money alone. There was the spice of adventure, the battle of wits,
- hardly inaugurated yet, between himself and those whose underground
- methods were the <i>raison d'être</i> of his own magically enhanced
- circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce replaced the money in his pocket abruptly, and frowned. That
- was something, from still another standpoint, which he could not afford to
- lose sight of. He had to justify his job. Gilbert Larmon had stated that
- he was not a philanthropist, and it was written in the bond that Larmon
- could terminate the agreement at will. Yes, and that was queer, too! What
- kind of a man was Larmon? He knew Larmon, as Larmon superficially
- subjected himself to inspection and speculation; but he was fully aware
- that he did not know Larmon the man. There seemed something almost
- sinister in its inconsistency that Larmon should at one and the same time
- reserve the right to terminate that bond at will while his very signature
- upon it furnished a weapon which, if he, John Bruce, chose to use it,
- placed the other at his mercy. What kind of a man was Larmon? No fool, no
- weakling—that was certain. And yet at a word he, John Bruce, could
- tear the other from the pseudorighteous pedestal upon which he posed,
- strip the other naked of the garments that clothed his criminal
- activities, and destroy utterly the carefully reared structure of
- respectability that Larmon had built up around himself. It might be very
- true that he, John Bruce, would never use such a weapon, even under
- provocation; but Larmon could not be sure of that. How then did Larmon
- reconcile his reservation to terminate the contract at will and yet
- furnish his co-signatory with the means of black-mailing him into a
- continuance of it? What kind of a man was Larmon? What would he be like
- with his back to the wall? What <i>other</i> reservation had been in
- Larmon's mind when he had drawn that bond?
- </p>
- <p>
- And then a queer and bitter smile came to John Bruce's lips. The god of
- money! Was he so sure that he was the god and not the worshiper? Was that
- it? Was that what Larmon counted upon?—that only a fool would risk
- the sacrifice of the Aladdin's lamp that had been thrust into his hands,
- and that only a fool but would devote body and soul to Larmon's interests
- under the circumstances!
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile grew whimsical. It was complimentary in a sense. It was based on
- the premise that he, John Bruce, was not a fool. He shrugged his
- shoulders. Well, therein Larmon was right. It would not be his, John
- Bruce's, fault if anything short of death terminated the bond which had
- originated that tropic night on the moon-lit beach in Samoa three months
- ago!
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. It was still early for play;
- but it was not so early that his arrival in the New York “branch,” where
- he had been a constant visitor for the last four nights, could possibly
- arouse any suspicion, and one's opportunities for inside observation were
- very much better when the play was desultory and but few present than in
- the crowded rooms of the later hours.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I were in England now,” said John Bruce, addressing the chandelier, as
- he put on a light coat over his evening clothes, “I couldn't get away with
- this without a man to valet me—and at times, though he might be
- useful, he might be awkward. Damned awkward! But in America you do, or you
- don't, as you please—and I don't!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWO—THE MILLIONAIRE PLUNGER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE left the
- hotel and entered a taxi. A little later, in that once most fashionable
- section of New York, in the neighborhood of Gramercy Square, he was
- admitted to a stately mansion by a white-haired negro butler, who bowed
- obsequiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thereafter, for a little while, John Bruce wandered leisurely from room to
- room in the magnificently appointed house, where in the rich carpets the
- sound of footsteps was lost, where bronzes and paintings, exquisite in
- their art, charmed the eye, where soft-toned draperies and portières were
- eloquent of refinement and good taste; he paused for a moment at the
- threshold of the supper room, whose table was a profusion of every
- delicacy to tempt the palate, where wines of a vintage that was almost
- priceless were to be had at no greater cost than the effort required to
- lift a beckoning finger to the smiling ebony face of old Jake, the
- attendant. And here John Bruce extended a five-dollar bill, but shook his
- head as the said Jake hastened toward him. Later, perhaps, he might
- revisit the room—when a few hours' play had dimmed the recollection
- of his recent dinner, and his appetite was again sharpened.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the card rooms there were, as yet, scarcely any “guests.” He chatted
- pleasantly with the “dealers”—John Bruce, the millionaire plunger,
- was <i>persona grata</i>, almost effusively so, everywhere in the house.
- Lavergne, the manager, as Parisian as he was immaculate from the tips of
- his patent-leathers to the tips of his waxed mustache, joined him; and for
- ten minutes, until the other was called away, John Bruce proceeded to
- nourish the already extremely healthy germ of intimacy that, from the
- first meeting, he had planted between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the manager's million apologies for the unpardonable act of tearing
- himself away still sounding in his ears, John Bruce placidly resumed his
- wanderings. The New York “branch,” which being interpreted meant Monsieur
- Henri de Lavergne, the exquisite little manager, was heavily underscored
- on Gilbert Larmon's black-list!
- </p>
- <p>
- The faint, musical whir of the little ivory ball from the roulette table
- caught John Bruce's attention, and he strolled in that direction. Here a
- “guest” was already at play. The croupier smiled as John Bruce approached
- the table. John Bruce smiled pleasantly in return, and sat down. After a
- moment, he began to make small five-dollar bets on the “red.” His
- fellow-player was plunging heavily—and losing. Also, the man was
- slightly under the influence of liquor. The croupier's voice droned
- through half a dozen plays. John Bruce continued to make five-dollar bets.
- The little by-play interested him. He knew the signs.
- </p>
- <p>
- His fellow-player descended to the supper room for another drink, it being
- against the rules of the house to serve anything in the gambling rooms.
- The croupier laughed as he glanced at the retreating figure and then at
- another five-dollar bet that John Bruce pushed upon the “red.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll rob you of your reputation, Mr. Bruce, if you don't look out!” the
- croupier smiled quizzically. “Are you finding a thrill in playing the
- minimum for a change?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just feeling my way.” John Bruce returned the smile. “It's a bit early
- yet, isn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The other player returned. He continued to bet heavily. He made another
- excursion below stairs. Other “guests” drifted into the room, and the play
- became more general.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce increased his stakes slightly, quite indifferent naturally as
- to whether he lost or won—since he could neither lose nor win. He
- was sitting beside the player he had originally joined at the table, and
- suddenly his interest in the other became still more enlivened. The man,
- after a series of disastrous plays, was palpably broke, for he snatched
- off a large diamond ring from his finger and held it out to the croupier.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me—hic!—somethin' on that,” he hiccoughed. “Might as
- well make a clean-up, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The croupier took the ring, examined it critically for an instant, and
- handed it back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry,” he said; “but you know the rules of the house. I couldn't
- advance anything on it if it were worth a million. But the stone's
- valuable, all right. You'd better take a trip to Persia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man replaced the ring with some difficulty upon his finger, and stared
- owlishly at the croupier.
- </p>
- <p>
- “T' hell with your—hic!—trip to Persia!” he said thickly.
- “Don't like Persia! Been—hic!—there before! Guess I'll go
- home!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man negotiated his way to the door; the game went on. John Bruce began
- to increase his stakes materially. A trip to Persia! What, exactly, did
- that mean? It both piqued his curiosity and stirred his suspicions. He
- smiled as he placed a heavy stake upon the table. It would probably be a
- much more expensive trip to this fanciful Persia than to the Persia of
- reality, for it seemed that one must go broke first! Well, he would go
- broke—though it would require some little finesse for John Bruce,
- the millionaire plunger, to attain that envious situation without exciting
- suspicion. He was very keenly interested in this personally conducted
- tour, obviously inaugurated by that exquisite little man, Monsieur Paul de
- Lavergne!
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce to his inward chagrin—won. He began to play now with a
- zest, eagerness and excitement which, heretofore, the juggling of
- Mephistopheles' money had deprived him of. Outwardly, however, the calm
- impassiveness that, in the few evenings he had been in the house, had
- already won him the reputation of being par excellence a cool and nervy
- plunger, remained unchanged.
- </p>
- <p>
- He continued to win for a while; and then suddenly he began to lose. This
- was much better! He lost steadily now. He staked with lavish hand, playing
- numerous long chances for the limit at every voyage of the clicking little
- ivory ball. Finally, the last of his visible assets were on the table, and
- he leaned forward to watch the fall of the ball. He was already fingering
- the magnificent jeweled watch-fob that dangled from the pocket of his
- evening clothes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Zero!” announced the croupier.
- </p>
- <p>
- The “zero” had been one of his selections. The “zero” paid 35 for 1.
- </p>
- <p>
- A subdued ripple of excitement went up from around the table. The room was
- filling up. The still-early comers, mostly spectators for the time being,
- lured to the roulette table at the whisper that the millionaire plunger
- was out to-night to break the bank, were whetting their own appetites in
- the play of Mr. John Bruce, who had obviously just escaped being broke
- himself by a very narrow margin.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce smiled. He was in funds again—more so than pleased him!
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a 'zero' night, Mr. Croupier,” observed John Bruce pleasantly. “Roll
- her again!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But now luck was with John Bruce. The “zero” and his other combinations
- were as shy and elusive as fawns. At the expiration of another half hour
- the net result of John Bruce's play consisted in his having transferred
- from his own keeping into the keeping of the New York branch thirty
- thousand dollars of Mephistopheles' money. He was to all appearances
- flagrantly broke as far as funds in his immediate possession were
- concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess,” said John Bruce, with a whimsical smile, “that I didn't bring
- enough with me. I don't know where I can get any more to-night, and—oh,
- here!” He laughed with easy grace, as he suddenly tossed his jeweled
- watch-fob to the croupier. “One more fling anyhow—I've still
- unbounded faith in 'zero'! Let me have a thousand on that. It's worth
- about two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The croupier, as on the previous occasion, examined the article, but, as
- before, shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bruce, but it's strictly against the rules of the
- house,” he said apologetically. “I can fix it for you easily enough
- though, if you care to take a trip to Persia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A trip to Persia?” inquired John Bruce in a puzzled way. “I think I heard
- you suggest that before this evening. What's the idea?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some of those around the table were smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all right,” volunteered a player opposite, with a laugh. “Only look
- out for the conductor!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shoot!” said John Bruce nonchalantly. “That's good enough! You can book
- my passage, Mr. Croupier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The croupier called an attendant, spoke to him, and the man left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will take a few minutes, Mr. Bruce—while you are getting your
- hat and coat. The doorman will let you know,” said the croupier, and with
- a bow to John Bruce resumed the interrupted game.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce strolled from the room, and descended to the lower floor. He
- entered the supper room, and while old Jake plied him with delicacies he
- saw the doorman emerge from the telephone booth out in the hall, hurry
- away, and presently return, talking earnestly with Monsieur Henri de
- Lavergne. The manager, in turn, entered the booth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Monsieur Henri de Lavergne came into the supper room after a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In just a few minutes, Mr. Bruce—there will be a slight delay,” he
- said effusively. “Too bad to keep you waiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all!” responded John Bruce. He held a wine glass up to the light.
- “This is very excellent, Monsieur de Lavergne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Monsieur Henri de Lavergne accepted the compliment with a gratified bow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Bruce is very kind to say so,” he said—and launched into an
- elaborate apology that Mr. Bruce should be put to any inconvenience to
- obtain the financial accommodation asked for. The security that Mr. Bruce
- offered was unquestioned. It was not that. It was the rule of the house.
- Mr. Bruce would understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Bruce understood perfectly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so!” he said cordially.
- </p>
- <p>
- Monsieur Henri de Lavergne excused himself, and left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A fishy, clever little crook,” confided John Bruce to himself. “I wonder
- what's the game?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He continued to sip his wine in apparent indifference to the passing
- minutes, nor was his indifference altogether assumed. His mind was quite
- otherwise occupied. It was rather neat, that—a trip to Persia. The
- expression in itself held a lure which had probably not been overlooked as
- an asset. It suggested Bagdad, and the Arabian Nights, and a Caliph and a
- Grand Vizier who stalked about in disguise. On the other hand, the
- inebriated gentleman had evidently had his fill of it on one occasion, and
- would have no more of it. And the other gentleman who had, as it were,
- indorsed the proceeding, had, at the same time, taken the occasion to
- throw out a warning to beware of the conductor.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce smiled pleasantly into his wine glass. Not very difficult to
- fathom, perhaps, after all! It was probably some shrewd old reprobate with
- usurious rates in cahoots with the sleek Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, who
- made a side-split on the said rates in return for the exclusive privilege
- accorded the other of acting as leech to the guests of the house when in
- extremity.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had been perhaps twenty minutes since he had left the roulette table.
- He looked at his watch now as he saw the doorman coming toward the supper
- room with his hat and coat. The night was still early. It was a quarter to
- eleven.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yassuh,” said the gray-haired and obsequious old darky, as he assisted
- John Bruce into his coat, “if yo'all will just come with me, Mistuh Bruce,
- yo'all will be 'commodated right prompt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce followed his guide to the doorstep.
- </p>
- <p>
- The darky pointed to a closed motor car at the curb by the corner, a few
- houses away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yo'all just say 'Persia' to the shuffer, Mistuh Bruce, and———-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” John Bruce smiled his interruption, and went down the steps
- to the sidewalk.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce approached the waiting car leisurely, scrutinizing it the
- while; and as he approached, it seemed to take on more and more the aspect
- of a venerable and decrepit ark. The body of the car was entirely without
- light; the glass front, if there were one, behind the man whom he
- discerned sitting in the chauffeur's seat, was evidently closely
- curtained; and so, too, he now discovered as he drew nearer, were the
- windows and doors of the car as well.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The parlor looks a little ominous,” said John
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce softly to himself. “I wonder how far it is to the spider's dining
- room?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He halted as he reached the vehicle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm bound for Persia, I believe,” he suggested pleasantly to the
- chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- The chauffeur leaned out, and John Bruce was conscious that he was
- undergoing a critical inspection. In turn he looked at the chauffeur, but
- there was very little light. The car seemed to have chosen a spot as
- little disturbed by the rays of the street lamps as possible, and he
- gained but a vague impression of a red, weather-beaten face, clean shaved,
- with shaggy brows under grizzled hair, the whole topped by an equally
- weather-beaten felt hat of nondescript shape and color.
- </p>
- <p>
- The inspection, on the chauffeur's part at least, appeared to be
- satisfactory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the man. “Step in, sir, please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door swung open—just how, John Bruce could not have explained.
- He stepped briskly into the car—only to draw back instinctively as
- he found it already occupied. But the door had closed behind him. It was
- inky black in the interior now with the door shut. The car was jolting
- into motion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me!” said John Bruce a little grimly, and sat down on the back
- seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- A woman! He had just been able to make out a woman's form as he had
- stepped in. It was clever—damned clever! Of both the exquisite
- Monsieur Henri de Lavergne and the money-lending spider at the other end
- of this pleasant little jaunt into unexplored Persia! A woman in it—a
- luring, painted, fair and winsome damsel, no doubt—to make the
- usurious pill of illegal interest a little sweeter! Oh, yes, he quite
- understood now that warning to beware of the conductor!
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not anticipate such charming company,” said John Bruce facetiously.
- “Have we far to go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something like a shadow, deeper than the surrounding blackness, seemed to
- pass before John Bruce's eyes, and then he sat bolt upright, startled and
- amazed. In front of him, let down from the roof of the car, was a small
- table covered with black velvet, and suspended some twelve inches above
- the table, throwing the glow downward in a round spot of light over the
- velvet surface, was a shaded electric lamp. A small white hand, bare of
- any ornament, palm upward, lay upon the velvet table-top under the play of
- the light.
- </p>
- <p>
- A voice spoke now softly from beside him:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have something to pawn?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stared. He still could not see her face. “Er—yes,” he
- said. He frowned in perplexity. “When we get to Persia, alias the
- pawn-shop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is the pawn-shop,” she answered. “Let me see what you have, please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm da——” John Bruce checked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a delicacy about that white hand resting there under the light
- that rebuked him. “Er—pardon me,” said John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt for his jeweled watch-fob, unfastened it, and laid it in the
- extended palm. He laughed a little to himself. On with the game! The lure
- was here, all right; the stage setting was masterly—and now the
- piper would be paid on a basis, probably, that would relegate Shylock
- himself to the kindergarten class of money lenders!
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, suddenly, it seemed to John Bruce as though his blood whipping
- through his veins was afire. A face in profile, bending forward to examine
- the diamonds and the setting of the fob-pendant, came under the light. He
- gazed at it fascinated. It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
- His eyes drank in the rich masses of brown, silken hair, the perfect
- throat, the chin and lips that, while modelled in sweet womanliness, were
- still eloquent of self-reliance and strength. He had thought to see a
- pretty face, a little brazen perhaps, and artfully powdered and rouged;
- what he saw was a vision of loveliness that seemed to personify the
- unsullied, God-given freshness and purity of youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke involuntarily; no power of his could have kept back the words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God, you are wonderful!” he exclaimed in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw the color swiftly tinge the throat a coral pink, and mount upwards;
- but she did not look at him. Her eyes! He wanted to see her eyes—to
- look into them! But she did not turn her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You probably paid two thousand dollars for this,” she said quietly, “and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nineteen hundred,” corrected John Bruce mechanically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will allow you seventeen hundred on it, then,” she said, still quietly.
- “The interest will be at seven per cent. Do you wish to accept the offer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Seventeen hundred! Seven per cent! It was in consonance with the vision!
- His mind was topsy-turvy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is very liberal,” said John Bruce, trying to control his voice. “Of
- course, I accept.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The shapely head nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her spellbound. The watch-fob had vanished, and in its place
- now under the little conical shaft of light she was swiftly counting out a
- pile of crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes. To these she added a stamped
- and numbered ticket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may redeem the pledge at any time by making application to the same
- person to whom you originally applied for a loan to-night,” she said, as
- she handed him the money. “Please count it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her head was in shadow now. He could no longer even see her profile. She
- was sitting back in her corner of the car.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I am quite satisfied,” said John Bruce a little helplessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please count it,” she insisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a shrug of protest, John Bruce obeyed her. It was not at all the
- money that concerned him, nor the touch of it that was quickening his
- pulse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is quite correct,” he said, putting money and ticket in his pocket. He
- turned toward her. “And now——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His words ended in a little gasp. The light was out. In the darkness that
- shadow passed again before his eyes, and he was conscious that the table
- had vanished—also that the car had stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you please, sir!” It was the chauffeur, holding the door open.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce hesitated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—er—look here!” he said. “I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you please, sir!” There was something of significant finality in the
- man's patient and respectful tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce smiled wryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, at least, I may say good-night,” he said, as he backed out of the
- car.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, sir—good-night, sir,” said the chauffeur calmly—and
- closed the door, and touched his hat, and climbed back to his seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce glared at the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm damned!” said John Bruce fervently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER THREE—SANCTUARY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE car started
- off. It turned the corner. John Bruce looked around him. He was standing
- on precisely the same spot from which he had entered the car. He had been
- driven around the block, that was all!
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught his breath. Was it real? That wondrous face which, almost as
- though at the touch of some magician's wand, had risen before him out of
- the blackness! His blood afire was leaping through his veins again. That
- face!
- </p>
- <p>
- He ran to the corner and peered down the street. The car was perhaps a
- hundred yards away—and suddenly John Bruce started to run again,
- following the car. Madness! His lips had set grim and hard. Who was she
- that prowled the night in that bizarre traveling pawn-shop? Where did she
- live? Was it actually the Arabian Nights back again? He laughed at himself—not
- mirthfully. But still he ran on.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car was outdistancing him. Fool! For a woman's face! Even though it
- were a divine symphony of beauty! Fool? Love-smitten idiot? Not at all! It
- was his job! Nice sound to that word in conjunction with that haunting
- memory of loveliness—job!
- </p>
- <p>
- The traveling pawn-shop turned into Fourth Avenue, and headed downtown.
- John Bruce caught the sound of a street car gong, spurted and swung
- breathlessly to the platform of a car going in the same direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, it was his job! The exquisite Monsieur Henri de Lavergne was
- mixed up in this.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hell!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The street car conductor stared at him. John Bruce scowled. He swore again—but
- this time under his breath. It brought a sudden wild, unreasonable rage
- and rebellion, the thought that there should be anything, even of the
- remotest nature, between the glorious vision in that car and the mincing,
- silken-tongued manager of Larmon's gambling hell. But there was, for all
- that, wasn't there? How else had she come there? It was the usual thing,
- wasn't it? And—beware of the conductor! The warning now appeared to
- be very apt! And how well he had profited by it! A fool chasing a siren's
- beauty!
- </p>
- <p>
- His face grew very white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “John Bruce,” he whispered to himself, “if I could get at you I'd pound
- your face to pulp for that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned out from the platform. The traveling pawn-shop had increased its
- speed and was steadily leaving the street car behind. He looked back in
- the opposite direction. The street was almost entirely deserted as far as
- traffic went. The only vehicle in sight was a taxi bowling along a block
- in the rear. He laughed out again harshly. The conductor eyed him
- suspiciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce dropped off the car, and planted himself in the path of the
- on-coming taxi. Call it his job, then, if it pleased him! He owed it to
- Larmon to get to the bottom of this. How extremely logical he was! The
- transaction in the traveling pawn-shop had been so fair-minded as almost
- to exonerate Monsieur Henri de Lavergne on the face of it, and if it had
- not been for a certain vision therein, and a fire in his own veins, and a
- fury at the thought that even her acquaintance with the gambling manager
- was profanity, he could have heartily applauded Monsieur Henri de Lavergne
- for a unique and original——
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi bellowed at him, hoarsely indignant.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stepped neatly to one side—and jumped on the footboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here, you! What the hell!” shouted the chauffeur. “You——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Push your foot on it a little,” said John Bruce calmly. “And don't lose
- sight of that closed car ahead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lose sight of nothin'!” yelled the chauffeur. “I've got a fare, an'——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hear him,” said John Bruce composedly. He edged in beside the
- chauffeur, and one of the crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes passed into
- the latter's possession. “Keep that car in sight, and don't make it
- hopelessly obvious that you are following it. I'll attend to your fare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He screwed around in his seat. An elderly, gray-whiskered gentleman, a
- patently irate gentleman, was pounding furiously on the glass panel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We should be turnin' down this street we're just passin',” grinned the
- chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce lowered the panel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the meaning of this?” thundered the fare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm very sorry, sir,” said John Bruce respectfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A little detective business.” He coughed. It was really quite true. His
- voice became confidential. “The occupants of that car ahead got away from
- me. I—I want to arrest one of them. I'm very sorry to put you to any
- inconvenience, but it couldn't be helped. There was no other way than to
- commandeer your taxi. It will be only for a matter of a few minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's preposterous!” spluttered the fare. “Outrageous! I—I'll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said John Bruce. “But there was nothing else I could do. You
- can report it to headquarters, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He closed the panel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fly-cop—not!” said the chauffeur, with his tongue in his cheek.
- “Any fly-cop that ever got his mitt on a whole fifty-dollar bill all at
- one time couldn't be pried lose from it with a crowbar!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It lets you out, doesn't it?” inquired John Bruce pleasantly. “Now let's
- see you earn it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll earn it!” said the chauffeur with unction. “You leave it to me,
- boss!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The quarry, in the shape of the traveling pawn shop, directed its way into
- the heart of the East Side. Presently it turned into a hiving, narrow
- street, where hawkers with their push-carts in the light of flaring,
- spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a thriving business. The two cars
- went more slowly now. There was very little room. The taxi almost upset a
- fish vendor's wheeled emporium. The vendor was eloquent—fervently
- so. But the chauffeur's eyes, after an impersonal and indifferent glance
- at the other, returned to the car ahead. The taxi continued on its way,
- trailing fifty yards in the rear of the traveling pawn-shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the end of the block the car ahead turned the corner. As the taxi, in
- turn, rounded the corner, John Bruce saw that the traveling pawn-shop was
- drawn up before a small building that was nested in between two tenements.
- The blood quickened in his pulse. The girl had alighted, and was entering
- the small building.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hit it up a little to the next corner, turn it, and let me off there,”
- directed John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I get you!” said the chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi swept past the car at the curb. Another minute and it had swung
- the next corner, and was slowing down. John Bruce jumped to the ground
- before the taxi stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night!” he called to the chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waved his hand debonairly at the scowling, whiskered visage that was
- watching him from the interior of the cab, and hurriedly retraced his way
- back around the corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- The traveling pawn-shop had turned and was driving away. John Bruce
- moderated his pace, and sauntered on along the street. He smiled half
- grimly, half contentedly to himself. The “trip to Persia” had led him a
- little farther afield than Monsieur Henri de Lavergne had perhaps counted
- on—or than he, John Bruce, himself had, either! But he knew now
- where the most glorious woman he had ever seen in his life lived, or, at
- least, was to be found again. No, it wasn't the <i>moon!</i> To him, she
- was exactly that. And he had not seen her for the last time, either! That
- was what he was here for, though he wasn't so mad as to risk, or, rather,
- invite an affront to begin with by so bald an act as to go to the front
- door, say, and ring the bell—which would be tantamount to informing
- her that he had—er—played the detective from the moment he had
- left her in the car. To-morrow, perhaps, or the next day, or whenever fate
- saw fit to be in a kindly mood, a meeting that possessed all the
- hall-marks of being quite inadvertent offered him high hopes. Later, if
- fate still were kind, he would tell her that he had followed her, and what
- she would be thoroughly justified in misconstruing now, she might then
- accept as the tribute to her that he meant it to be—when she knew
- him better.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was whistling softly to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was passing the house now, his scrutiny none the less exhaustive
- because it was apparently casual. It was a curious little two-story place
- tucked away between the two flanking tenements, the further one of which
- alone separated the house from the corner he was approaching. Not a light
- showed from the front of the house. Yes, it was quite a curious place!
- Although curtains were on the lower front windows, indicating that it was
- purely a dwelling, the windows themselves were of abnormal size, as
- though, originally perhaps, the ground floor had once been a shop of some
- kind.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce turned the corner, and from a comparatively deserted street
- found himself among the vendors' push-carts and the spluttering gasoline
- torches again. He skirted the side of the tenement that made the corner,
- discovered the fact that a lane cut in from the street and ran past the
- rear of the tenement, which he mentally noted must likewise run past the
- rear of the little house that was now so vitally interesting to him—and
- halted on the opposite side of the lane to survey his surroundings. Here a
- dirty and uninviting café attracted his attention, which, if its dingy
- sign were to be believed, was run by one Palasco Ratti, a gentleman of
- parts in the choice of wines which he offered to his patrons. John Bruce
- surveyed Palasco Ratti's potential clientele—the street was full of
- it; the shawled women, the dark-visaged, ear-ringed men. He smiled a
- little to himself. No—probably not the half-naked children who
- sprawled in the gutter and crawled amongst the push-carts' wheels! How was
- it that <i>she</i> should ever have come to live in a neighborhood to
- which the designation “foreign,” as far as she was concerned, must
- certainly apply in particularly full measure? It was strange that she——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. Half humorously, half
- grimly his eyes were riveted on the push-cart at the curb directly
- opposite to him, the proprietor of which dealt in that brand of confection
- so much in favor on the East Side—a great slab of candy from which,
- as occasion required, he cut slices with a large carving knife. A brown
- and grimy fist belonging to a tot of a girl of perhaps eight or nine years
- of age, who had crept in under the pushcart, was stealthily feeling its
- way upward behind the vendor's back, its objective being, obviously, a
- generous piece of candy that reposed on the edge of the push-cart. There
- was a certain fascination in watching developments. It was quite immoral,
- of course, but his sympathies were with the child. It was a gamble whether
- the grimy little hand would close on the coveted prize and disappear again
- victorious, or whether the vendor would turn in time to frustrate the
- raid.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tot's hand crept nearer and nearer its goal.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one, save himself of the many about, appeared to notice the little
- cameo of primal instinct that was on exhibition before them. The small and
- dirty fingers touched the candy, closed on it, and were withdrawn—but
- were withdrawn too quickly. The child, at the psychological moment under
- stress of excitement, eagerness and probably a wildly thumping heart, had
- failed in finesse. Perhaps the paper that covered the surface of the
- push-cart and on which the wares were displayed rattled; perhaps the
- sudden movement in itself attracted the vendor's attention. The man
- whirled and made a vicious dive for the child as she darted out from
- between the wheels. And then she screamed. The man had hit her a brutal
- clout across the head.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce straightened suddenly, a dull red creeping from his set jaw to
- his cheeks. Still clutching the candy in her hand the child was running
- blindly and in terror straight toward him. The man struck again, and the
- child staggered, and, reeling, sought sanctuary between John Bruce's legs.
- A bearded, snarling face in pursuit loomed up before him—and John
- Bruce struck, struck as he had once struck before on a white moon-flooded
- deck when a man, a brute beast, had gone down before him—and the
- vendor, screaming shrilly, lay kicking in pain on the sidewalk.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had happened quickly. Not one, probably, of those on the street had
- caught the details of the little scene. And now the tiny thief had
- wriggled through his legs, and with the magnificent irresponsibility of
- childhood had darted away and was lost to sight. It had happened quickly—but
- not so quickly as the gathering together of an angry, surging crowd around
- John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one in the crowd shrieked out above the clamor of voices:
- </p>
- <p>
- “He kill-a Pietro! Kill-a da dude!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a fire-brand.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce backed away a little—up against the door of Signor
- Pascalo Ratti's wine shop. A glance showed him that, with the blow he had
- struck, his light overcoat had become loosened, and that he was flaunting
- an immaculate and gleaming shirt-front in the faces of the crowd. And
- between their Pietro with a broken jaw and an intruder far too well
- dressed to please their fancy, the psychology of the crowd became the
- psychology of a mob.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fire-brand took.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kill-a da dude!” It was echoed in chorus—and then a rush.
- </p>
- <p>
- It flung John Bruce heavily against the wine shop door, and the door
- crashed inward—and for a moment he was down, and the crowd, like a
- snarling wolf pack, was upon him. And then the massive shoulders heaved,
- and he shook them off and was on his feet; and all that was primal,
- elemental in the man was dominant, the mad glorying in strife upon him,
- and he struck right and left with blows before which, again and again, a
- man went down.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the rush still bore him backward, and the doorway was black and jammed
- with reenforcements constantly pouring in. Tables crashed to the floor,
- chairs were overturned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a
- white-mustached Italian leap upon the counter and alternately wave his
- arms and wring his hands together frantically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the mercy of God!” the man screamed—and then his voice added to
- the din in a flood of impassioned Italian.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Signor Pascalo Ratti, probably.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was panting now, his breath coming in short, hard gasps. It was
- not easy to keep them in front of him, to keep his back free. He caught
- the glint of knife blades now.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was borne back foot by foot, the space widening as he retreated from
- the door, giving room for more to come upon him at the same time. A knife
- blade lunged at him. He evaded it—but another glittering in the
- ceiling light at the same instant, flashing a murderous arc in its
- downward plunge, caught him, and, before he could turn, sank home.
- </p>
- <p>
- A yell of triumph went up. He felt no pain. Only a sudden sickening of his
- brain, a sudden weakness that robbed his limbs of strength, and he reeled
- and staggered, fighting blindly now.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then his brain cleared. He flung a quick glance over his shoulder.
- Yes, there was one chance. Only one! And in another minute, with another
- knife thrust, it would be too late. He whirled suddenly and raced down the
- length of the café. In the moment's grace earned through surprise at his
- sudden action, he gained a door he had seen there, and threw himself upon
- it. It was not fastened, though there was a key in the lock. He whipped
- out the key, plunged through, locked the door on the outside with the
- fraction of a second to spare before they came battering upon it—and
- stumbled and fell headlong out into the open.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was as though he were lashing his brain into action and virility. It
- kept wobbling and fogging. Didn't the damned thing understand that his
- life, was at stake! He lurched to his feet. He was in a lane.
- </p>
- <p>
- In front of him, like great looming shadows, shadows that wobbled too, he
- saw the shapes of two tenements, and like an inset between them, a small
- house with a light gleaming in the lower window.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was where the vision lived. Only there was a fence between.
- Sanctuary! He lunged toward the fence. He had not meant to—to make a
- call to-night—she—she might have misunderstood. But in a
- second now <i>they</i> would come sweeping around into the lane after him
- from the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- He clawed his way to the top of the fence, and because his strength was
- almost gone fell from the top of the fence to the ground on the other
- side.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now he crawled, crawled with what frantic haste he could, because he
- heard the uproar from the street. And he laughed. The kid was probably
- munching her hunk of candy now. Queer things—kids! Got her candy—happy——
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached up to the sill of an open window, clawed his way upward, as he
- had clawed his way up the fence, straddled the sill unsteadily, clutched
- at nothingness to save himself, and toppled inward to the floor of the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- A yell from the head of the lane, a cry from the other end of the room,
- spurred him into final effort. He gained his feet, and swept his hand, wet
- with blood, across his eyes. That was the vision there running toward him,
- wasn't it?—the wonderful, glorious vision!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me!” said John Bruce in a sing-song voice, and with a desperate
- effort reached up and pulled down the window shade. He tried to smile
- “Queer—queer things—kids—aren't they? She—she just
- ducked out from under.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl was staring at him wildly, her hands tightly clasped to her
- bosom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me!” whispered John Bruce thickly. He couldn't see her any more,
- just a multitude of objects whirling like a kaleidoscope before his eyes.
- “She—she got the candy,” said John Bruce, attempting to smile again—and
- pitched unconscious to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FOUR—A DOCTOR OF MANY DEGREES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>EAD! The girl was
- on her knees beside John Bruce. Dead—he did not move! It was the man
- who had pawned his watch-fob hardly half an hour before! What did it mean?
- What did those angry shouts, that scurrying of many feet out there in the
- lane mean? Hurriedly, her face as deadly white as the face upturned to her
- from the floor, she tore open the once immaculate shirt-front, that was
- now limp and wet and ugly with a great crimson stain, and laid bare the
- wound.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sounds from without were receding, the scurrying footsteps were
- keeping on along the lane. A quiver ran through the form on the floor.
- Dead! No, he was not dead—not—not yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- A little cry escaped from her tightly closed lips, and for an instant she
- covered her eyes with her hands. The wound was terrible—it
- frightened her. It frightened her the more because, intuitively, she knew
- that it was beyond any inexperienced aid that she could give. But she must
- act, and act quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned and ran into the adjoining room to the telephone, but even as
- she reached out to lift the receiver from the hook she hesitated. Doctor
- Crang! A little shudder of aversion swept over her—and then
- resolutely, even pleading with central to hurry, she asked for the
- connection. It was not a matter of choice, or aversion, or any other
- consideration in the world save a question of minutes. The life of that
- man in there on the floor hung by a thread. Doctor Crang was nearby enough
- to respond almost instantly, and there was no one else she knew of who she
- could hope would reach the man in time. And—she stared frantically
- at the instrument now—was even he unavailable? Why didn't he answer?
- Why didn't——
- </p>
- <p>
- A voice reached her. She recognized it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doctor Crang, this is Claire Veniza,” she said, and it did not seem as
- though she could speak fast enough. “Come at once—oh, at once—please!
- There's a man here frightfully wounded. There isn't a second to lose, so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Claire,” interrupted the voice suavely, “instead of losing one
- you can save several by telling me what kind of a wound it is, and where
- the man is wounded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a knife wound, a stab, I think,” she answered; “and it's in his
- side. He is unconscious, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The receiver at the other end had been replaced on its hook.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned from the telephone, and swiftly, hurrying, but in cool
- self-control now, she obtained some cloths and a basin of warm water, and
- returned to John Bruce's side. She could not do much, she realized that—only
- make what effort she could to staunch the appalling flow of blood from the
- wound; that, and place a cushion under the man's head, for she could not
- lift him to the couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- The minutes passed; and then, thinking she heard a footstep at the front
- door, she glanced in that direction, half in relief, and yet, too, in
- curious apprehension. She listened. No, there was no one there yet. She
- had been mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she caught her breath in a little gasp, as though startled.
- Doctor Crang was clever; but faith in Doctor Crang professionally was one
- thing, and faith in him in other respects was quite another. Why hadn't
- she thought of it before? It wasn't too late yet, was it?
- </p>
- <p>
- She began to search hastily through John Bruce's pockets. Doctor Crang
- would almost certainly suggest removing the man from the sitting room down
- here and getting him upstairs to a bedroom, and then he would undress his
- patient, and—and it was perhaps as well to anticipate Doctor Crang!
- This man here should have quite a sum of money on his person. She had
- given it to him herself, and—yes, here it was!
- </p>
- <p>
- The crisp new fifty-dollar bills, the stamped and numbered ticket that
- identified the watch-fob he had pawned, were in her hand. She ran across
- the room, opened a little safe in the corner, placed the money and ticket
- inside, locked the safe again, and returned to John Bruce's side once
- more.
- </p>
- <p>
- And suddenly her eyes filled. There was no tremor, no movement in the
- man's form now; she could not even feel his heartbeat. Yes, she wanted
- Doctor Crang now, passionately, wildly. John Bruce—that was the
- man's name. She knew that much. But she had left him miles away—and
- he was here now—and she did not understand. How had he got here, why
- had he come here, climbing in through that window to fall at her feet like
- one dead?
- </p>
- <p>
- The front door opened without premonitory ring of bell, and closed again.
- A footstep came quickly forward through the outer room—and paused on
- the threshold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza rose to her feet, and her eyes went swiftly, sharply, to the
- figure standing there—a man of perhaps thirty years of age, of
- powerful build, and yet whose frame seemed now woefully loose, disjointed
- and without virility. Her eyes traveled to the man's clothing that was
- dirty, spotted, and in dire need of sponging, to the necktie that hung
- awry, to the face that, but for its unhealthy, pasty-yellow complexion,
- would have been almost strikingly handsome, to the jet-black eyes that
- somehow at the moment seemed to lack fire and life. And with a little
- despairing shrug of her shoulders, Claire Veniza turned away her head, and
- pointed to the form of John Bruce on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I am afraid it is very serious, Doctor Crang,” she faltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all right, Claire,” he said complacently. “That's all right, my
- dear. You can leave it with confidence to Sydney Angus Crang, M.D.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew a little away as he stepped forward, her face hardening into
- tight little lines. Hidden, her hands clasped anxiously together. It—it
- was what she had feared. Doctor Sydney Angus Crang, gold medalist from one
- of the greatest American universities, brilliant far beyond his fellows,
- with additional degrees from London, from Vienna, from Heaven alone knew
- where else, was just about entering upon, or emerging from, a groveling
- debauch with that Thing to which he had pawned his manhood, his intellect
- and his soul, that Thing of gray places, of horror, of forgetfulness, of
- bliss, of torture—cocaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Halfway from the threshold to where John Bruce lay, Doctor Crang halted
- abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello!” he exclaimed, and glanced with suddenly darkening face from
- Claire Veniza to the form of John Bruce, and back to Claire Veniza again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, <i>will</i> you hurry!” she implored. “Can't you see that the wound——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am more interested in the man than in the wound,” said Doctor Crang,
- and there was a hint of menace in his voice. “Quite a gentleman of parts!
- I had expected—let me see what I had expected—well, say, one
- of the common knife-sticking breed that curses this neighborhood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza stamped her foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hurry!” she burst out wildly. “Don't stand there talking while the
- man is dying! Do something!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang advanced to John Bruce's side, set down the little handbag he
- was carrying, and began to examine the wound.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, quite a gentleman of parts!” he repeated. His lips had thinned. “How
- did he get here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not know,” she answered. “He came in through that window there and
- fell on the floor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How peculiar!” observed Doctor Crang. “A <i>gentleman</i> down here in
- this locality, who is, yes, I will state it as a professional fact, in a
- very critical state, climbs in through Miss Claire Veniza's window, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The telephone in the other room rang. Claire Veniza ran to it. Doctor
- Crang's fingers nestled on John Bruce's pulse; he made no other movement
- save to cock his head in a listening attitude in the girl's direction; he
- made no effort either to examine further or to dress the wound.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza's voice came distinctly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes... No, I do not think he will return to-night”—she was
- hesitating—“he—he met with an—an accident——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang had sprung from the other room and had snatched the receiver
- from the girl's hand. A wave of insensate fury swept his face now. He
- pushed her roughly from the instrument, and clapped his hand over the
- transmitter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's one lie you've told me!” he said hoarsely. “I'll attend to the
- rest of this now.” He withdrew his hand from the transmitter. “Yes,
- hello!” His voice was cool, even suave. “What is it?... Monsieur Henri de
- Lavergne speaking—yes... Mister—who?... Mister John Bruce—yes.”
- He listened for a moment, his lips twitching, his eyes narrowed on Claire
- Veniza, who had retreated a few steps away. “No, not to-night,” he said,
- speaking again into the transmitter. “Yes, a slight accident.... Yes..,
- Good-by.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Sydney Angus Crang hung up the receiver, and with a placid smile at
- variance with the glitter that suddenly brought life into his dulled eyes,
- advanced toward the girl. She stepped backward quickly into the other
- room, retreating as far as the motionless form that lay upon the floor.
- Doctor Crang followed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Claire Veniza, her face grown stony, her small hands clenched,
- found her voice again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren't you going to help him? Aren't you going to do something? Is he to
- die there before your eyes?” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can I do?” he inquired with velvet softness. “I am helpless. How can
- I bring the dead back to life?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dead!” All color had fled her face; she bent and looked searchingly at
- John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; not yet,” said Doctor Crang easily. “But very nearly so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will do nothing!” She was facing him again. “Then—then I
- will try and get some one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stepped forward abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang barred her way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think you will, Claire, my dear!” His voice was monotonous; the
- placid smile was vanishing. “You see, having spoken to that dear little
- doll of a man, Monsieur Henri de Lavergne, I'm very much interested in
- hearing your side of the story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Story!” the girl echoed wildly. “Story—while that man's life is
- lost! Are you mad—or a murderer—or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another lover,” said Doctor Crang, and threw back his head and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrank away; her hands tight against her bosom. She glanced around
- her. If she could only reach the telephone and lock the connecting door!
- No! She did not dare leave him <i>alone</i> with the wounded man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—what are you going to do?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing—till I hear the story,” he answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If—if he dies”—her voice rang steadily again—“I'll have
- you charged with murder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What nonsense!” said Doctor Crang imperturbably. “Did I stab the
- gentleman?” He took from his pocket a little case, produced a hypodermic
- syringe, and pushed back his sleeve. “A doctor is not a magician. If he
- finds a patient beyond reach of aid what can he be expected to do? My dear
- Claire, where are your brains to-night—you who are usually so
- amazingly clever?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are mad—insane with drug!” she cried out piteously.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head, and coolly inserted the needle of the hypodermic in his
- arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet,” he said. “I am only implacable. Shall we get on with the story?
- Monsieur de Lavergne says he sent a gentleman by the name of John Bruce
- out in your father's car a little while ago for the purpose of obtaining a
- loan in order that the said John Bruce might return to the gambling joint
- and continue to play. But Mr. Bruce did not return, and the doll, for some
- reason being anxious, telephones here to make inquiries. Of course”—there
- was a savage laugh in his voice—“it is only a suspicion, but could
- this gentleman on the floor here by any chance be Mr. John Bruce?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said faintly. “He is John Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thanks!” said Doctor Crang sarcastically. He very carefully replaced his
- hypodermic in his pocket. “Now another little matter. I happen to know
- that your father is spending the evening uptown, so I wonder who was in
- the car with Mr. John Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him with flashing eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was!” she answered passionately. “I don't know what you are driving at!
- I never did it before, but father was away, and Monsieur de Lavergne was
- terribly insistent. He said it was for a very special guest. I—I
- didn't, of course, tell Monsieur de Lavergne that father couldn't go. I
- only said that I was afraid it would not be convenient to make any loan
- to-night. But he wouldn't listen to a refusal, and so I went—but
- Monsieur de Lavergne had no idea that it was any one but father in the
- car.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang's lips parted wickedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Naturally!” he snarled. “I quite understand that you took good care of
- that! Who drove you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drunk as usual, I suppose! Brain too fuddled to ask questions!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's not true!” she cried out sharply. “Hawkins hasn't touched a drop
- for a year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” snapped Doctor Crang. “Have it that way, then! Being in his
- dotage, he makes a good blind, even sober. And so you went for a little
- ride with Mr. John Bruce to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza was wringing her hands as she glanced in an agony of
- apprehension at the wounded man on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said; “but—but won't you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And where did you first meet Mr. John Bruce, and how long ago?” he jerked
- out.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza's great brown eyes widened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, I never saw him in my life until to-night!” she exclaimed. “And he
- wasn't in the car ten minutes. Hawkins drove back to the corner just as he
- always does with father, and Mr. Bruce got out. Then Hawkins drove me home
- and went uptown to get father. I—I wish they were here now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang was gritting his teeth together. A slight unnatural color was
- tinging his cheeks. He moved a little closer to the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad to hear you never saw Mr. Bruce before,” he said cunningly. “You
- must have traveled <i>fast</i> then—metaphorically speaking. Love at
- first sight, eh? A cooing exchange of confidences—or was it all on
- one side? You told him who you were, and where you lived, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did nothing of the kind!” Claire Veniza interrupted angrily. “I did not
- tell him anything!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just strictly business then, of course!” Doctor Crang moved a step still
- nearer to the girl. “In that case he must have pawned something, and as
- Lavergne sends nothing but high-priced articles to your father, we shall
- probably find quite a sum of money in Mr. Bruce's pockets. Eh—Claire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bit her lips. She still did not quite understand—only that she
- bitterly regretted now, somehow, that she had removed the money from John
- Bruce's person; only that the drug-crazed brain of the man in front of her
- was digging, had dug, a trap into which she was falling. What answer was
- she to make? What was she to——
- </p>
- <p>
- With a sudden cry she shrank back—but too late to save herself. A
- face alight with passion was close to hers now; hands that clamped like a
- steel vise, and that hurt, were upon her shoulder and throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You lie!” Doctor Crang shouted hoarsely. “You've lied from the minute I
- came into this room. John Bruce—hell! I know now why you have always
- refused to have anything to do with me. That's why!” He loosened one hand
- and pointed to the figure on the floor. “How long has this been going on?
- How long have you been meeting him? To-night is nothing, though you worked
- it well. Hawkins to take you for a little joy ride with your lover while
- father's away. Damned clever! You left him on that corner—and he's
- here wounded! How did he get wounded? You never saw him before! You never
- heard of him! You told him nothing about yourself! He didn't know where
- you lived—he could only find the private entrance! Just knows enough
- about you to climb in through your back window like a skewered dog! But,
- of course, your story is true, because in his pockets will be the money
- you gave him for what he pawned! Shall we look and see how much it was?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tore herself free and caught at her throat, gasping for breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you beast!” she choked. “No; you needn't look! I took it from
- him, and put it in the safe over there before <i>you</i> came—to
- keep it away from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang swept a hand across his eyes and through his hair with a
- savage, jerky movement, and then he laughed immoderately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a little liar you are! Well, then, two can play at the same game. I
- lied to you about your lover there. I said there was nothing could save
- him. Yes, yes, Claire, my dear, I lied.” He knelt suddenly, and suddenly
- intent and professional studied John Bruce's face, and felt again for the
- pulse beat at John Bruce's wrist. “Pretty near the limit,” he stated
- coolly. “Internal bleeding.” He threw back his shoulders in a strangely
- egotistical way. “Not many men could do anything; but I, Sydney Angus
- Crang, could! Ha, ha! In ten minutes he could be on the road to recovery—but
- ten minutes, otherwise, is exactly the length of time he has to live.”
- </p>
- <p>
- An instant Claire Veniza stared at him. Her mind reeled with chaos, with
- terror and dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then do something!” she implored wildly. “If you can save him, do it! You
- must! You shall!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I?” he demanded. His teeth were clamped hard together. “Why
- should I save your lover? No—damn him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew away from him, and, suddenly, on her knees, buried her face in
- her hands and burst into sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This—this is terrible—terrible!” she cried out. “Has that
- frightful stuff transformed you into an absolute fiend? Are you no longer
- even human?” Flushed, a curious look of hunger in his eyes, he gazed at
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm devilishly human in some respects!” His voice rose, out of control.
- “I want you! I have wanted you from the day I saw you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shivered. Her hands felt suddenly icy as she pressed them against her
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God then,” she breathed, “for this, at least—that you will
- never get me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't I?” His voice rose higher, trembling with passion. “Won't I? By
- God, I will! The one thing in life I will have some way or another! You
- understand? I will! And do you think I would let <i>him</i> stand in the
- way? You drive me mad, Claire, with those wonderful eyes of yours, with
- that hair, those lips, that throat——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop!” She was on her feet, and in an instant had reached him, and with
- her hands upon his shoulders was shaking him fiercely with all her
- strength. “I hated you, despised you, loathed you before, but with that
- man dying here, you murderer, I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice trailed off, strangled, choked. He had caught her in his arms,
- his lips were upon hers. She struggled like a tigress. And as they lurched
- about the room he laughed in mad abandon. She wrenched herself free at
- last, and slipped and fell upon the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you believe me now!” he panted. “I will have you! Neither this man nor
- any other will live to get you. His life is a snap of my fingers—so
- is any other life. It's you I want, and you I will have. And I'll tame
- you! Then I'll show you what love is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was moaning now a little to herself. She crept to John Bruce and
- stared into his face. Dying! They were letting this man die. She tried to
- readjust the cloths upon the wound. She heard Doctor Crang laugh at her
- again. It seemed as though her soul were sinking into some great
- bottomless abyss that was black with horror. She did not know this John
- Bruce. She had told Doctor Crang so. It was useless to repeat it, useless
- to argue with a drug-steeped brain. There was only one thing that was
- absolute and final, and that was that a man's life was ebbing away, and a
- fiend, an inhuman fiend who could save him, but whom pleading would not
- touch, stood callously by, not wholly indifferent, rather gloating over
- what took the form of triumph in his diseased mind. And then suddenly she
- seemed so tired and weary. And she tried to pray to God. And tears came,
- and on her knees she turned and flung out her arms imploringly to the
- unkempt figure that stood over her, and who smiled as no other man she had
- ever seen had smiled before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the pity of God, for anything you have ever known in your life that
- was pure and sacred,” she said brokenly, “save this man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her for a moment, still with that sardonic smile upon his
- lips, and then, swift in its transition, his expression changed and
- cunning was in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What would you give?” he purred.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give?” She did not look up. She felt a sudden surge of relief. It debased
- the man the more, for it was evidently money now; but her father would
- supply that. She had only to ask for it. “What do you want?” she asked
- eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yourself,” said Doctor Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up now, quickly, startled; read the lurking triumph in his
- eyes, and with a sudden cry of fear turned away her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My—myself!” Her lips scarcely moved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my dear! Yourself—Claire!” Doctor
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang shrugged his shoulders. “Edinburgh, London, Vienna, Paris, degrees
- from everywhere—ha, ha!—am I a high-priced man? Well, then,
- why don't you dismiss me? You called me in! That is my price—or
- shall we call it fee? Promise to marry me, Claire, and I'll save that
- man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face had lost all vestige of color. She stood and looked at him, but
- it did not seem as though she any longer had control over her limbs. She
- did not seem able to move them. They were numbed; her brain was mercifully
- numbed—there was only a sense of impending horror, without that
- horror taking concrete form. A voice came to her as though from some great
- distance:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't take too long to make up your mind. There isn't much time. It's
- about touch and go with him now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words, the tone, the voice roused her. Realization, understanding
- swept upon her. A faintness came. She closed her eyes, swayed unsteadily,
- but recovered herself. Something made her look at the upturned face on the
- floor. She did not know this man. He was nothing to her. Why was he
- pleading with her to pawn herself for him? What right had he to ask for
- worse than death from her that he might live? Her soul turned sick within
- her. If she refused, this man would die. Death! It was a very little thing
- compared with days and months and years linked, fettered, bound to a drug
- fiend, a coward, a foul thing, a potential murderer, a man only in the
- sense of physical form, who had abused every other God-given attribute
- until it had rotted away! Her hands pressed to her temples fiercely, in
- torment. Was this man to live or die? In her hands was balanced a human
- life. It seemed as though she must scream out in her anguish of soul; and
- then it seemed as though she must fling herself upon the drug-crazed being
- who had forced this torture upon her, fling herself upon him to batter and
- pommel with her fists at his face that smiled in hideous contentment at
- her. What was she to do? The choice was hers. To let this man here die, or
- to accept a living death for herself—no, worse than that—something
- that was abominable, revolting, that profaned.... She drew her breath in
- sharply. She was staring at the man on the floor. His eyelids fluttered
- and opened. Gray eyes were fixed upon her, eyes that did not seem to see
- for there was a vacant stare in them—and then suddenly recognition
- crept into them and they lighted up, full of a strange, glad wonder. He
- made an effort to speak, an effort, more feeble still, to reach out his
- hand to her—and then the eyes had closed and he was unconscious
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned slowly and faced Doctor Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not know what you are doing.” She formed the words with a great
- effort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I do!” he answered with mocking deliberation. “I know that if I
- can't get you one way, I can another—and the way doesn't matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God forgive you, then,” she said in a dead voice, “for I never can or
- will! I—I agree.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took a step toward her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll marry me?” His face was fired with passion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She retreated a step.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached out for her with savage eagerness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” he cried. “Claire!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pushed him back with both hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet!” she said, and tried to steady her voice. “There is another side
- to the bargain. The price is this man's life. If he lives I will marry
- you, and in that case, as you well know, I can say nothing of what you
- have done to-night; but if he dies, I am not only free, but I will do my
- utmost to make you criminally responsible for his death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” Doctor Crang stared at her. His hands, still reaching out to touch
- her, trembled; his face was hectic; his eyes were alight again with
- feverish hunger—and then suddenly the man seemed transformed into
- another being. He was on his knees beside John Bruce, and had opened his
- handbag in an instant, and in another he had forced something from a vial
- between John Bruce's lips; then an instrument was in his hands. The man of
- a moment before was gone; one Sydney Angus Crang, of many degrees,
- professional, deft, immersed in his work, had taken the other's place.
- “More water! An extra basin!” he ordered curtly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire Veniza obeyed him in a mechanical way. Her brain was numbed,
- exhausted, possessed of a great weariness. She watched him for a little
- while. He flung another order at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Make that couch up into a bed,” he directed. “He can't be moved even
- upstairs to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she obeyed him; finally she helped him to lift John Bruce to the
- couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat down in a chair and waited—she did not know what for. Doctor
- Crang had drawn another chair to the couch and sat there watching his
- patient. John Bruce, as far as she could tell, showed no sign of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Doctor Crang's voice seemed to float out of nothingness:
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will live, Claire, my dear! By God, I'd like to have done that piece
- of work in a clinic! Some of 'em would sit up! D'ye hear, Claire, he'll
- live!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious that he was studying her; she did not look at him, nor
- did she answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- An eternity seemed to pass. She heard a motor stop outside in front of the
- house. That would be her father and Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- The front door opened and closed, footsteps entered the room—and
- suddenly seemed to quicken and hurry forward. She rose from her chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's this? What's the matter? What's happened?” a tall, white-haired
- man cried out.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Doctor Crang who answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh—this, Mr. Veniza?” He waved his hand indifferently toward the
- couch. “Nothing of any importance.” He shrugged his shoulders in cool
- imperturbability, and smiled into the grave, serious face of Paul Veniza.
- “The really important thing is that Claire has promised to be my wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant no one moved or spoke—only Doctor Crang still smiled.
- And then the silence was broken by a curious half laugh, half curse that
- was full of menace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You lie!” Hawkins, the round, red-faced chauffeur, had stepped from
- behind Paul Veniza, and now faced Doctor Crang. “You lie! You damned
- coke-eater! I'd kill you first!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drunk—again!” drawled Doctor Crang contemptuously. “And what have
- you to do with it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady, Hawkins!” counselled Paul Veniza quietly. He turned to Claire
- Veniza. “Claire,” he asked, “is—is this true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded—and suddenly, blindly, started toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is true,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” Paul Veniza stepped after her. “Claire,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not to-night, father,” she said in a low voice. “Please let me go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood aside, allowing her to pass, his face grave and anxious—and
- then he turned again to Doctor Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is naturally very upset over what has happened here,” said Doctor
- Crang easily—and suddenly reaching out grasped Hawkins' arm, and
- pulled the old man forward to the couch. “Here, you!” he jerked out.
- “You've got so much to say for yourself—take a look at this fellow!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old chauffeur bent over the couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” he cried out in a startled way. “It's the man we—I—drove
- to-night!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so!” observed Doctor Crang. He smiled at Paul Veniza again. “Apart
- from the fact that the fellow came in through that window with a knife
- stab in his side that's pretty nearly done for him, Hawkins knows as much
- about it as either Claire or I do. He's in bad shape. Extremely serious. I
- will stay with him to-night. He cannot be moved.” He nodded suggestively
- toward the door. “Hawkins can tell you as much as I can. It's got to be
- quiet in here. As for Claire”—he seemed suddenly to be greatly
- disturbed and occupied with the condition of the wounded man on the couch—“that
- will have to wait until morning. This man's condition is critical. I can't
- put you out of your own room, but——-” Again he nodded toward
- the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment Paul Veniza hesitated—but Doctor Crang's back was
- already turned, and he was bending over the wounded man, apparently
- oblivious to every other consideration. He motioned to Hawkins, and the
- two left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang looked around over his shoulder as the door closed. A
- malicious grin spread over his face. He rubbed his hands together. Then he
- sat down in his chair again, and began to prepare a solution for his
- hypodermic syringe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes,” said Doctor Crang softly, addressing the unconscious form of
- John Bruce, “you'll live, all right, my friend, I'll see to that, though
- the odds are still against you. You're too—ha, ha!—valuable to
- die! You played in luck when you drew Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., as your
- attending physician!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Doctor Sydney Angus Crang made a little grimace as he punctured
- the flesh of his arm with the needle of the hypodermic syringe and
- injected into himself another dose of cocaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang very softly, his eyes lighting, “too
- valuable, much too valuable—to die!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FIVE—HAWKINS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the outer room,
- the door closed behind them, Paul Veniza and Hawkins stared into each
- other's eyes. Hawkins' face had lost its ruddy, weatherbeaten color, and
- there was a strained, perplexed anxiety in his expression.
- </p>
- <p>
- “D'ye hear what she said?” he mumbled. “D'ye hear what he said? Going to
- be married! My little girl, my innocent little girl, and—and that
- dope-feeding devil! I—I don't understand, Paul. What's it mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza laid his hand on the other's shoulder, as much to seek, it
- seemed, as to offer sympathy. He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know,” he said blankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' watery blue eyes under their shaggy brows traveled miserably in
- the direction of the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I ain't got the right,” he choked. “You go up and talk to her,
- Paul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza ran his fingers in a troubled way through his white hair;
- then, nodding his head, he turned abruptly and began to mount the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins watched until the other had disappeared from sight, watched until
- he heard a door open and close softly above; then he swung sharply around,
- and with his old, drooping shoulders suddenly squared, strode toward the
- door that shut him off from Doctor Crang and the man he had recognized as
- his passenger in the traveling pawn-shop earlier that night. But at the
- door itself he hesitated, and after a moment drew back, and the shoulders
- drooped again, and he fell to twisting his hands together in nervous
- indecision as he retreated to the center of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- And he stood there again, where Paul Veniza had left him, and stared with
- the hurt of a dumb animal in his eyes at the top of the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all my fault,” the old man whispered, and fell to twisting his hands
- together once more. “But—but I thought she'd be safe with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long time he seemed to ponder his own words, and gradually they
- seemed to bring an added burden upon him, and heavily now he drew his hand
- across his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why ain't I dead?” he whispered. “I ain't never been no good to her.
- Twenty years, it is—twenty years. Just old Hawkins—shabby old
- Hawkins—that she loves 'cause she's sorry for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' eyes roved about the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember the night I brought her here.” He was still whispering to
- himself. “In there, it was, I took her.” He jerked his hand toward the
- inner room. “This here room was the pawn-shop then. God, all those years
- ago—and—and I ain't never bought her back again, and she ain't
- known no father but Paul, and——” His voice trailed off and
- died away.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sank his chin in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Occasionally he heard the murmur of voices from above, occasionally the
- sound of movement through the closed door that separated him from Doctor
- Crang; but he did not move or speak again until Paul Veniza came down the
- stairs and stood before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins searched the other's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It—it ain't true, is it, what she said?” he questioned almost
- fiercely. “She didn't really mean it, did she, Paul?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza turned his head away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she meant it,” he answered in a low voice. “I don't understand. She
- wouldn't give me any explanation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins clenched his fists suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But didn't you tell her what kind of a man Crang is? Good God, Paul,
- didn't you tell her what he is?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She knows it without my telling her,” Paul Veniza said in a dull tone.
- “But I told her again; I told her it was impossible, incredible. Her only
- answer was that it was inevitable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she doesn't love him! She can't love him!” Hawkins burst out.
- “There's never been anything between them before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she doesn't love him. Of course, she doesn't!” Paul Veniza said, as
- though speaking to himself. He looked at Hawkins suddenly under knitted
- brows. “And she says she never saw that other man in her life before until
- he stepped into the car. She says she only went out to-night because they
- were so urgent about it up at the house, and that she felt everything
- would be perfectly safe with you driving the car. I can't make anything
- out of it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins drew the sleeve of his coat across his brow. It was cool in the
- room, but little beads of moisture were standing out on his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ain't brought her nothing but harm all my life,” he said brokenly. “I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't take it that way, old friend!” Paul Veniza's hands sought the
- other's shoulders. “I don't see how you are to blame for this. Claire said
- that other man treated her with all courtesy, and left the car after you
- had gone around the block; and she doesn't know how he afterwards came
- here wounded any more than we do—and anyway, it can't have anything
- to do with her marrying Doctor Crang.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's she doing now?” demanded Hawkins abruptly. “She's up there crying
- her heart out, ain't she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza did not answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins straightened up. A sudden dignity came to the shabby old figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What hold has that devil got on my little girl?” he cried out sharply.
- “I'll make him pay for it, so help me God! My little girl, my little———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “S-sh!” Paul Veniza caught hurriedly at Hawkins' arm. “Be careful, old
- friend!” he warned. “Not so loud! She might hear you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins cast a timorous, startled glance in the direction of the stairs.
- He seemed to shrink again, into a stature as shabby as his clothing. His
- lips twitched; he twisted his hands together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he mumbled; “yes, she—she might hear me.” He stared around
- the room; and then, as though blindly, his hands groping out in front of
- him, he started for the street door. “I'm going home,” said Hawkins. “I'm
- going home to think this out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza's voice choked a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your hat, old friend,” he said, picking up the old man's hat from the
- table and following the other to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my hat,” said Hawkins—and pulling it far down over his eyes,
- crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the driver's seat of the old,
- closed car that stood at the curb.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started the car mechanically. He did not look back. He stared straight
- ahead of him except when, at the corner, his eyes lifted and held for a
- moment on the lighted windows and the swinging doors of a saloon—and
- the car went perceptibly slower. Then his hands tightened fiercely in
- their hold upon the wheel until the white of the knuckles showed, and the
- car passed the saloon and turned the next corner and went on.
- </p>
- <p>
- Halfway down the next block it almost came to a halt again when opposite a
- dark and dingy driveway that led in between, and to the rear of, two
- poverty-stricken frame houses. Hawkins stared at this uninviting prospect,
- and made as though to turn the car into the driveway; then, shaking his
- head heavily, he continued on along the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't go in there and sit by myself all alone,” said Hawkins hoarsely.
- “I—I'd go mad. It's—it's like as though they'd told me
- to-night that she'd died—same as they told me about her mother the
- night I went to Paul's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The car moved slowly onward. It turned the next corner—and the next.
- It almost completed the circuit of the block. Hawkins now was wetting his
- lips with the tip of his tongue. His hands on the wheel were trembling.
- The car had stopped. Hawkins was staring again at the lighted windows and
- the swinging doors of the saloon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat for a long time motionless; then he climbed down from his seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just one,” Hawkins whispered to himself. “Just one. I—I'd go mad if
- I didn't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins pushed the swinging doors open, and sidled up to the bar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Hawkins!” grinned the barkeeper. “Been out of town? I ain't seen
- you the whole afternoon!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mind your own business!” said Hawkins surlily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure!” nodded the barkeeper cheerily. “Same as usual?” He slid a
- square-faced bottle and a glass toward the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins helped himself and drank moodily. He set his empty glass back on
- the bar, jerked down his shabby vest and straightened up, his eyes
- resolutely fixed on the door. Then he felt in his pocket for his pipe and
- tobacco. His eyes shifted from the door to his pipe. He filled it slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me another,” said Hawkins presently—without looking at the
- barkeeper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again the old man drank, and jerked down his vest, and squared his thin
- shoulders. He lighted his pipe, tamping the bowl carefully with his
- forefinger. His eyes sought the swinging doors once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going home,” said Hawkins defiantly to himself. “I've got to think
- this out.” He dug into his vest pocket for money, and produced a few small
- bills. He stared at these for a moment, hesitated, started to replace them
- in his pocket, hesitated again, and the tip of his tongue circled his
- lips; then he pushed the money across the bar. “Take the drinks out of
- that, and—and give me a bottle,” he said. “I—I don't like to
- be without anything in the house, and I got to go home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said something!” said the barkeeper. “Have one on the house before
- you go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I won't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Hawkins with stern determination.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins crowded the bottle into the side pocket of his coat, passed out
- through the swinging doors, and resumed his seat on the car. And again the
- car started forward. But it went faster now. Hawkins' face was flushed; he
- seemed nervously and excitedly in haste. At the driveway he turned in,
- garaged his car in an old shed at the rear of one of the houses, locked
- the shed with a padlock, and, by way of the back door, entered the house
- that was in front of the shed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was quite dark inside, but Hawkins had been an inmate of the somewhat
- seedy rooming-house too many years either to expect that a light should be
- burning at that hour, or, for that matter, to require any light. He groped
- his way up a flight of creaking stairs, opened the door of a room, and
- stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and struck a
- match. A gas-jet wheezed asthmatically, and finally flung a thin and
- sullen yellow glow about the place. It disclosed a cot bed, a small strip
- of carpet long since worn bare of nap, a washstand, an old trunk, a
- battered table, and two chairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins, with some difficulty, extricated the bottle from his pocket, and
- lifted the lid of his trunk. He thrust the bottle inside, and in the act
- of closing the lid upon it—hesitated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I ain't myself to-night, I ain't,” said Hawkins tremulously.
- “It's shook me, it has—bad. Just one—so help me God!—just
- one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins sat down at the table with the bottle in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And while Hawkins sat there it grew very late.
- </p>
- <p>
- At intervals Hawkins talked to himself. At times he stared owlishly from a
- half-emptied bottle to the black square of window pane above the trunk—and
- once he shook his fist in that direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Crang—eh—damn you!” he gritted out. “You think you got her,
- do you? Some dirty, cunning trick you've played her! But you don't know
- old Hawkins. Ha, ha! You think he's only a drunken bum!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins, as it grew later still, became unsteady in his seat. Gradually
- his head sank down upon the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—hie!—gotta think this—out,” said Hawkins earnestly—and
- fell asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SIX—THE ALIBI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE opened
- his eyes dreamily, unseeingly; and then his eyelids fluttered and closed
- again. There was an exquisite sense of languor upon him, of cool,
- comfortable repose; a curious absence of all material things. It seemed as
- though he were in some suspended state of animation.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was very strange. It wasn't life—not life as he had ever known
- it. Perhaps it was death. He did not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to think. He was conscious that his mind for some long
- indeterminate period had been occupied with the repetition of queer,
- vague, broken snatches of things, fantastic things born of illusions,
- brain fancies, cobwebby, intangible, which had no meaning, and were
- without beginning or end. There was a white beach, very white, and a full
- round moon, and the moon winked knowingly while he whittled with a huge
- jack-knife at a quill toothpick. And then there was a great chasm of
- blackness which separated the beach from some other place that seemed to
- have nothing to identify it except this black chasm which was the
- passageway to it; and here a man's face, a face that was sinister in its
- expression, and both repulsive and unhealthy in its color, was constantly
- bending over him, and the man's head was always in the same posture—cocked
- a little to one side, as though listening intently and straining to hear
- something. And then, in the same place, but less frequently, there was
- another face—and this seemed to bring with it always a shaft of
- warm, bright sunlight that dispelled the abominable gloom, and before
- which the first face vanished—a beautiful, the wondrously beautiful,
- face of a girl, one that he had seen somewhere before, that was haunting
- in its familiarity and for which it seemed he had always known a great
- yearning, but which plagued him miserably because there seemed to be some
- unseen barrier between them, and because he could not recognize her, and
- she could not speak and tell him who she was.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce opened his eyes again. Dimly, faintly, his mind seemed to be
- grasping coherent realities. He began to remember fragments of the past,
- but it was very hard to piece those fragments together into a concrete
- whole. That white beach—yes, he remembered that. And the quill
- toothpick. Only the huge jack-knife was absurd! It was at Apia with
- Larmon. But he was in a room somewhere now, and lying on a cot of some
- sort. And it was night. How had he come here?
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved a little, and suddenly felt a twinge of pain in his side. His
- hand groped under the covering, and his fingers came into contact with
- bandages that were wrapped tightly around his body.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then in a flash memory returned. He remembered the fight in Ratti's
- wine shop, the knife stab, and how he had dragged himself along the lane
- and climbed in through <i>her</i> window. His eyes now in a startled way
- were searching his surroundings. Perhaps this was the room! He could not
- be quite sure, but there seemed to be something familiar about it. The
- light was very low, like a gas-jet turned down, and he could not make out
- where it came from, nor could he see any window through which he might
- have climbed in.
- </p>
- <p>
- He frowned in a troubled way. It was true that, as he had climbed in that
- night, he had not been in a condition to take much note of the room, but
- yet it did seem to be the same place. The frown vanished. What did it
- matter? He knew now beyond any question whose face it was that had come to
- him so often in that shaft of sunlight. Yes, it <i>did</i> matter! He must
- have been unconscious, perhaps for only a few hours, perhaps for days, but
- if this was the same place, then she was <i>here</i>, not as a figment of
- the brain, not as one created out of his own longing, but here in her
- actual person, a living, breathing reality. It was the girl of the
- traveling pawn-shop, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce found himself listening with sudden intentness. Was he drifting
- back into unconsciousness again, into that realm of unreal things, where
- the mind, fevered and broken, wove out of its sick imagination queer,
- meaningless fancies? It was strange that unreal things should seem so
- real! Wasn't that an animal of some sort scratching at the wall of the
- house outside?
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his head slightly from the pillow—and held it there. A
- voice from within the room reached him in an angry, rasping whisper:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn you, Birdie, why don't you pull the house down and have done with
- it? You clumsy hog! Do you want the police on us? Can't you climb three
- feet without waking up the whole of New York?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's lips drew together until they formed a tight, straight line.
- This was strange! Very strange! It wasn't a vagary of his brain this time.
- His brain was as clear now as it had ever been in his life. The voice came
- from beyond the head of his cot. He had seen no one in the room, but that
- was natural enough since from the position in which he was lying his line
- of vision was decidedly restricted; what seemed incomprehensible though,
- taken in conjunction with the words he had just heard, was that his own
- presence there appeared to be completely ignored.
- </p>
- <p>
- He twisted his head around cautiously, and found that the head of the cot
- was surrounded by a screen. He nodded to himself a little grimly. That
- accounted for it! There was a scraping sound now, and heavy, labored
- breathing.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce silently and stealthily stretched out his arm. He could just
- reach the screen. It was made of some soft, silken material, and his
- fingers found no difficulty in drawing this back a little from the edge of
- that portion of the upright framework which was directly in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He scarcely breathed now. Perhaps he was in so weak a state that his mind
- faltered if crowded, for there was so much to see that he could not seem
- to grasp it all as a single picture. He gazed fascinated. The details came
- slowly—one by one. It <i>was</i> the room where he had crawled in
- through the window and had fallen senseless to the floor—whenever
- that had been! That was the window there. And, curiously enough, another
- man was crawling in through it now! And there was whispering. And two
- other men were already standing in the room, but he could not see their
- faces because their backs were turned to him. Then one of the two swung
- around in the direction of the window, bringing his face into view. John
- Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, it must be that! His mind was off
- wandering once more, painting and picturing for itself its fanciful
- unrealities, bringing back again the character it had created, the man
- with the sinister face whose pallor was unhealthy and repulsive.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he opened his eyes and looked again, and the face was still there—and
- it was real. And now the man spoke:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come on, get busy, Birdie! If you take as long to crack the box as you
- have taken to climb in through a low window, maybe we'll be invited to
- breakfast with the family! You act just like a swell cracksman—not!
- But here's the combination—so try and play up to the part!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man addressed was heavy of build, with a pockmarked and forbidding
- countenance. He was panting from his exertions, as, inside the room now,
- he leaned against the sill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all right, Doc!” he grunted. “That's all right! But how about his
- nibs over there behind the screen? Ain't he ever comin' out of his nap?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man addressed as “Doc” rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and
- produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's the safe over there, Birdie,” he drawled, as he pricked his arm
- with the needle and pushed home the plunger. “Get busy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The big man shuffled his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you know your business, Doc,” he said uneasily; “but I guess me
- an' Pete here 'd feel more comfortable if you'd have put that shot of coke
- into the guy I'm speakin' about instead of into yourself. Ain't I right,
- Pete?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The third man was lounging against the wall, his back still turned to John
- Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure,” he said; “but I guess you can leave it to Doc. A guy that's been
- pawin' the air for two days ain't likely to butt in much all of a sudden.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man with the hypodermic, in the act of replacing the syringe in his
- pocket, drew it out again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Coming from you, Birdie,” he murmured caustically, “that's a surprisingly
- bright idea. I've been here for the last three hours listening to his
- interesting addresses from the rostrum of delirium, and I should say he
- was quite safe. Still, to oblige you, Birdie, and make you feel more
- comfortable, we'll act on your suggestion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's teeth gritted together. How weak he was! His arm ached from
- even the slight strain of extending it beyond his head to the screen.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he smiled grimly. But it wasn't a case of strength now, was it?
- He was obviously quite helpless in that respect. This man they called Doc
- believed him to be still unconscious, and—he drew his arm silently
- back, tucked it again under the sheet and blanket that covered him, and
- closed his eyes—and even if he could resist, which he couldn't, a
- hypodermic injection of morphine, or cocaine, or whatever it was that the
- supreme crook of the trio indulged in, could not <i>instantly</i> take
- effect. There ought to be time enough to watch at least——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce lay perfectly still. He heard a footstep come quickly around
- the screen; he sensed the presence of some one bending over him; then the
- coverings were pulled down and his arm was bared. He steeled himself
- against the instinctive impulse to wince at the sharp prick of the needle
- which he knew was coming—and felt instead a cold and curiously
- merciless rage sweep over him as the act was performed. Then the footstep
- retreated—and John Bruce quietly twisted his head around on the
- pillow, reached out his arm, and his fingers drew the silk panel of the
- screen slightly away from the edge of the framework again.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could see the safe they had referred to now. It was over at the far
- side of the room against the wall, and the three men were standing in
- front of it. Presently it was opened. The man called Doc knelt down in
- front of it and began to examine its contents. He swung around to his
- companions after a moment with a large pile of banknotes in his hands.
- From this pile he counted out and handed a small portion to each of the
- other two men—and coolly stuffed the bulk of the money into his own
- pockets.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scene went blurry then for a moment before John Bruce's eyes, and he
- lifted his free hand and brushed it across his forehead. He was so beastly
- weak, anyhow, and the infernal dope was getting in its work too fast! He
- fought with all his mental strength against the impulse to relax and close
- his eyes. What was it they were doing now? It looked like some foolish
- masquerade. The two companions of the man with the sinister, pasty face
- were tying handkerchiefs over their faces and drawing revolvers from their
- pockets; and then the big man began to close the door of the safe.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Doc's voice came sharply:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look out you don't lock it, you fool!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes. His brain must be
- playing him tricks again. A din infernal rose suddenly in the room. While
- the big man lounged nonchalantly against the safe, the other two were
- scuffling all over the floor and throwing chairs about. And then from
- somewhere upstairs, on the floor there too, John Bruce thought he caught
- the sound of hurried movements.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then for an instant the scuffling in the room ceased, and the pasty-faced
- man's voice came in a peremptory whisper:
- </p>
- <p>
- “The minute any one shows at the door you swing that safe open as though
- you'd been working at it all the time, Birdie, and pretend to shove
- everything in sight into your pockets. And you, Joe, you've got me
- cornered and covered here—see? And you hold the doorway with your
- gun too; and then both of you back away and make your getaway through the
- window.” The scuffling began again. John Bruce watched the scene, a sense
- of drowsiness and apathy creeping upon him. He tried to rouse himself. He
- ought to do something. That vicious-faced little crook who had haunted him
- with unwelcome visitations, and who at this precise moment had the bulk of
- the money from the safe in his own pockets, was in the act of planting a
- somewhat crude, but probably none the less effective, alibi, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce heard a door flung open, and then a sudden, startled cry, first
- in a woman's and then in a man's voice. But he could not see any door from
- the position in which he lay. He turned over with a great effort, facing
- the other way, and reached out with his fingers for the panel of the
- screen that overlapped the head of the cot. And then John Bruce lay
- motionless, the blood pounding fiercely at his temples.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was conscious that a tall, white-haired man in scanty attire was there,
- because the doorway framed two figures; but he <i>saw</i> only a beautiful
- face, pitifully white, only the slim form of a girl whose great brown eyes
- were very wide with fear, and who held her dressing gown tightly clutched
- around her throat. It was the girl of the traveling pawn-shop, it was the
- girl of his dreams in the shaft of sunlight, it was the girl he had
- followed here—only—only the picture seemed to be fading away.
- It was very strange! It was most curious! She always seemed to leave that
- way. This was Larmon now instead, wasn't it? Larmon... and a jack-knife...
- and a quill toothpick... and....
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SEVEN—THE GIRL OF THE TRAVELING PAWN-SHOP
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE
- abstractedly twirled the tassel of the old and faded dressing gown which
- he wore, the temporary possession of which he owed to Paul Veniza, his
- host. From the chair in which he sat his eyes ventured stolen glances at
- the nape of a dainty neck, and at a great coiled mass of silken brown hair
- that shone like burnished copper in the afternoon sunlight, as Claire
- Veniza, her back turned toward him, busied herself about the room. He
- could walk now across the floor—and a great deal further, he was
- sure, if they would only let him. He had not pressed that point; it might
- be taking an unfair advantage of an already over-generous hospitality, but
- he was not at all anxious to speed his departure from—well, from
- where he was at that precise moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now as he looked at Claire Veniza, his thoughts went back to the night
- he had stepped, at old Hawkins' invitation, into the traveling pawn-shop.
- That was not so very long ago—two weeks of grave illness, and then
- the past week of convalescence—but it seemed to span a great and
- almost limitless stretch of time, and to mark a new and entirely different
- era in his life; an era that perplexed and troubled and intrigued him with
- conditions and surroundings and disturbing elements that he did not
- comprehend—but at the same time made the blood in his veins to
- course with wild abandon, and the future to hold out glad and beckoning
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He loved, with a great, overwhelming, masterful love, the girl who stood
- there just across the room all unconscious of the worship that he knew was
- in his eyes, and which he neither tried nor wished to curb. Of his own
- love he was sure. He had loved her from the moment he had first seen her,
- and in his heart he knew he held fate kind to have given him the wound
- that in its turn had brought the week of convalescence just past. And yet—and
- yet—— Here dismay came, and his brain seemed to stumble.
- Sometimes he dared to hope; sometimes he was plunged into the depths of
- misery and despair. Little things, a touch of the hand as she had nursed
- him that had seemed like some God-given tender caress, a glance when she
- had thought he had not seen and which he had allowed his heart to
- interpret to its advantage with perhaps no other justification than its
- own yearning and desire, had buoyed him up; and then, at times, a strange,
- almost bitter aloofness, it seemed, in her attitude toward him—and
- this had checked, had always checked, the words that were ever on his
- lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint flush dyed his cheeks. But even so, and for all his boasted love,
- did he not in his own soul wrong her sometimes? The questions <i>would</i>
- come. What was the meaning of the strange environment in which she lived?
- Why should she have driven to a gambling hell late at night, and quite as
- though it were the usual thing, to transact business alone in that car
- with——
- </p>
- <p>
- God! His hands clenched fiercely. He remembered that night, and how the
- same thought had come then, mocking him, jeering him, making sport of him.
- He was a cad, a pitiful, vile-minded cad! Thank God that he was at least
- still man enough to be ashamed of his own thoughts, even if they came in
- spite of him!
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it was the strange, unusual characters that surrounded her, that
- came and went in this curious place here, that fostered such thoughts;
- perhaps he was not strong enough yet to grapple with all these confusing
- things. He smiled a little grimly. The robbery of the safe, for instance—and
- that reptile whom he now knew to be his own attending physician, Doctor
- Crang! He had said nothing about his knowledge of the robbery—yet.
- As nearly as he could judge it had occurred two or three days prior to the
- time when his actual convalescence had set in, and as a material witness
- to the crime he was not at all sure that in law his testimony would be of
- much value. They must certainly have found him in an unconscious state
- immediately afterward—and Doctor Crang would as indubitably attack
- his testimony as being nothing more than the hallucination of a sick
- brain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The luck of the devil had been with Crang! Why had he, John Bruce, gone
- drifting off into unconsciousness just at the psychological moment when,
- if the plan had been carried out as arranged and the other two had made
- their fake escape, Crang would have been left in the room with Claire and
- Paul Veniza—with the money in his pockets! He would have had Doctor
- Crang cold then! It was quite different now. He was not quite sure what he
- meant to do, except that he fully proposed to have a reckoning with Doctor
- Crang. But that reckoning, something, he could not quite define what, had
- prompted him to postpone until he had become physically a little stronger!
- </p>
- <p>
- And then there was another curious thing about it all, which too had
- influenced him in keeping silent. Hawkins, Paul Veniza, Claire and Doctor
- Crang had each, severally and collectively, been here in this room many
- times since the robbery, and not once in his presence had the affair ever
- been mentioned! And—oh, what did it matter! He shrugged his
- shoulders as though to rid himself of some depressing physical weight.
- What did anything matter on this wonderful sunlit afternoon—save
- Claire there in her white, cool dress, that seemed somehow to typify her
- own glorious youth and freshness.
- </p>
- <p>
- How dainty and sweet and alluring she looked! His eyes were no longer
- contented with stolen glances; they held now masterfully, defiant of any
- self-restraint, upon the slim figure that was all grace from the trim
- little ankles to the poise of the shapely head. He felt the blood quicken
- his pulse. Stronger than he had ever known it before, straining to burst
- all barriers, demanding expression as a right that would not be denied,
- his love rose dominant within him, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- The tassel he had been twirling dropped from his hand. She had turned
- suddenly; and across the room her eyes met his, calm, deep and unperturbed
- at first, but wide the next instant with a startled shyness, and the color
- sweeping upward from her throat crimsoned her face, and in confusion she
- turned away her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was on his feet. He stumbled a little as he took a step
- forward. His heart was pounding, flinging a red tide into the pallor of
- his cheeks that illness had claimed as one of its tolls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I did not mean to tell you like that,” he said huskily. “But I
- have wanted to tell you for so long. It seems as though I have always
- wanted to tell you. Claire—I love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beside her now—only her head was lowered and averted and he
- could not look into her face. Her fingers were plucking tremulously at a
- fold of her dress. He caught her hand between both his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire—Claire, I love you!” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She disengaged her hand gently; and, still refusing to let him see her
- face, shook her head slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I——-” Her voice was very low. “Oh, don't you know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I love you,” he answered passionately. “I know that nothing else
- but that matters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought perhaps he would have told you. I—I am going to marry
- Doctor Crang.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stepped back involuntarily; and for a moment incredulity and
- helpless amazement held sway in his expression—then his lips
- tightened in a hurt, half angry way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that fair to me, Claire—to give me an answer like that?” he said
- in a low tone. “I know it isn't true, of course; it couldn't be—but—but
- it isn't much of a joke either, is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is true,” she said monotonously.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned suddenly forward, and taking her face between his hands, made
- her lift her head and look at him. The brown eyes were swimming with
- tears. The red swept her face in a great wave, and, receding, left it
- deathly pale—and in a frenzy of confusion she wrenched herself free
- from him and retreated a step.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” said John Bruce hoarsely. “You—and Doctor Crang! I don't
- understand! It is monstrous! You can't love that——” He checked
- himself, biting at his lips. “You can't love Doctor Crang. It is
- impossible! You dare not stand there and tell me that you do. Answer me,
- Claire—answer me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed to have regained her self-control—or perhaps it was the
- one defense she knew. The little figure was drawn up, her head held back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have no right to ask me that,” she said steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Right!” John Bruce echoed almost fiercely. His soul itself seemed
- suddenly to be in passionate turmoil; it seemed to juggle two figures
- before his consciousness, contrasting one with the other in most hideous
- fashion—this woman here whom he loved, who struggled to hold herself
- bravely, who stood for all that was pure, for all that he reverenced in a
- woman; and that sallow, evil-faced degenerate, a drug fiend so lost to the
- shame of his vice that he pricked himself with his miserable needle quite
- as unconcernedly in public as one would smoke a cigarette—and worse—a
- crook—a thief! Was it a coward's act to tell this girl <i>what</i>
- the man was whom she proposed to marry? Was it contemptible to pull a
- rival such as that down from the pedestal which in some fiendish way he
- must have erected for himself? Surely she did not know the man for what he
- actually was! She could not know! “Right!” he cried out. “Yes, I have the
- right—both for your sake and for my own. I have the right my love
- gives me. Do you know how I came here that first night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said with an effort. “You told me. You were in a fight in
- Ratti's place, and were wounded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed out harshly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I told you the truth—as far as it went,” he said. “But do you
- know how I came to be in this locality after leaving you in that motor
- car? I followed you. I loved you from the moment I saw you that night. It
- seems as though I have always loved you—as I always shall love you.
- That is what gives me the right to speak. And I mean to speak. If it were
- an honorable man to whom you were to be married it would be quite another
- matter; but you cannot know what you are doing, you do not know this man
- as he really is, or what he——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please! Please stop!” she cried out brokenly. “Nothing you could say
- would tell me anything I do not already know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not so sure!” said John Bruce grimly. “Suppose I told you he was a
- criminal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a criminal.” Her voice was without inflection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose then he were sent to jail—to serve a sentence?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would marry him when he came out,” she said. “Oh, please do not say any
- more! I know far more about him than you do; but—but that has
- nothing to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant, motionless, John Bruce stared at Claire; then his hands
- swept out and caught her wrists in a tight grip and held her prisoner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” His voice choked. “What does this mean? You do not love him; you
- say you know he is even a criminal—and yet you are going to marry
- him! What hold has he got on you? What is it? What damnable trap has he
- got you in? I am going to know, Claire! I will know! And whatever it is,
- whatever the cause of it, I'll crush it, strangle it, sweep it out of your
- dear life at any cost! Tell me, Claire!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face had gone white; she struggled a little to release herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you do not know what you are saying. You——” Her
- voice broke in a half sob.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire, look at me!” He was pleading now with his soul in his eyes and
- voice. “Claire, I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, please let me go!” she cried out frantically. “You cannot say
- anything that will make any difference. I—it only makes it harder.”
- The tears were brimming in her eyes again. “Oh, please let me go—there's—there's
- some one coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's hands dropped to his sides. The door, already half open, was
- pushed wide, and Hawkins, the old chauffeur, stood on the threshold. And
- as John Bruce looked in that direction, he was suddenly and strangely
- conscious that somehow for the moment the old man dominated his attention
- even to the exclusion of Claire. There was something of curious
- self-effacement, of humbleness in the bent, stoop-shouldered figure there,
- who twisted a shapeless hat awkwardly in his hands; but also something of
- trouble and deep anxiety in the faded blue eyes as they fixed on the girl,
- and yet without meeting her eyes in return, held upon her as she walked
- slowly now toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear old Hawkins,” she said softly, and laid her hand for an instant on
- the other's arm as she passed by him, “you and Mr. Bruce will be able to
- entertain each other, won't you? I—I'm going upstairs for a little
- while.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And the old man made no answer; but, turning on the threshold, he watched
- her, his attitude, it seemed to John Bruce, one of almost pathetic
- wistfulness, as Claire disappeared from view.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER EIGHT—ALLIES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>LAIRE'S footsteps,
- ascending the stairs, died away. John Bruce returned to his chair. His
- eyes were still on the old chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins was no longer twisting his shapeless hat nervously in his fingers;
- instead, he held it now in one clenched hand, while with the other he
- closed the door behind him as he stepped forward across the threshold, and
- with squared shoulders advanced toward John Bruce. And then, quite as
- suddenly again, as though alarmed at his own temerity, the old man paused,
- and the question on his lips, aggressively enough framed, became
- irresolute in tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—what's the matter with Claire?” he stammered. “What's this
- mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a moment before John Bruce answered, while he eyed the other from
- head to foot. Hawkins was not the least interesting by any means of the
- queer characters that came and went and centered around this one-time
- pawn-shop of Paul Veniza; but Hawkins, of them all, was the one he was
- least able, from what he had seen of the man, to fathom. And yet, somehow,
- he liked Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's exactly what I want to know,” he said a little brusquely. “And”—he
- eyed Hawkins once more with cool appraisal—“I think you are the man
- best able to supply the information.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins began to fumble with his hat again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I—why do you say that?” he faltered, a sudden note of what
- seemed almost trepidation in his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Possibly it is just a hunch,” he said calmly. “But you were the one who
- was driving that old bus on a certain night—you remember? And you
- seem to hang around here about as you please. Therefore you must stand in
- on a fairly intimate basis with the family circle. I'd like to know what
- hold a rotten crook like Doctor Crang has got on Claire Veniza that she
- should be willing to marry him, when she doesn't love him. I'd like to
- know why a girl like Claire Veniza drives alone at night to a gambling
- hell to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's enough!” Hawkins' voice rose abruptly, peremptorily. He advanced
- again threateningly oft John Bruce. “Don't you dare to say one word
- against my—against—against her. I'll choke the life out of
- you, if you do! Who are you, anyway? You are asking a lot of questions.
- How did you get here in the first place? You answer that! I've always
- meant to ask you. You answer that—and leave Claire out of it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce whistled softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't very well do that,” he said quietly, “because it was Claire who
- brought me here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire brought you!” The old blue eyes grew very hard and very steady.
- “That's a lie! She never saw you after you got out at the corner that
- night until you came in through the window here. She didn't tell you where
- she lived. She didn't invite you here. She's not that kind, and, sick
- though you may be, I'll not keep my hands off you, if——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady, Hawkins—steady!” said John Bruce, his voice as quiet as
- before. “We seem to possess a common bond. You seem to be pretty fond of
- Claire. Well, so am I. That ought to make us allies.” He held out his hand
- suddenly to the old man. “I had just asked Claire to marry me when you
- came to the door.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins stared from the outstretched hand into John Bruce's eyes, and back
- again at the outstretched hand. Bewilderment, hesitation, a curious
- excitement was in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You asked Claire to marry you?” He swallowed hard. “You—you want to
- marry Claire? I—why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” John Bruce echoed helplessly. “Good Lord, Hawkins, you <i>are</i> a
- queer one! Barring beasts like Crang, why does a man ordinarily ask a
- woman to marry him? Because he loves her. Well, I love Claire. I loved her
- from the moment I saw her. I followed her, or, rather, that old bus of
- yours, here that night. And that is how, after that fight at Ratti's when
- I got out the back door and into the lane, I crawled over here for
- sanctuary. I said Claire brought me here. You understand now, don't you?
- That's how she brought me here—because I loved her that night. But
- it is because of Crang”—his voice grew hard—“that I am telling
- you this. I love her now—and a great deal too much, whether she
- could ever care for me or not, to see her in the clutches of a crook, and
- her life wrecked by a degenerate cur. And somehow”—his hand was
- still extended—“I thought you seemed to think enough of her to feel
- the same way about this marriage—for I imagine you must know about
- it. Well, Hawkins, where do you stand? There's something rotten here. Are
- you for Claire, or the dope-eater?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my God!” Hawkins whispered huskily. And then almost blindly he
- snatched at John Bruce's hand and wrung it hard. “I—I believe you're
- straight,” he choked. “I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. I
- wouldn't ask anything more in the world for her than a man's honest love.
- And she ain't going to marry that devil! You understand?” His voice was
- rising in a curious cracked shrillness. “She ain't! Not while old Hawkins
- is alive!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce drew his brows together in a puzzled way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I pass you up, Hawkins,” he said slowly. “I can't make you out. But if
- you mean what you say, and if you trust me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going to trust you!” There was eagerness, excitement, a tremble in
- the old man's voice. “I've got to trust you after what you've said. I
- ain't slept for nights on account of this. It looks like God sent you. You
- wait! Wait just a second, and I'll show you how much I trust you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce straightened up in his chair. Was the old man simply erratic,
- or perhaps a little irresponsible—or what? Hawkins had pattered
- across the floor, had cautiously opened the door, and was now peering with
- equal caution into the outer room. Apparently satisfied at last, he closed
- the door noiselessly, and started back across the room. And then John
- Bruce knew suddenly an indefinable remorse at having somehow misjudged the
- shabby old chauffeur, whose figure seemed to totter now a little as it
- advanced toward him. Hawkins' face was full of misery, and the old blue
- eyes were brimming with tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It—it ain't easy”—Hawkins' voice quavered—“to say—what
- I got to say. There ain't no one on earth but Paul Veniza knows it; but
- you've got a right to know after what you've said. And I've got to tell
- you for Claire's sake too, because it seems to me there ain't nobody going
- to help me save her the way you are. She—she's my little girl. I—I'm
- Claire's father.” John Bruce stared numbly at the other. He could find no
- words; he could only stare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, look at me!” burst out the old man finally, and into his voice there
- came an infinite bitterness. “Look at my clothes! I'm just what I look
- like! I ain't no good—and that's what has kept my little girl and me
- apart from the day she was born. Yes, look at me! I don't blame you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was on his feet. His hand reached out and rested on the old
- man's shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That isn't the way to trust me, Hawkins,” he said gently. “What do your
- clothes matter? What do your looks matter? What does anything in the world
- matter alongside of so wonderful a thing as that which you have just told
- me? Straighten those shoulders, Hawkins; throw back that head of yours.
- Her father! Why, you're the richest man in New York, and you've reason to
- be the proudest!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was smiling with both lips and eyes into the other's face. He
- felt a tremor pass through the old man's frame; he saw a momentary flash
- of joy and pride light up the wrinkled, weather-beaten face—and then
- Hawkins turned his head away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless you,” said Hawkins brokenly; “but you don't know. She's all
- I've got; she's the only kith and kin I've got in all the world, and oh,
- my God, how these old arms have ached just to take her and hold her tight,
- and—and——” He lifted his head suddenly, met John Bruce's
- eyes, and a flush dyed his cheeks. “She's my little girl; but I lie when I
- say I love her. It's drink I love. That's my shame, John Bruce—you've
- got it all now. I pawned my soul, and I pawned my little girl for drink.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins,” said John Bruce huskily, “I think you're a bigger man than
- you've any idea you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D'ye mean that?” Hawkins spoke eagerly—only to shake his head
- miserably the next instant. “You don't understand,” he said. “I as good as
- killed her mother with drink. She died when Claire was born. I brought
- Claire here, and Paul Veniza and his wife took her in. And Paul Veniza was
- right about it. He made me promise she wasn't to know I was her father
- until—until she would have a man and not a drunken sot to look after
- her. That's twenty years ago. I've tried.. God knows I've tried, but it's
- beaten me ever since. Paul's wife died when Claire was sixteen, and
- Claire's run the house for Paul—and—and I'm Hawkins—just
- Hawkins—the old cab driver that's dropping in the harness. Just
- Hawkins that shuffers the traveling pawn-shop now that Paul's quit the
- regular shop. That's what I am—just old Hawkins, who's always
- swearing to God he's going to leave the booze alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce did not speak for a moment. He returned to his chair and sat
- down. Somehow he wanted to think; somehow he felt that he had not quite
- grasped the full significance of what he had just heard. He looked at
- Hawkins. Hawkins had sunk into a chair by the table, and his face was
- buried in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then John Bruce smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Hawkins,” he said briskly, “let's talk about something else
- for a minute. Tell me about Paul Veniza and this traveling pawn-shop. It's
- a bit out of the ordinary, to say the least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins raised his head, and his thoughts for the moment diverted into
- other channels, his face brightened, and he scratched at the scanty fringe
- of hair behind his ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ain't bad, is it?” he said with interest. “I'm kind of proud of it
- too, 'cause I guess mabbe, when all's said and done, it was my idea. You
- see, when Paul's wife died, Paul went all to pieces. He ain't well now,
- for that matter—nowhere near as well as he looks. I'm kind of scared
- about Paul. He keeps getting sick turns once every so often. But when the
- wife died he was just clean broken up. She'd been his right hand from the
- start in his business here, and—I dunno—it just seemed to
- affect him that way. He didn't want to go on any more without her. And as
- far as money was concerned he didn't have to. Paul ain't rich, but he's
- mighty comfortably off. Anyway, he took the three balls down from over the
- door, and he took the signs off the windows, and in comes the carpenters
- to change things around here, and there ain't any more pawn-shop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins for the first time smiled broadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it didn't work out,” said Hawkins. “Paul's got a bigger business and
- a more profitable one to-day than he ever had before in his life. You see,
- he had been at it a good many years, and he had what you might call a
- private connection—swells up on the Avenue, mostly ladies, but gents
- too, who needed money sometimes without having it printed in the papers,
- and they wouldn't let Paul alone. Paul ain't got a hair in his head that
- ain't honest and fair and square and above-board—and they were the
- ones that knew it better than anybody else. See?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said John Bruce. “Go on, Hawkins,” he prompted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Hawkins, “I used to drive an old hansom cab in those days,
- and I used to drive Paul out on those private calls to the swell houses.
- And then when Mrs. Paul died and Paul closed up the shop here he kind of
- drew himself into his shell all round, and mostly he wouldn't go out any
- more, though the swells kept telephoning and telephoning him. He'd only go
- to just a few people that he'd done business with since almost the
- beginning. He said he didn't want to go around ringing people's doorbells,
- and being ushered into boudoirs or anywhere else, and he was settling down
- to shun everybody and everything. It wasn't good for Paul. And then a sort
- of crazy notion struck me, and I chewed it over and over in my mind, and
- finally I put it up to Paul. In the mood he was in, it just caught his
- fancy; and so I bought a second-hand closed car, and fitted it up like you
- saw, and learned to drive it—and that's how there came to be the
- traveling pawn-shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “After that, there wasn't anything to it. It caught everybody else's fancy
- as well as Paul's, and it began to get him out of himself. The old bus, as
- you called it, was running all the time. Lots of the swells who really
- didn't want to pawn anything took a ride and did a bit of business just
- for the sake of the experience, and the regular customers just went nutty
- over it, they were that pleased.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And then some one who stood in with that swell gambling joint where we
- picked you up must have tipped the manager off about it, and he saw where
- he could do a good stroke of business—make it a kind of
- advertisement, you know, besides doing away with any lending by the house
- itself, and he put up a proposition to Paul where Paul was to get all the
- business at regular rates, and a bit of a salary besides on account of the
- all-night hours he'd have to keep sometimes. Paul said he'd do it, and
- turned the salary over to me; and they doped out that pass word about a
- trip to Persia to make it sound mysterious and help out the advertising
- end, and—well, I guess that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was twirling the tassel of his dressing gown again
- abstractedly; but now he stopped as Hawkins rose abruptly and came toward
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—it ain't all,” said Hawkins, a curious note almost of challenge
- in his voice. “You said something about Claire going to that gambling
- joint. It was the first time she had ever been there. That night Paul was
- out when they telephoned. You must be one of their big customers, 'cause
- they wouldn't listen to anything but a trip to Persia right on the spot.
- They were so set on it that Claire said it would be all right. She sent
- for me. At first I wasn't for it at all, but she said it seemed to be of
- such importance, and that there wasn't anything else to do. Claire knows a
- bit of jewelry or a stone as well as Paul does, and I knew Claire could
- take care of herself; and besides, although she didn't know it, it—it
- was her own old father driving the car there with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, Hawkins,” said John Bruce simply; and after a moment: “It
- doesn't make the love I said I had for her show up very creditably to me,
- does it—that I should have had any questions?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't mean it that way,” he said earnestly. “It would have been a
- wonder if you hadn't. Anyway, you had a right to know, and it was only
- fair to Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER NINE—THE CONSPIRATORS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE fumbled
- in the pocket of his dressing gown and produced a cigarette; but he was a
- long time in lighting it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins,” he demanded abruptly, “is Paul Veniza in the house now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's upstairs, I think,” Hawkins answered. “Do you want him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—in a moment,” said John Bruce slowly. “I've been thinking a
- good deal while you were talking. I can only see things one way; and that
- is that the time has come when you should take your place as Claire's
- father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man drew back, startled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell Claire?” he whispered. Then he shook his head miserably. “No, no! I—I
- haven't earned the right. I—I can't break my word to Paul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not ask you to break your word to Paul. I want you to earn the right—now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins was still shaking his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Earn it now—after all these years! How can I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By promising that you won't drink any more,” said John Bruce quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' eyes went to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Promise!” he said in a shamed way. “I've been promising that for twenty
- years. Paul wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe myself. I went and got
- drunker than I've been in all my life the night that dog said he was going
- to marry Claire, and Claire said it was true, and wouldn't listen to
- anything Paul could say to her against it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would believe you,” said John Bruce gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant Hawkins' face glowed, while tears came into the old blue
- eyes—and then he turned hurriedly and walked to the window, his back
- to John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's no use,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “You don't know me.
- Nobody that knows me would take my word for that—least of all Paul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know this,” said John Bruce steadily, “that you have never been really
- put to the test. The test is here now. You'd stop, and stop forever,
- wouldn't you, if it meant Claire's happiness, her future, her salvation
- from the horror and degradation and misery and utter hopelessness that a
- life with a man who is lost to every sense of decency must bring her? I
- would believe you if you promised under those conditions. It seems to me
- to be the only chance there is left to save her. It is true she believes
- Paul is her father and accepts him as such, and neither his influence nor
- his arguments will move her from her determination to marry Crang; but I
- think there is a chance if she is told your story, if she is brought to
- her own father through this very thing. I think if you are in each other's
- arms at last after all these years from just that cause it might succeed
- where everything else failed. But this much is sure. It has a chance of
- success, and you owe Claire that chance. Will you take it, Hawkins? Will
- you promise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no answer from the window, only the shaking of the old man's
- shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins,” said John Bruce softly, “wouldn't it be very wonderful if you
- saved her, and saved yourself; and wonderful, too, to know the joy of your
- own daughter's love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man turned suddenly from the window, his arms stretched out before
- him as though in intense yearning; and there was something almost of
- nobility in the gray head held high on the bent shoulders, something of
- greatness in the old wrinkled face that seemed to exalt the worn and
- shabby clothes hanging so formlessly about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My little girl,” he said brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your promise, Hawkins,” said John Bruce in a low voice. “Will you
- promise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” breathed the old man fiercely. “<i>Yes</i>—so help me, God!
- But”—he faltered suddenly—“but Paul——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ask Paul to come down here,” said John Bruce. “I have something to say to
- both of you—more than I have already said to you. I will answer for
- Paul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old cab driver obeyed mechanically. He crossed the room and went out.
- John Bruce heard him mounting the stairs. Presently he returned, followed
- by the tall, straight, white-haired figure of Paul Veniza.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins closed the door behind them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza turned sharply at the sound, and glanced gravely from one to
- the other. His eyebrows went up as he looked at John Bruce. John Bruce's
- face was set.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the matter?” inquired Paul Veniza anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to listen first to a little story,” said John Bruce seriously—and
- in a few words he told Paul Veniza, as he had told Hawkins, of his love
- for Claire and the events of the night that had brought him there a
- wounded man. “And this afternoon,” John Bruce ended, “I asked Claire to
- marry me, and she told me she was going to marry Doctor Crang.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza had listened with growing anxiety, casting troubled and
- uncertain glances the while at Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce spoke abruptly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins has promised he will never drink again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza, with a sudden start, stared at Hawkins, and then a sort of
- kindly tolerance dawned in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend!” said Paul Veniza as though he were comforting a wayward
- child, and went over and laid his hand affectionately on Hawkins' arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have told Hawkins,” went on John Bruce, “that I love Claire, that I
- asked her to marry me; and Hawkins in turn has told me he is Claire's
- father, and how he brought her to you and Mrs. Veniza when she was a baby,
- and of the pledge he made you then. It is because I love Claire too that I
- feel I can speak now. You once told Hawkins how he could redeem his
- daughter. He wants to redeem her now. He has promised never to drink
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza's face had whitened a little. Half in a startled, half in a
- troubled way, he looked once more at John Bruce and then at Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend!” he said again.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's hand on the arm of his chair clenched suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may perhaps feel that he should not have told me of his relationship
- to Claire; but it was this damnable situation with Crang that forced the
- issue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza left Hawkins' side and began to pace the room in an agitated
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” he said heavily. “I do not blame Hawkins. We—we neither of us
- know what to do. It is a terrible, an awful thing. Crang is like some
- loathsome creature to her, and yet in some way that I cannot discover he
- has got her into his power. I have tried everything, used every argument I
- can with her, pleaded with her—and it has been useless.” He raised
- his arms suddenly above his head, partly it seemed in supplication, partly
- in menace. “Oh, God!” he cried out. “I, too, love her, for she has really
- been my daughter through all these years. But I do not quite understand.”
- He turned to Hawkins. “Even if you kept your promise now, my friend, what
- connection has that with Doctor Crang? Could that in any way prevent this
- marriage?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was John Bruce who answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the last ditch,” he said evenly; “the one way you have not tried—to
- tell her her own and her father's story. I do not say it will succeed. But
- it is the great crisis in her life. It is the one thing in the world that
- ought to sway her, win her. Her father! After twenty years—her
- father!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza's hands, trembling, ruffled through his white hair. Hawkins'
- fingers fumbled, now with the buttons on his vest, now with the brim of
- his hat which He had picked up aimlessly from the table; and his eyes,
- lifting from the floor, glanced timorously, almost furtively, at Paul
- Veniza, and sought the floor again.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce got up from his chair and stepped toward them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to tell you something,” he said sharply, “that ought to put an end
- to any hesitation on your parts at <i>any</i> plan, no matter what, that
- offers even the slightest chance of stopping this marriage. Listen! Devil
- though you both believe this Crang to be, you do not either of you even
- know the man for what he is. While I was lying there”—he flung out
- his hand impulsively toward the couch—“the safe here in this room
- was opened and robbed one night. You know that. But you do not know that
- it was done by Doctor Crang and his confederates. You know what happened.
- But you do not know that while the 'burglars' pretended to hold Crang at
- bay with a revolver and then made their 'escape,' Crang, with most of the
- proceeds of that robbery in his own pockets, was laughing up his sleeve at
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' jaw had dropped as he stared at John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Crang did it! You—you say Crang committed that robbery?” stammered
- Paul Veniza. “But you were unconscious! Still you—you seem to know
- that the safe was robbed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Apparently I do!” John Bruce laughed shortly. “Crang too thought I was
- unconscious, but to make sure he jabbed me with his needle. It took effect
- just at the right time—for Crang—just as you and Claire
- appeared in the doorway. And”—his brows knitted together—“it
- seems a little strange that none of you have ever mentioned it in my
- presence; that not a word has ever been said to me about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza coughed nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were sick,” he said; “too sick, we thought, for any excitement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins suddenly leaned forward; his wrinkled face was earnest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is not true!” he said bluntly. “It might have been at first, but it
- wasn't after you got better. It was mostly your money that was stolen.
- Claire put it there the night you came here, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins!” Paul Veniza called out sharply in reproof.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he knows now it's gone,” said the old cabman a little helplessly. He
- blundered on: “Paul felt he was responsible for your money, and he was
- afraid you might not want to take it if you knew he had to make it up out
- of his own pocket, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce took a step forward, and laid his hand on Paul Veniza's
- shoulder. He stood silently, looking at the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is nothing!” said Paul Veniza, abashed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps not!” said John Bruce. “But”—he turned abruptly away, his
- lips tight—“it just made me think for a minute. In the life I've led
- men like you are rare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were speaking of Doctor Crang,” said Paul Veniza a little awkwardly.
- “If you know that Doctor Crang is the thief, then that is the way out of
- our trouble. Instead of marrying Claire, he will be sent to prison.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said yourself I was unconscious at the time. You certainly must have
- found me that way, and Crang would make you testify that for days I had
- been raving in delirium. I do not think you could convict him on my
- testimony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But even so,” said Paul Veniza, “there is Claire. If she knew that Crang
- was a criminal, she——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She does know,” said John Bruce tersely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire knows!” ejaculated Paul Veniza in surprise. “You—you told
- her, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” John Bruce answered. “I said to her: 'Suppose I were to tell you
- that the man is a criminal?' She answered: 'He is a criminal.' I said
- then: 'Suppose he were sent to jail—to serve a sentence?' She
- answered: 'I would marry him when he came out.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” mumbled the old cabman miserably.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you this,” said John Bruce through set teeth, and speaking
- directly to Paul Veniza, “because it seems to me to be the final proof
- that mere argument with Claire is useless, and that something more is
- necessary. I do not ask you to release Hawkins from his pledge; I ask you
- to believe his promise this time because back of it he knows it may save
- Claire from what would mean worse than death to her. I believe him; I will
- vouch for him. Do you agree, Paul Veniza?”
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant the white-haired pawnbroker seemed lost in thought; then he
- nodded his head gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the last few days,” he said slowly, “I have felt that it was no longer
- my province to masquerade as her father. I know that my influence is
- powerless. As you have said, it is the crisis, a very terrible crisis, in
- her life.” He turned toward Hawkins, and held out his hand. “My old
- friend”—his voice broke—“I pray Heaven to aid you—to aid
- us all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' blue eyes filled suddenly with tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You believe me, too, Paul, this time!” he said in a choking voice.
- “Listen, Paul! I promise! So help me, God—I promise!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A lump had somehow risen in John Bruce's throat. He turned away, and for a
- moment there was silence in the room. And then he heard Paul Veniza speak:
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is dear to us all. Let us call her—unless, my old friend, you
- would rather be alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” Hawkins cried hurriedly. “I—I want you both; but—but
- not now, don't call her now.” He swept his hands over his shabby,
- ill-fitting clothes. “I—not like this. I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Paul Veniza gently, “I understand—and you are right.
- This evening then—at eight o'clock. You will come back here, my old
- friend, at eight o'clock. And do you remember, it was in this very room,
- twenty years ago, that——” He did not complete his sentence;
- the hot tears were streaming unashamed down his cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was staring out of the window, the panes of which seemed
- curiously blurred.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come,” he heard Paul Veniza say.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as the two men reached the door, John Bruce looked around.
- Hawkins had turned on the threshold. Something seemed to have transfigured
- the old cab driver's face. It was illumined. There seemed something of
- infinite pathos in the head held high, in the drooped shoulders resolutely
- squared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My little girl!” said Hawkins tenderly. “To-night at eight o'clock—my
- little girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TEN—AT FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>EFORE the rickety
- washstand and in front of the cracked glass that served as a mirror and
- was suspended from a nail driven into the wall, Hawkins was shaving
- himself. Perhaps the light from the wheezing gas-jet was over-bad that
- evening, or perhaps it was only in playful and facetious mood with the
- mirror acting the rôle of co-conspirator; Hawkins' chin smarted and was
- raw; little specks of red showed here and there through the repeated coats
- of lather which he kept scraping off with his razor. But Hawkins appeared
- willing to sacrifice even the skin itself to obtain the standard of
- smoothness which he had evidently set before himself as his goal. And so
- over and over again he applied the lather, and hoed it off, and tested the
- result by rubbing thumb and forefinger critically over his face. He made
- no grimace, nor did he show any irritation at the none-too-keen blade that
- played havoc with more than the lather, nor did he wince at what must at
- times have been anything but a painless operation. Hawkins' round,
- weatherbeaten face and old watery blue eyes smiled into the mirror.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the washstand beside him lay a large, ungainly silver watch, its case
- worn smooth with years of service. It had a hunting-case, and it was open.
- Hawkins glanced at it. It was twenty minutes to eight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got to hurry,” said Hawkins happily. “Just twenty minutes—after
- twenty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins laid aside the razor, and washed and scrubbed at his face until it
- shone; then he went to his trunk and opened it. From underneath the tray
- he lifted out an old black suit. Perhaps again it was the gas-jet in
- either baleful or facetious mood, for, as he put on the suit, the cloth in
- spots seemed to possess, here a rusty, and there a greenish, tinge, and
- elsewhere to be woefully shiny. Also, but of this the gas-jet could not
- have been held guilty, the coat and trousers, and indeed the waistcoat,
- were undeniably most sadly wrinkled.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now there seemed to be something peculiarly congruous as between the
- feeble gas-jet, the cracked mirror, the wobbly washstand, the threadbare
- strip of carpet that lay beside the iron bed, and the old bent-shouldered
- figure with wrinkled face in wrinkled finery that stood there knotting
- with anxious, awkward fingers a large, frayed, black cravat about his
- neck; there seemed to be something strikingly in keeping between the man
- and his surroundings, a sort of common intimacy, as it were, with the
- twilight of an existence that, indeed, had never known the full sunlight
- of high noon.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ten minutes to eight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins put the silver watch in his pocket, extinguished the spluttering
- gas-jet, that hissed at him as though in protest at the scant ceremony
- with which it was treated, and went down the stairs. He stepped briskly
- out on the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” said Hawkins radiantly. “My little Claire! I'm her daddy, and
- she's going to know it. I'm going to get her to call me that—daddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins walked on halfway along the block, erect, with a quick, firm step,
- his head high, smiling into every face he met—and turning to smile
- again, conscious that people as they passed had turned to look back at
- him. And then very gradually Hawkins' pace slackened, and into his face
- and eyes there came a dawning anxiety, and the smile was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm kind of forgetting,” said Hawkins presently to himself, “that it
- ain't just that I'm getting my little girl. I—I'm kind of forgetting
- her 'rouble. There—there's Crang.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man's face was furrowed now deep with storm and care; he walked
- still more slowly. He began to mutter to himself. At the corner of the
- street he raised an old gnarled fist and shook it, clenched, above his
- head, unconscious and oblivious now that people still turned and looked at
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then a little way ahead of him along the street that he must go to
- reach the one-time pawn-shop of Paul Veniza, his eyes caught the patch of
- light that filtered out to the sidewalk from under the swinging doors of
- the familiar saloon, and from the windows in a more brilliant flood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins drew in a long breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” he whispered fiercely. “I will never go in there again—so
- help me, God! If I did—and—and she knew it was her daddy, it
- would just break her heart like—like Crang 'll break it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went on, but his footsteps seemed to drag the more now as he approached
- the saloon. His hand as he raised it trembled; and as he brushed it across
- his brow it came away wet with sweat.
- </p>
- <p>
- The saloon was just a yard away from him now.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a strange, feverish glitter in the blue eyes. His face was
- chalky white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So help me, God!” Hawkins mumbled hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was five minutes of eight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins had halted in front of the swinging doors.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER ELEVEN—THE RENDEZVOUS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL VENIZA, pacing
- restlessly about the room, glanced surreptitiously at his watch, and then
- glanced anxiously at John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce in turn stole a look at Claire. His lips tightened a little.
- Since she had been told nothing, she was quite unconscious, of course,
- that it mattered at all because it was already long after eight o'clock;
- that Hawkins in particular, or any one else in general, was expected to
- join the little evening circle here in what he, John Bruce, had by now
- almost come to call his room. His forehead gathered in a frown. What was
- it that was keeping Hawkins?
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire's face was full in the light, and as she sat there at the table,
- busy with some sewing, it seemed to John Bruce that, due perhaps to the
- perspective of what he now knew, he detected a weariness in her eyes and
- in sharp lines around her mouth, that he had not noticed before. It was
- Crang, of course; but perhaps he too—what he had said to her that
- afternoon—his love—had not made it any easier for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza continued his restless pacing about the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, do sit down!” said Claire suddenly. “What makes you so nervous
- to-night? Is anything the matter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The matter? No! No, no; of course not!” said Paul Veniza hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I'm sure there is,” said Claire, with a positive' little nod of her
- head. “With both of you, for that matter. Mr. Bruce has done nothing but
- fidget with the tassel of that dressing gown for the last half hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce let the tassel fall as though it had suddenly burned his
- fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? Not at all!” he denied stoutly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear!” sighed Claire, with mock plaintiveness. “What bores you two
- men are, then! I wish I could send out—what do you call it?—a
- thought wave, and inspire some one, and most of all Hawkins, to come over
- here this evening. He, at least, is never deadly dull.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither of the two men spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know Hawkins, do you, Mr. Bruce?” Claire went on. She was
- smiling now as she looked at John Bruce. “I mean really know him, of
- course. He's a dear, quaint, lovable soul, and I'm so fond of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sure he is,” said John Bruce heartily. “Even from the little I've
- seen of him I'd trust him with—well, you know”—John Bruce
- coughed as his words stumbled—“I mean, I'd take his word for
- anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, you would!” asserted Claire. “You couldn't think of doing
- anything else—nobody could. He's just as honest as—as—well,
- as father there, and I don't know any one more honest.” She smiled at Paul
- Veniza, and then her face grew very earnest. “I'm going to tell you
- something about Hawkins, and something that even you never knew, father.
- Ever since I was old enough to remember any one, I remember Hawkins. And
- when I got old enough to understand at all, though I could never get him
- to talk about it, I knew his life wasn't a very happy one, and perhaps I
- loved him all the more for that reason. Hawkins used to drink a great
- deal. Everybody knew it. I—I never felt I had the right to speak to
- him about it, though it made me feel terribly, until—until mother
- died.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire had dropped her sewing in her lap, and now she picked it up again
- and fumbled with it nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I spoke to him then,” she said in a low voice. “I told him how much you
- needed him, father; and how glad and happy it would make me. And—and
- I remember so well his words: 'I promise, Claire. I promise, so help me,
- God, that I will never drink another drop.'” Claire looked up, her face
- aglow “And I know, no matter what anybody says, that from that day to
- this, he never has.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza, motionless now in the center of the room, was staring at her
- in a sort of numbed fascination.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was staring at the door. He had heard, he thought, a step in
- the outer room.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened. Hawkins stood there. He plucked at his frayed, black
- cravat, which was awry. He lurched against the jamb, and in groping
- unsteadily for support his hat fell from his other hand and rolled across
- the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins reeled into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good—hic!—good-evenin',” said Hawkins thickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire alone moved. She rose to her feet, but as though her weight were
- too heavy for her limbs. Her lips quivered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully—and burst into tears, and ran
- from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to John Bruce that for a moment the room swirled around before
- his eyes; and then over him swept an uncontrollable desire to get his
- hands upon this maudlin, lurching creature. Rage, disgust, a bitter
- resentment, a mad hunger for reprisal possessed him; Claire's future, her
- faith which she had but a moment gone so proudly vaunted, were all
- shattered, swept to the winds, by this seedy, dissolute wreck. Her father!
- No, her shame! Thank God she did not know!
- </p>
- <p>
- “You drunken beast!” he gritted in merciless fury, and stepped suddenly
- forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- But halfway across the room he halted as though turned to stone. Hawkins
- wasn't lurching any more. Hawkins had turned and closed the door; and
- Hawkins now, with his face white and drawn, a look in his old blue eyes
- that mingled agony and an utter hopelessness, sank into a chair and buried
- his face in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Paul Veniza who moved now. He went and stood behind the old cabman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins looked up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sober. What does this mean?” Paul Veniza asked heavily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn't do it,” he said in a broken voice. “And—and I've settled
- it once for all now. I got to thinking as I came along to-night, and I
- found out that it wasn't any good for me to swear I wasn't going to touch
- anything any more. I'm afraid of myself. I—I came near going into
- the saloon. It—it taught me something, that did; because the only
- way I could get by was to promise myself I'd go back there after I'd been
- here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins paused. A flush dyed his cheeks. He turned around and looked at
- Paul Veniza again, and then at John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't understand—neither of you understand. Once I promised
- Claire that I'd stop, and—and until just now she believed me. And
- I've hurt her. But I ain't broken her heart. It was only old Hawkins, just
- Hawkins, who promised her then; it would have been her <i>father</i> who
- promised her to-night, and—and it ain't any good, I'd have broken
- that promise, I know it now—and she ain't ever going to share that
- shame.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins brushed his hands across his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And then,” he went on, A sudden fierceness in his voice, “suppose she'd
- had that on top of Crang, 'cause it ain't sure that knowing who I am would
- have saved her from him! Oh, my God, she'd better be dead! I'd rather see
- her dead. You're wrong, John Bruce! It wasn't the way. You meant right,
- and God bless you; but it wasn't the way. I saw it all so clearly after—after
- I'd got past that saloon; and—and then it was all right for me to
- promise myself that I'd go back. It wouldn't hurt her none then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce cleared his throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't quite understand what you mean by that, Hawkins,” he said a
- little huskily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins rose slowly to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dressed all up for this,” said Hawkins, with a wan smile; “but
- something's snapped here—inside here.” His hand felt a little
- aimlessly over his heart. “I know now that I ain't ever going to be
- worthy; and I know now that she ain't ever to know that I—that I—I'm
- her old daddy. And so I—I've fixed it just now like you saw so there
- ain't no going back on it. But I ain't throwing my little girl down. It
- ain't Claire that's got to be made change her mind—<i>it's Crang</i>.”
- He raised a clenched fist. “And Crang's going to change it! I can swear to
- <i>that</i> and know I'll keep it, so—so help me, God! And when
- she's rid of him, she ain't going to have no shame and sorrow from me.
- That's what I meant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said John Bruce mechanically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going now,” said Hawkins in a low voice. “Around by the other way,”
- said Paul Veniza softly. “And I'll go with you, old friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment Hawkins hesitated, and then he nodded his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one spoke. Paul Veniza's arm was around Hawkins' shoulders as they left
- the room. The door closed behind them. John Bruce sat down on the edge of
- his bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWELVE—THE FIGHT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a long time
- John Bruce stared at the closed door; first a little helplessly because
- the bottom seemed quite to have dropped out of things, and then with set
- face as the old cabman's words came back to him: “Crang—not Claire.”
- And at this, a sort of merciless joy crept into his eyes, and he nodded
- his head in savage satisfaction. Yes, Hawkins had been right in that
- respect, and—well, it would be easier to deal with Crang!
- </p>
- <p>
- And then suddenly John Bruce's face softened. Hawkins! He remembered the
- fury with which the old man had inspired him as the other had reeled into
- the room, and Clare, hurt and miserable, had risen from her chair. But he
- remembered Hawkins in a different way now. It was Hawkins, not Claire, who
- had been hurt. The shabby old figure standing there had paid a price, and
- as he believed for Claire's sake, that had put beyond his reach forever
- what must have meant, what did mean, all that he cherished most in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce smiled a little wistfully. Somehow he envied Hawkins, so
- pitifully unstable and so weak—his strength!
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head in a puzzled way. His thoughts led him on. What a
- strange, almost incomprehensible, little world it was into which fate, if
- one wished to call it fate, had flung him! It was an alien world to him.
- His own life of the past rose up in contrast with it—> not of his
- own volition, but because the comparison seemed to insist on thrusting
- itself upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never before met men like Hawkins and Paul Veniza. He had met
- drunkards and pawnbrokers. Very many of them! He had lived his life, or,
- rather, impoverished it with a spendthrift hand, among just such classes—but
- he was conscious that it would never have been the poorer for an intimacy
- with either Hawkins or Paul Veniza.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce raised his head abruptly. The front door had opened. A moment
- later a footstep sounded in the outer room, and then upon the stairs. That
- would be Paul Veniza returning of course, though he hadn't been gone very
- long; or was it that he, John Bruce, had been sitting here staring at that
- closed door for a far longer period than he had imagined?
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the interruption from his mind, and
- again the wistful smile flickered on his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- So that was why nothing had been said in his hearing about the robbery!
- Queer people—with their traveling pawn-shop, which was bizarre; and
- their standards of honesty, and their unaffected hospitality which verged
- on the bizarre too, because their genuineness and simplicity were so
- unostentatious—and so rare. And somehow, suddenly, as he sat there
- with his chin cupped now in his hands, he was not proud of this contrast—himself
- on the one hand, a drunkard and a pawnbroker on the other!
- </p>
- <p>
- And then John Bruce raised his head again, sharply this time, almost in a
- startled way. Was that a cry—in a woman's voice? It was muffled by
- the closed door, and it was perhaps therefore his imagination; but it——
- </p>
- <p>
- He was on his feet. It had come again. No door could have shut it out from
- his ears. It was from Claire upstairs, and the cry seemed most curiously
- to mingle terror and a passionate anger. He ran across the room and threw
- the door open. It was strange! It would be Paul Veniza in a new rôle, if
- the gentle, white-haired old pawnbroker could inspire terror in any one!
- </p>
- <p>
- A rasping, jeering oath—in a man's voice this time—reached
- him. John Bruce, a sudden fury whipping his blood into lire, found himself
- stumbling up the stairs. It wasn't Veniza! His mind seemed to convert that
- phrase into a sing-song refrain: “It wasn't Veniza! It wasn't Veniza!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire's voice came to him distinctly now, and there was the same terror
- in it, the same passionate anger that he had distinguished in her cry:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep away from me! I loathe you! It is men like you that prompt a woman
- to murder! But—but instead, I have prayed God with all my soul to
- let me die before——” Her voice ended in a sharp cry, a scuffle
- of feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Crang in there! John Bruce, now almost at the top of the stairs,
- was unconscious that he was panting heavily from his exertions,
- unconscious of everything save a new refrain that had taken possession of
- his mind: “It was Crang in there! It was Crang in there!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the door just at the right of the landing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's voice came from there; and the voice was high, like the squeal of
- an enraged animal:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're mine! I've got a right to those red lips, you vixen, and I'm going
- to have them! A man's got the right to take the girl he's going to marry
- in his arms! Do you think I'm going to be held off forever? You're mine,
- and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words were lost again in a cry from Claire, and in the sound of a
- struggle—a falling chair, the scuffle once more of feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce flung himself across the hall and against the door, It yielded
- without resistance, and the impetus of his own rush carried him,
- staggering, far into the room. Two forms were circling there under the gas
- light as though in the throes of some mad dance—only the face of the
- woman was deathly white, and her small clenched fists beat frantically at
- the face of the man whose arms were around her. John Bruce sprang forward.
- He laughed aloud, unnaturally. His brain, his mind, was whirling; but
- something soft was grasped in his two encircling hands, and that was why
- he laughed—because his soul laughed. His fingers pressed tighter. It
- was Crang's throat that was soft under his fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly the room swirled around him. A giddiness seemed to seize upon him—and
- that soft thing in his grip slipped from his fingers and escaped him. He
- brushed his hand across his eyes. It would pass, of course. It was strange
- that he should go giddy like that, and that his limbs should be trembling
- as though with the ague! Again he brushed his hand across his eyes. It
- would pass off. He could see better now. Claire had somehow fallen to the
- floor; but she was rising to her knees now, using the side of the bed for
- support, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice rang wildly through the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look out! Oh, look out!” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- To John Bruce it seemed as though something leaped at him out of space—and
- struck. The blow, aimed at his side, which was still bandaged, went home.
- It brought an agony that racked and tore and twisted at every nerve in his
- body. It wrung a moan from his lips, it brought the sweat beads bursting
- out upon his forehead—but it cleared his brain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it was Doctor Crang—but disreputable in appearance as he had
- never before seen the man. Crang's clothes were filthy and unkempt, as
- though the man had fallen somewhere in the mire and was either unconscious
- or callous of the fact; his hair draggled in a matted way over his
- forehead, and though his face worked with passion, and the passion brought
- a curious hectic rose-color to supplant the customary lifeless gray of his
- cheeks, the eyes were most strangely glazed and fixed.
- </p>
- <p>
- And again John Bruce laughed—and with a vicious guard swept aside a
- second blow aimed at his side, and his left fist, from a full arm swing,
- crashed to the point of Doctor Crang's jaw. But the next instant they had
- closed, their arms locked around each other's waists, their chins dug hard
- into each other's shoulders. And they rocked there, and swayed, and
- lurched, a curious impotence in their ferocity—and toppled to the
- floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's grip tightened as Doctor Crang fought madly now to tear
- himself free—and they rolled over and over in the direction of the
- door. Hot and cold waves swept over John Bruce. He was weak, pitifully
- weak, barely a convalescent. But he was content to call it an equal fight.
- He asked for no other odds than Crang himself had offered. The man for
- once had over-steeped himself with dope, and was near the point of
- collapse. He had read that in the other's eyes, as surely as though he had
- been told. And so John Bruce, between his gasping breaths, still laughed,
- and rolled over and over—always toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- From somewhere Claire's voice reached John Bruce, imploringly, in terror.
- Of course! That was why he was trying to get to the door, to get out of
- her room—through respect for her—to get somewhere where he
- could finish this fight between one man who could scarcely stand upon his
- feet through weakness, and another whose drug-shattered body was
- approaching that state of coma which he, John Bruce, had been made to
- suffer on the night the robbery had been committed. And by the same
- needle! He remembered that! Weak in body, his mind was very clear. And so
- he rolled over and over, always toward the door, because Crang was
- heedless of the direction they were taking, and he, John Bruce, was
- probably not strong enough in any other way to force the other out of the
- room where they could finish this.
- </p>
- <p>
- They rolled to the threshold—and out into the hall. John Bruce
- loosened his hold suddenly, staggered to his feet, and leaned heavily for
- an instant against the jamb of the door. But it was only for an instant.
- Crang was the quicker upon his feet. Like a beast there was slaver on the
- other's lips, his hands clawed the air, his face was contorted hideously
- like the face of one demented, one from whom reason had flown, and with
- whom maniacal passion alone remained—and from the banister railing
- opposite the door Crang launched himself forward upon John Bruce again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's mine!” he screamed. “I've been watching you two! I'll teach you!
- She's mine—mine! I'll finish you for this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce side-stepped the rush, and Crang pitched with his head against
- the door jamb, but recovering, whirled again, and rushed again. The man
- began to curse steadily now in a low, abominable monotone. It seemed to
- John Bruce that he ought to use his fist as a cork and thrust it into the
- other's mouth to bottle up the vile flow of epithets that included Claire,
- and coupled his name with Claire's. Claire might hear! The man was raving,
- insane with jealousy. John Bruce struck. His fist found its mark on
- Crang's lips, and found it again; but somehow his arm seemed to possess
- but little strength, and to sag back at the elbow from each impact. He
- writhed suddenly as Crang reached him with another blow on his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then they had grappled and locked together again, and were swaying
- like drunken men, now to this side, and now to that, of the narrow hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- It could not last. John Bruce felt his knees giving way beneath him. He
- had under-estimated Crang's resistance to the over-dose of drug. Crang was
- the stronger—and seemed to be growing stronger every instant. Or was
- it his own increasing weakness?
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's fist with a short-arm jab smashed at John Bruce's wounded side
- once more. The man struck nowhere else—always, with the cunning born
- of hell, at the wounded side. John Bruce dug his teeth into his lips. A
- wave of nausea swept over him. He felt his senses leaving him, and he
- clung now to the other, close, tight-pressed, as the only means of
- protecting his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- He forced himself then desperately to a last effort. There was one chance
- left, just one. In the livid face, in the hot, panting breath with which
- the other mouthed his hideous profanity, there was murder. Over his
- shoulder, barely a foot away, John Bruce glimpsed the staircase. He let
- his weight sag with seeming helplessness upon Crang. It brought Crang
- around in a half circle. Crang's back was to the stairs now. John Bruce
- let his hands slip slowly from their hold upon the other, as though the
- last of his strength was ebbing away. He accepted a vicious blow on his
- wounded side as the price that he must pay, a blow that brought his chin
- crumpling down upon his breast—and then with every ounce of
- remaining strength he hurled himself at Crang, and Crang's foot stumbled
- out into space over the topmost stair, and with a scream of infuriated
- surprise the man pitched backward.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce grasped with both hands at the banister for support. Something
- went rolling, rolling, rolling down the stairs with queer, dull thumps
- like a sack of meal. His hands slipped from the banister, and he sat
- limply down on the topmost step and laughed. He laughed because that
- curious looking bundle at the bottom there began a series of fruitless
- efforts to roll back up the stairs again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then the front door opened. He could see it from where he sat, and
- Paul Veniza—that was Paul Veniza, wasn't it?—stepped into the
- room below, and cried out, and ran toward the bundle at the foot of the
- stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce felt some one suddenly hold him back from pitching down the
- stairs himself, but nevertheless he kept on falling and falling into some
- great pit that grew darker and darker the farther he went down, and this
- in spite of some one who tried to hold him back, and—and who had a
- face that looked like Claire's, only it was as—as white as driven
- snow. And as he descended into the blackness some one screamed at him:
- “I'll finish you for this!” And screamed it again—only the voice
- kept growing fainter. And—and then he could neither see nor hear any
- more.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- When John Bruce opened his eyes again he was lying on his cot. A little
- way from him, their backs turned, Claire and Paul Veniza were whispering
- earnestly together. He watched them for a moment, and gradually as his
- senses became normally acute again he caught Claire's words:
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not safe here for a moment. Father, we must get him away. I am
- afraid. There is not a threat Doctor Crang made to-night but that he is
- quite capable of carrying out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he is safe for to-night,” Paul Veniza answered soothingly. “I got
- Crang home to bed, and as I told you, he is too badly bruised and knocked
- about to move around any before morning at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet I am afraid,” Claire insisted anxiously. “Fortunately Mr. Bruce's
- wound hasn't opened, and he could be moved. Oh, if Hawkins only hadn't——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stopped, and twisted her hands together nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza coughed, averted his head suddenly and in turning met John
- Bruce's eyes—and stared in a startled way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” John Bruce called softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” she cried, and ran toward him. “You——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” smiled John Bruce. “And I have been listening. Why isn't it safe
- for me to stay here any longer? On account of Crang's wild threats?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you don't believe them, do you?” he asked. “At least, I mean, you
- don't take them literally.” Claire's lips were trembling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no other way to take them.” She was making an effort to steady
- her voice. “It is not a question of believing them. I know only too well
- that he will carry them out if he can. You are not safe here, or even in
- New York now—but less safe here in this house than anywhere else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce came up on his elbow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, Claire, isn't this the end?” he demanded passionately. “You know
- him for what he is. You do not love him, for I distinctly heard you tell
- him that you loathed him, as I went up the stairs. Claire, I am not asking
- for myself now—only for you. Tell me, tell Paul Veniza here, to whom
- it will mean so much, that you have now no further thought of marriage
- with that”—John Bruce's voice choked—“with Crang.” She shook
- her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell you that,” she said dully, “for I am going to marry Doctor
- Crang.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's face hardened. He looked at Paul Veniza. The old pawnbroker
- had his eyes on the floor, and was ruffling his white hair helplessly with
- his fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” John Bruce asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I promised,” Claire said slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But a promise like that!” John Bruce burst out. “A promise that you will
- regret all your life is——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” Her face was half averted; her head was lowered to hide the tears
- that suddenly welled into her eyes. “No; it is a promise that I—that
- I am glad now I made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Glad!</i>” John Bruce sat upright. She had turned her head away from
- the cot. He could not see her face. “Glad!” he repeated incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” Her voice was scarcely audible.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment John Bruce stared at her; then a bitter smile tightened his
- lips, and he lay back on the cot, and turned on his side away from both
- Claire and Paul Veniza.
- </p>
- <p>
- When John Bruce looked around again, only Paul Veniza was in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand,” said Paul Veniza—he was still ruffling his
- hair, still with his eyes on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do,” said John Bruce grimly. “Claire is right. It isn't safe for me to
- stay here, and I'll go to-night. If only Hawkins hadn't——” He
- laughed a little harshly. “But I'll go to-night, just the same. A taxi
- will do quite as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN—TRAPPINGS OF TINSEL
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NDER the shaded
- light on his table, in his private sitting room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel,
- John Bruce had been writing steadily for half an hour—but the sheets
- of paper over which his pen had traveled freely and swiftly were virgin
- white. He paused now, remained a moment in thought, and then added a line
- to the last sheet. No mark was left, but from the movement of the pen this
- appeared to be a signature.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gathered the sheets together, folded them neatly, and slipped them into
- an envelope. He replaced the cap on the fountain pen he had been using,
- placed the pen in his vest pocket, and from another pocket took out
- another pen that was apparently identical with the first. With this second
- pen, in black ink, he addressed the envelope to one Gilbert Larmon in San
- Francisco. He sealed the envelope, stamped it, put it in his pocket,
- returned the second fountain pen to his vest pocket, lighted a cigarette
- leaned back in his chair, and frowned at the ascending spirals of smoke
- from the cigarette's tip.
- </p>
- <p>
- The report which he had just written to Larmon, explaining his inaction
- during the past weeks, had been an effort—not physical, but mental.
- He had somehow, curiously, felt no personal regret for the enforced
- absence from his “work,” and he now felt no enthusiasm at the prospect of
- resuming it. He had had no right to tinge or color his letter to Larmon
- with these views; nor had he intended to do so. Perhaps he had not;
- perhaps he had. He did not know. The ink originated by the old Samoan
- Islander had its disadvantages as well as its advantages. He could not now
- read the letter over once it was written!
- </p>
- <p>
- He flicked the ash irritably from his cigarette. He had been back here in
- the hotel now for two days and that feeling had been constantly growing
- upon him. Why? He did not know except that the cause seemed to insist on
- associating itself with his recent illness, his life in the one-time
- pawn-shop of Paul Veniza. But, logically, that did not hold water. Why
- should it? He had met a pawnbroker who roamed the streets at night in a
- fantastic motor car, driven by a drunkard; and he had fallen in love with
- a girl who was glad she was going to marry a dope-eating criminal. Good
- God, it was a spectacle to make——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's fist crashed suddenly down on the desk beside him, and he
- rose from his chair and stood there staring unseeingly before him. That
- was not fair! What was uppermost now was the recrudescence of the
- bitterness that had possessed him two nights ago when he had returned from
- Paul Veniza's to the hotel here. Nor was it any more true than it was
- fair! What of the days and nights of nursing, of care, of the ungrudging
- and kindly hospitality they had given to an utter stranger? Yes, he knew!
- Only—only she had said she was <i>glad!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to pace the room. He had left Veniza's in bitterness. He had not
- seen Claire. It was a strange sort of love he boasted, little of
- unselfishness in it, much of impatience, and still more of intolerance!
- That it was a hopeless love in so far as he was concerned did not place
- him before himself in any better light. If he cared for her, if there was
- any depth of feeling in this love he claimed to have, then at least her
- happiness, her welfare and her future could not be extraneous and
- indifferent considerations to him. And on the spur of the moment, piqued,
- in spite of Paul Veniza's protestations, he had left that night without
- seeing Claire again!
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been ashamed of himself. Yesterday, he had telephoned Claire. He
- had begged her forgiveness. He had not meant to say more—but he had!
- Something in her voice had—no, not invited; he could not say that—but
- had brought the passion, pleading almost, back into his own. It had seemed
- to him that she was in tears at the other end of the wire; at least,
- bravely as she had evidently tried to do so, she had been unable to keep
- her voice under control. But she had evaded an answer. There had been
- nothing to forgive, she had said. He had told her that he must see her,
- that he would see her again. And then almost hysterically, over and over
- again, she had begged him to attempt nothing of the sort, but instead to
- leave New York because she insisted that it was not safe for him to stay
- even in the city.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce hurled the butt of his cigarette in the direction of the
- cuspidor, and clenched his fist. Crang! Safe from Crang! He laughed aloud
- harshly. He asked nothing better than to meet Crang again. He would not be
- so weak the next time! And the sooner the better!
- </p>
- <p>
- He gnawed at his under lip, as he continued to pace the room. To-day, he
- had telephoned Claire again—but he had not spoken to her this time.
- He had not been surprised at the news he had received, for he remembered
- that Hawkins had once told him that the old pawnbroker was in reality far
- from well. Some one, he did not know who, some neighbor probably, had
- answered the phone. Paul Veniza had been taken ill. Claire had been up
- with him all the previous night, and was then resting.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce paused abruptly before the desk at which he had been writing,
- and looked at his watch. It was a little after ten o'clock. He was going
- back to “work” again to-night. He smiled suddenly, and a little
- quizzically, as he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What would they
- say—the white-haired negro butler, and the exquisite Monsieur Henri
- de Lavergne, for instance—when the millionaire plunger, usually so
- immaculate in evening clothes, presented himself at their door in a suit
- of business tweeds?
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders. Down at Ratti's that night his apparel—it
- was a matter of viewpoint—had been a source of eminent displeasure,
- and as such had been very effectively disposed of. He had had no
- opportunity to be measured for new clothes.
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile faded, and he stood staring at the desk. The millionaire
- plunger! It seemed to jar somehow on his sensibilities. Work! That was a
- queer way, too, to designate it. He was going to take up his work again
- to-night, pick up the threads of his life again where he had dropped them.
- A bit ragged those threads, weren't they? Frayed, as it were!
- </p>
- <p>
- What the devil was the matter with him, anyway?
- </p>
- <p>
- There was money in it, a princely existence. What more could any one ask?
- What did Claire, his love for a girl who was glad to marry some one else
- infinitely worse than he was, have to do with it? Ah, she <i>did</i> have
- something to do with it, then! Nonsense! It was absurd!
- </p>
- <p>
- He took a key abruptly from his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers of
- the desk. From the drawer he took out a large roll of bills. The hotel
- management had sent to the bank and cashed a check for him that afternoon.
- He had not forgotten that he would need money, and plenty of it, at the
- tables this evening. Well, he was quite ready to go now, and it was time;
- it would be halfpast ten before he got there, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- “The devil!” said John Bruce savagely—and suddenly tossed the money
- back into the drawer, and locked the drawer. “If I don't feel like it
- to-night, why should I? I guess I'll just drop around for a little
- convalescent visit, and let it go at that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce put on a light overcoat, and left the room. In the lobby
- downstairs he posted his letter to Gilbert Larmon. He stepped out on the
- street, and from the rank in front of the hotel secured a taxi. Twenty
- minutes later he entered Gilbert Larmon's New York gambling hell.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here he received a sort of rhapsodical welcome from the exquisite Monsieur
- Henri de Lavergne, which embraced poignant regret at the accident that had
- befallen him, and unspeakable joy at his so-splendid recovery. It was a
- delight so great to shake the hand of Mr. Bruce again that Monsieur Henri
- de Lavergne complained bitterly at the poverty of language which prevented
- an adequate expression of his true and sincere feelings. Also, Monsieur
- Henri de Lavergne, if he were not trespassing, would be flattered indeed
- with Mr. Bruce's confidence, if Mr. Bruce should see fit to honor him with
- an account of how the accident had happened. He would be desolated if in
- any way it could be attributable to any suggestion that he, Monsieur de
- Lavergne, on behalf of the house which he had the honor to represent as
- manager, had made to Mr. Bruce which might have induced——
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all!” John Bruce assured him heartily. He smiled at Monsieur de
- Lavergne. The other knew nothing of Claire's presence in the car that
- night, and for Claire's sake it was necessary to set the man's mind so
- completely at rest that the subject would lack further interest. The only
- way to accomplish that was to appear whole-heartedly frank. John Bruce
- became egregiously frank. “It was just my own damned curiosity,” he said
- with a wry smile. “I got out of that ingenious contraption at the corner
- after going around the block, and, well, my curiosity, as I said, got the
- better of me. I followed the thing, and found out where Mr. Veniza lived.
- I started on my way back, but I didn't get very far. I got into trouble
- with a rather tough crowd just around the corner, who didn't like my shirt
- front, I believe they said. The fight ended by my being backed into a wine
- shop where I was stabbed, but from which I managed to escape into the
- lane. I was about all in, and the only chance I could see was a lighted
- window on the other side of a low fence. I crawled in the window, and
- flopped on the floor. It proved to be Mr. Veniza's house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Pour l'amour du dieu!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Henri de Lavergne
- breathlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And which also accounts,” said John Bruce pleasantly, “for the apology I
- must offer you for my appearance this evening in these clothes. The mob in
- that respect was quite successful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that you are back!” Monsieur de Lavergne's hands were raised in
- protest. “That is alone what matters. Monsieur Bruce knows that in any
- attire it is the same here for monsieur as though he were at home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you!” said John Bruce cordially. “I have only dropped in through
- the urge of old habits, I guess. I'm hardly on my feet yet, and I thought
- I'd just watch the play for a little while to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that, too,” said Monsieur Henri de Lavergne with a bow, as John Bruce
- moved toward the staircase, “is entirely as monsieur desires.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce mounted the stairs, and began a stroll through the roulette and
- card rooms. The croupiers and dealers nodded to him genially; those of the
- “guests” Whom he knew did likewise. He was treated with marked courtesy
- and consideration by every attendant in the establishment. Everything was
- exactly as it had been on his previous visits. There were the soft mellow
- lights; the siren pur of the roulette wheel, the musical <i>click</i> of
- the ball as it spun around on its little fateful orbit; the low, quiet
- voices of the croupiers and dealers; the well-dressed players grouped
- around the tables, the hilarious and the grim, the devil-may-care laugh
- from one, the thin smile from another. It was exactly the same, all
- exactly the same, even to the table in the supper room, free to all though
- laden with every wine and delicacy that money could procure; but somehow,
- even at the end of half an hour, where he was wont to be engrossed till
- daylight, John Bruce became excessively bored.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it was because he was simply an on-looker, and not playing
- himself. He had drawn close to a group around a faro bank. The play was
- grim earnest and for high stakes. No, it wasn't that! He did not want to
- play. Somehow, rather, he knew a slight sense both of contempt and disgust
- at the eager clutch and grasp of hands, the hoarse, short laugh of
- victory, the snarl of defeat, the trembling fingers of the more timorous
- who staked with Chance and demanded that the god be charitable in its
- omnipotence and toss them crumbs!
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, what was he caviling about? It was the life he had chosen. It was
- his life work. Wasn't he pleased with it? He had certainly liked it well
- enough in the old days to squander upon it the fair-sized fortune his
- father had left him. He decidedly had not gone into that infernal compact
- with Larmon blindfolded. Perhaps it was because in those days he played
- when he wanted to; and in these, and hereafter, he would play because he
- had to. Perhaps it was only that, to-night, there was upon him the
- feeling, which was natural enough, and which was immeasurably human too,
- that it was irksome to be a slave, to be fettered and shackled and bound
- to anything, even to what one, with one's freedom his own, was ordinarily
- out of choice most prone to do and delight in. Well, maybe! But that was
- not entirely a satisfactory or conclusive solution either.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked around him. There seemed to be something hollow to-night in
- these trappings of tinsel; and something not only hollow, but sardonic in
- his connection with them—that he should act as a monitor over the
- honesty of those who in turn acted as the agents of Larmon in an already
- illicit traffic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hell!” said John Bruce suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dealer looked up from the table, surprise mingling with polite
- disapproval. Several of the players screwed around their heads.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what I say!” snarled one of the latter with an added oath, as a
- large stack of chips was swept away from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one touched John Bruce on the elbow. He turned around. It was one of
- the attendants.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are being asked for downstairs, Mr. Bruce,” the man informed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce followed the attendant. In the hall below the white-haired
- negro doorkeeper came toward him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I done let him in, Mistuh Bruce, suh,” the old darky explained a little
- anxiously, “'cause he done say, Mistuh Bruce, that it was a case of most
- particular illness, suh, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce did not wait for more. It was Veniza probably—a turn for
- the worse. He nodded, and passed hurriedly along the hall to where, near
- the door, a poorly dressed man, hat in hand and apparently somewhat ill at
- ease in his luxurious surroundings, stood waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am Mr. Bruce,” he said quickly. “Some one is critically ill, you say?
- Is it Mr. Veniza?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir,” the man answered. “I don't know anything about Mr. Veniza. It's
- Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins!” ejaculated John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the man. He shuffled his feet. “I—I guess you know,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce for a moment made no comment. Hawkins! Yes, he knew! Hawkins
- had even renounced his pledge, hadn't he? Not, perhaps, that that would
- have made any difference!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bad?” he asked tersely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid so, sir,” the man replied. “I've seen a good bit of Hawkins
- off and on in the last two years, sir, because I room in the same house;
- but I've never seen him like this. He's been out of his head and clawing
- the air, sir, if you know what I mean. He's over that now, but that weak
- he had me scared once, sir, that he'd gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does the doctor say?” John Bruce bit off his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wouldn't have one, sir. It's you he wants. You'll understand, sir,
- that he's been alone. I don't know how long ago he started on this spree.
- It was only by luck that I walked into his room to-night. I was for
- getting a doctor at once, of course, but he wouldn't have it; he wanted
- you. At times, sir, he was crying like a baby, only he hadn't the strength
- of one left. Knowing I could run her, me being a motortruck driver, he
- told me to take that car he drives and go to the hotel for you, and if you
- weren't there to try here—which I've done, sir, as you see, and I
- hope you'll come back with me. I don't know what to do, though I'm for
- picking up a doctor on the way back whether he wants one or not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce turned abruptly, secured his coat and hat, motioned the man to
- lead the way, and followed the other out of the house and down the steps
- to the sidewalk.
- </p>
- <p>
- The traveling pawn-shop was at the curb. The man opened the door, and John
- Bruce stepped inside—and was instantly flung violently down upon a
- seat. The door closed. The car started forward. And in a sudden glare of
- light John Bruce stared into the muzzle of a revolver, and, behind the
- revolver, into a bruised and battered face, which was the face of Doctor
- Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN—THE TWO PENS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE stared
- for a moment longer at the revolver that held a steady bead between his
- eyes, and at the evil face of Crang that leered at him from the opposite
- seat; then he deliberately turned his head and stared at the face of still
- another occupant of the car—a man who sat on the seat beside him. He
- was trapped—and well trapped! He recognized the other to be the man
- known as Birdie, who had participated on a certain night in the robbery of
- Paul Veniza's safe. It was quite plain. The third man in that robbery,
- whose face he had not seen at the time, was undoubtedly the man who had
- brought the “message” a few minutes ago, and who was now, with almost
- equal certainty, engaged in driving the car. Thieving, at least, was in
- the trio's line! They must somehow or other have stolen the traveling
- pawn-shop from Hawkins!
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled grimly. If it had been Birdie now who had brought the message he
- would never have fallen into the trap! Crang had played in luck and won by
- a very narrow margin, for Crang was naturally in ignorance that he, John
- Bruce, had ever seen either of the men before. And then John Bruce thought
- of the bulky roll of bills which by an equally narrow margin was <i>not</i>
- in his pocket at that moment, and his smile deepened.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang spoke for the first time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take his gun away from him, if he's got one!” he gnarled tersely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's in the breast pocket of my coat,” said John Bruce imperturbably.
- </p>
- <p>
- Birdie, beside John Bruce, reached over and secured the weapon.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce leaned back in his seat. The car was speeding rapidly along
- now.
- </p>
- <p>
- The minutes passed. None of the three men spoke. Crang sat like some
- repulsive gargoyle, leering maliciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce half closed his eyes against the uncanny fascination of that
- round black muzzle which never wavered in its direction, and which was
- causing him to strain too intently upon it. What was the game? How far did
- Crang intend to go with his insane jealousy? How far would Crang dare to
- go? The man wasn't doped to-night. Perhaps he was even the more dangerous
- on that account. Instead of mouthing threats, there was something ominous
- now, it seemed, in the man's silence. John Bruce's lips drew together. He
- remembered Claire's insistence that Crang had meant what he said literally—and
- Claire had repeated that warning over the telephone. Well, if she were
- right, it meant—<i>murder</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- From under his half closed lids, John Bruce looked around the car. The
- curtains, as they always were, were closely drawn. The interior was
- lighted by that same soft central light, only the light was high up now
- near the roof of the car. Well, if it was to be murder, why not <i>now?</i>
- The little velvet-topped table was not in place, and there was nothing
- between himself and that sneering, sallow face. Yes, why not now—and
- settle it!
- </p>
- <p>
- He straightened almost imperceptibly in his seat, as impulse suddenly bade
- him fling himself forward upon Crang. Why not? The sound of a revolver
- shot would be heard in the street, and Crang might not even dare to fire
- at all. And then John Bruce's glance rested on the man beside him—and
- impulse gave way to common sense. He had no intention of submitting tamely
- and without a struggle to any fate, no matter what it might be, that Crang
- proposed for him, but that struggle would better come when there was at
- least a chance. There was no chance here. Birdie, on the seat beside him,
- held a deadlier and even more effective weapon than was Crang's revolver,
- a silent thing—a black-jack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! Don't play the fool! You'll get a better chance than this!” the
- voice of what he took to be common sense whispered to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car began to go slower. It swerved twice as though making sharp turns;
- and then, running still more slowly, began to bump over rough ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can make all the noise you want to, if you think it will do you any
- good,” he said viciously; “but if you make a move you are not told to make
- you'll be <i>carried</i> the rest of the way! Understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce did not answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car stopped. Birdie opened the door on his side, and stepped to the
- ground. He was joined by the man who had driven the car, and who, as John
- Bruce now found he had correctly assumed, had acted as the decoy at the
- gambling house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out!” ordered Doctor Crang curtly.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce followed Birdie from the car. It was dark out here, exceedingly
- dark, but he could make out that the car had been driven into a narrow
- lane, and that they were close to the wall of a building of some sort. The
- two men gripped him by his arms. He felt the muzzle of Crang's revolver
- pressed into the small of his back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind your step!” cautioned Birdie gruffly.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was evidently the entrance to a cellar. John Bruce found himself
- descending a few short steps; and then, on the level again, he was guided
- forward through what was now pitch blackness. A moment more and they had
- halted, but not before John Bruce's foot had come into contact with a wall
- or partition of some kind in front of him. One of the men who gripped his
- arms knocked twice with three short raps in quick succession.
- </p>
- <p>
- A door opened in front of them, and for an instant John Bruce was blinded
- by a sudden glare of light; but the next instant, his eyes grown
- accustomed to the transition, he saw before him a large basement room,
- disreputable and filthy in appearance, where half a dozen men sat at
- tables drinking and playing cards.
- </p>
- <p>
- A shove from the muzzle of Crang's revolver urged John Bruce forward into
- an atmosphere that was foul, hot and fetid, and thick with tobacco smoke
- that floated in heavy, sinuous layers in mid-air. He was led down the
- length of the room toward another door at the opposite end. The men at the
- tables, as he passed them, paid him little attention other than to leer
- curiously at him. They greeted Birdie and his companion with blasphemous
- familiarity; but their attitude toward Crang, it seemed to John Bruce, was
- one of cowed and abject respect.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's teeth closed hard together. This was a nice place, an
- ominously nice place—a hidden den of the rats of the underworld,
- where Crang was obviously the leader. He was not so sure now that the
- promptings of so-called common sense had been common sense at all! His
- chances of escaping, practically hopeless as they had been in the car,
- would certainly have been worth trying in view of this! He began to regret
- his “common sense” bitterly now.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was in front of the door toward which they had been heading now. It was
- opened by Birdie, and John Bruce was pushed into a small, dimly-lighted,
- cave-like place. Crang said something in a low voice to the two men, and,
- leaving them outside, entered himself, closing the door only partially
- behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment they faced each other, and then Crang laughed—tauntingly,
- in menace.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's eyes, from Crang's sallow face, and from Crang's revolver,
- swept coolly over his surroundings. A mattress, a foul thing, lay on the
- ground in one corner. There was no flooring here in the cellar. A small
- incandescent bulb hung from the roof. There was one chair and a battered
- table—nothing else; not even a window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was like stealing from a child!” sneered Crang suddenly. “You poor
- mark!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so!” said John Bruce calmly. “And the more so since I was warned
- that you were quite capable of—murder. I suppose that is what I am
- here for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you were warned, were you?” Crang took an abrupt step forward, his
- lips working. An angry purple clouded the pallor of his face. “More of
- that love stuff, eh? Well, by God, here's the end of it! I'll teach you
- with your damned sanctimonious airs to fool around the girl I'm going to
- marry! You snivelling hypocrite, you didn't tell her who <i>you</i> were,
- did you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stared blankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who I am?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang for the moment was silent. He seemed to be waging a battle with
- himself to control his passion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm too clever a man to lose my temper, now I've got you!” he rasped
- finally. “That's about the size of your mentality! The sweet, naïve,
- innocent rôle! Yes, I said a snivelling hypocrite! You don't eat dope, but
- perhaps you've heard of a man named Larmon—Mr. Gilbert Larmon, of
- San Francisco!”
- </p>
- <p>
- To John Bruce it seemed as though Crang's words in their effect were
- something like one of those blows the same man had dealt him on his
- wounded side in that fight of the other night. They seemed to jar him, and
- rob his mind of quick thinking and virility—and yet he was quite
- sure that not a muscle of his face had moved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't answer,” Crang grinned mockingly. “If you haven't met him,
- you'll have the opportunity of doing so in a few hours. Mr. Larmon will
- arrive in New York to-night in response to the telegram you sent him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you said you were clever,” said John Bruce shortly, “and I have no
- doubt this is the proof of it! But what is the idea? I did not send a
- telegram to any one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, you did!” Crang was chuckling evilly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was something to the effect that Mr. Larmon's immediate presence in
- New York was imperative; that you were in serious difficulties. And in
- order that Mr. Larmon might have no suspicions or anxiety aroused as to
- his own personal safety, he was to go on his arrival to the Bayne-Miloy
- Hotel; but was, at the same time, to register under the name of R. L.
- Peters, and to make no effort to communicate with you until you gave him
- the cue. The answer to the telegram was to be sent to a—er—quite
- different address. And here's the answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His revolver levelled, Crang laid a telegram on the table, and then backed
- away a few steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce picked up the message. It was dated from San Francisco several
- days before, and was authentic beyond question. It was addressed to John
- Bruce in the care of one William Anderson, at an address which he took to
- be somewhere over on the East Side. He read it quickly:
- </p>
- <p>
- Leaving at once and will follow instructions. Arrive Wednesday night. Am
- exceedingly anxious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Gilbert Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Wednesday night,” sneered Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce laid down the telegram. That Crang in some way had discovered
- his, John Bruce's connection with Larmon, was obvious. But how—and
- what did it mean? He smiled coldly. There was no use in playing the fool
- by denying any knowledge of Larmon. It was simply a question of exactly
- how <i>much</i> Crang knew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he inquired indifferently.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door was pushed open, and Birdie came in. He carried pen and ink, a
- large sheet of paper, and an envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang motioned toward the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put them down there—and get out!” he ordered curtly; and then as
- the man obeyed, he stared for an instant in malicious silence at John
- Bruce. “I guess we're wasting time!” he snapped. “I sent the telegram to
- Larmon a few days ago, and I know all about you and Larmon, and his ring
- of gambling houses. You talked your fool head off when you were delirious—understand?
- And——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce, his face suddenly white, took a step forward—and
- stopped, and shrugged his shoulders. Crang's outflung revolver was on a
- level with his eyes. And then John Bruce turned his back deliberately, and
- walked to the far end of the little room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang laughed wickedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid I committed a breach of medical étiquette,” he said. “I sent
- to San Francisco and got the dope on the quiet about this Mr. Larmon. I
- found out that he is an enormously wealthy man; and I also found out that
- he poses as an immaculate pillar of society. It looks pretty good, doesn't
- it, Bruce—for me? Two birds with one stone; you for trying to get
- between me and Claire; and Larmon coughing up the dough to save your hide
- and save himself from being exposed for what he is!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce made no answer. They were not so fanciful now, not so unreal
- and wandering, those dreams when he had been ill, those dreams in which
- there had been a man with a quill toothpick, and another with a sinister,
- loathsome face, whose head was always cocked in a listening attitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I guess you've got it now, all of it, haven't you?” Crang snarled.
- “It's lucky for you Larmon's got the coin, or I'd pass you out for what
- you did the other night. As it is you're getting out of it light. There's
- paper on the table. You write him a letter that will get him down here
- with a blank check in his pocket. I'll help you to word it.” Crang smiled
- unpleasantly. “He will be quite comfortable here while the check is going
- through the bank; for it would be most unfortunate, you know, if he had a
- chance to stop payment on it. And I might say that I am not worrying at
- all about any reprisals through the tracing of the check afterward, for if
- Mr. Larmon is paying me to keep my mouth shut there is no fear of his
- opening his own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce turned slowly around.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if I don't?” he asked quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang studied the revolver in his hand for a moment. He looked up finally
- with a smile that was hideous in its malignancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not sure that I particularly care,” he said. “You are going to get
- out of my path in any case, though my personal inclination is to snuff you
- out, and”—his voice rose suddenly—“damn you, I'd like to see
- you dead; but on the other hand, my business sense tells me that I'd be
- better off with, say, a hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. Do you get
- the idea, my dear Mr. Bruce? I am sure you do. And as your medical
- advisor, for your health is still very much involved, I would strongly
- urge you to write the letter. But at the same time I want to be perfectly
- frank with you. There is a tail to it as far as you are concerned. I have
- a passage in my pocket—a first-class passage, in fact a stateroom
- where you can be secured so that I may make certain you do not leave the
- ship prematurely at the dock—for South America, on a steamer sailing
- to-morrow afternoon. The passage is made out in the name of John Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seem to have taken it for granted that I would agree to your
- proposal,” said John Bruce pleasantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have,” Crang answered shortly. “I give you credit in some respects for
- not being altogether a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In other words,” said John Bruce, still pleasantly, “if I will trap Mr.
- Larmon into coming here so that you will have him in your power, and can
- hold him until you have squeezed out of him what you consider the fair
- amount he should pay as blackmail, or do away with him perhaps, if he is
- obstinate, I am to go free and sail for South America to-morrow afternoon;
- failing this, I am to snuff out—I think you called it—at the
- hands of either yourself or this gentlemanly looking band of apaches you
- have gathered around you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't made any mistake so far!” said Crang evenly. He jerked his
- hand toward the table. “It's that piece of paper there, or your hide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said John Bruce slowly. He stared for an instant, set-faced, into
- Crang's eyes. “Well, then, go ahead!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's eyes narrowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean,” his voice was hoarse with menace, “you mean——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes!” said John Bruce tersely. “My hide!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang did not answer for a moment. The revolver in his hand seemed to edge
- a little nearer to John Bruce as though to make more certain of its aim.
- Crang's eyes were alight with passion.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce did not move. It was over—this second—or the next.
- Crang's threats were <i>literal</i>. Claire had said so. He knew it. It
- was in Crang's eyes—a sort of unholy joy, a madman's frenzy. Well,
- why didn't the man fire and have done with it?
- </p>
- <p>
- And then suddenly Crang's shoulders lifted in a mocking shrug.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe you haven't got this—<i>straight</i>,” he said between closed
- teeth. “I guess I've paid you the compliment of crediting you with a
- quicker intelligence than you possess! I'll give you thirty minutes alone
- to think it over and figure out where you stand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang backed to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door closed. John Bruce heard the key turn in the lock. He stared
- about him at the miserable surroundings. Thirty minutes! He did not need
- thirty minutes, or thirty seconds, to realize his position. He was not
- even sure that he was thankful for the reprieve. It meant half an hour
- more of life, but——
- </p>
- <p>
- Cornered like a rat! To go out at the hands of a degenerate dope fiend...
- the man had been cunning enough... Hawkins!
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce paced his little section of the cellar. His footsteps made no
- sound on the soft earth. This was his condemned cell; his warders a batch
- of gunmen whose trade was murder.
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon! They had not been able to trick Larmon into their power so easily,
- because there wasn't any Hawkins. No, there was—John Bruce. John
- Bruce was the bait. Queer! Queer that he had ever met Larmon, and queer
- that the end should come like this.
- </p>
- <p>
- Faustus hadn't had his fling yet. That quill toothpick with which he had
- signed——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stood stock still—his eyes suddenly fastened on the piece
- of paper on the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” John Bruce whispered hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- He ran silently to the door and listened. He could hear nothing. He ran
- back to the table, threw himself into the chair, and snatching the sheet
- of paper toward him, took out a fountain pen from his pocket. Near the
- lower edge of the paper, and in a minutely small hand, he began to write
- rapidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the end of a few minutes John Bruce stood up. There was neither sign
- nor mark upon the paper, save an almost invisible impression made by his
- thumb nail, which he had set as a sign post, as it were, to indicate where
- he had begun to write. It was a large sheet of unruled paper, foolscap in
- size, and there was but little likelihood of reaching so far down with the
- letter that Crang was so insistent upon having, but he did not propose in
- any event to superimpose anything over what he had just written. He could
- always turn the sheet and begin at the top on the other side! Again he
- began to pace up and down across the soft floor, but now there was a grim
- smile on his face. Behind Larmon and his enormous wealth lay Larmon's
- secret organization, that, once set in motion, would have little
- difficulty in laying a dozen Crangs, by the heels. And Crang was yellow.
- Let Crang but for an instant realize that his own skin was at stake, and
- he would squeal without hesitation—and what had narrowly escaped
- being tragedy would dissolve into opera bouffe. Also, it was very nice
- indeed of Crang to see that the message reached Larmon's hands!
- </p>
- <p>
- And it was the way out for Claire, too! It was Crang who had mentioned
- something about two birds with one stone, wasn't it? Claire! John Bruce
- frowned. Was he so sure after all? There seemed to be something
- unfathomable between Claire and Crang; the bond between them one that no
- ordinary means would break.
- </p>
- <p>
- His brain seemed to go around in cycles now—Claire, Larmon, Crang;
- Claire, Larmon, Crang.... He lost track of time—until suddenly he
- heard a key rattle in the lock. And then, quick and silent as a cat in his
- movements, he slipped across the earthen floor, and flung himself face
- down upon the mattress.
- </p>
- <p>
- A moment more, and some one prodded him roughly. His hair was rumpled, his
- face anxious and dejected, as he raised himself on his elbow. Crang and
- two of his apaches were standing over him. One of the latter held an ugly
- looking stiletto.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stand him up!” ordered Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce made no resistance as the two men jerked him unceremoniously to
- his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang came and stared into his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess from the look of you,” Crang leered, “you've put in those thirty
- minutes to good advantage. You're about ready to write that letter, aren't
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce looked around him miserably. He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no; I—I can't,” he said weakly. “For God's sake, Crang,
- you—you know I can't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure—I know!” said Crang imperturbably. He nodded to the man with
- the stiletto. “He's more used to steel than bullets, and he likes it
- better. Don't keep him waiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce felt the sudden prick of the weapon on his flesh—it went
- a little deeper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! Stop!” he screamed out in a well-simulated paroxysm of terror. “I—I'll
- write it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought so!” said Crang coolly. “Well, go over there to the table then,
- and sit down.” He turned to the two men. “Beat it!” he snapped—and
- the room empty again, save for himself and John Bruce, he tapped the sheet
- of paper with the muzzle of his revolver. “I'll dictate. Pick up that
- pen!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce obeyed. He circled his lips with his tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you won't do Larmon any harm, will you?” he questioned
- abjectly. “I—my life's worth more than a little money, if it's only
- that, and—and, if that's all, I—I'm sure he'd rather pay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't apologize!” sneered Crang. “Go on now, and write. Address him as
- you always do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote in a small hand:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Mr. Larmon:—”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up in a cowed way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” grunted Crang. “I guess we'll kill another bird, too, while
- we're at it.” He smiled cryptically. “Go on again, and write!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And John Bruce wrote as Crang dictated:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm here in my rooms in the same hotel with you, but am closely watched.
- Our compact is known. I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so felt she
- had the right to my full confidence. She did me in. She——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's pen had halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on!” prompted Crang sharply. “It's got to sound right for Larmon—so
- that he will believe it. He's not a fool, is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, go on then!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And John Bruce wrote:
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was all the time engaged to the head of a gang of crooks.” Crang's
- malicious chuckle interrupted his dictation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not sparing myself, you see. Go on!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce continued his writing:
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are after blackmail now, and threaten to expose you. I telegraphed
- you to come under an alias because we are up against it and you should be
- on the spot; but if they knew you were here they would only attach the
- more importance to it, and the price would go up. They believe you are
- still in San Francisco, and that I am communicating with you by mail. They
- are growing impatient. You can trust the bearer of this letter absolutely.
- Go with him. He will take you where we can meet without arousing any
- suspicion. I am leaving the hotel now. If possible we should not risk more
- than one conference together, so bring a blank check with you. There is no
- other way out. It is simply a question of the amount. I am bitterly sorry
- that this has happened through me. John Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang, with his revolver pressed into the back of John Bruce's neck,
- leaned over John Bruce's shoulder and read the letter carefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fold it, and put it in that envelope without sealing it, and address the
- envelope to Mr. R. L. Peters at the Bayne-Miloy Hotel!” he instructed.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce folded the letter. As he did so, he noted that his signature
- was a good two or three inches above the thumb nail mark. He placed the
- letter in the envelope, and addressed the latter as Crang had directed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang moved around to the other side of the table, tucked the envelope
- into his pocket, and grinned mockingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then without a word John Bruce got up from his chair, and flung
- himself face down on the mattress again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE CLEW
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL VENIZA,
- propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his eyes as she
- moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too ill of late
- to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden shock at Claire's
- appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her movements seemed
- listless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's to-night?” he asked abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wednesday, father,” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire.
- Besides—besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two
- nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see him,”
- he smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire stared at the old pawnbroker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, father,” she protested, “it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides,
- you would be all alone in the house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” said Paul Veniza. “I'm all right. Much better. I'll be up
- to-morrow. But I particularly want to see Hawkins to-night.” He did not
- particularly want to see Hawkins or any one else, but if he did not have
- some valid excuse she would most certainly refuse to go out and leave him
- alone. A little walk and a breath of fresh air would do Claire a world of
- good. And as for the lateness of the hour, Claire in that section of the
- city was as safe as in her own home. “Please do as I ask you, Claire,” he
- insisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, father,” she agreed after a moment's hesitation, and went and
- put on her hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- From downstairs, as she opened the front door, she called up to him a
- little anxiously:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure you are all right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite sure, dear,” Paul Veniza called back. “Don't hurry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire stepped out on the street. It was not far to go—just around
- the first corner and halfway down the next block—and at first she
- walked briskly, impelled by an anxiety to get back to the house again as
- soon as possible, but insensibly, little by little, her footsteps dragged.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was it? Something in the night, the darkness, that promised a kindly
- cloak against the breaking of her self-restraint, that bade her let go of
- herself and welcome the tears that welled so spontaneously to her eyes?
- Would it bring relief? To-day, all evening, more than ever before, she had
- felt her endurance almost at an end. She turned her face upward to the
- night. It was black; not a star showed anywhere. It seemed as though
- something dense and forbidding had been drawn like a somber mantle over
- the world. God, even, seemed far away to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shivered a little. Could that really be true—that God was
- turning His face away from her? She had tried so hard to cling to her
- faith. It was all she had; it was all that of late had stood between her
- and a despair and misery, a horror so overwhelming that death by contrast
- seemed a boon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her lips quivered as she walked along. It almost seemed as though she did
- not want to fight any more. And yet there had been a great and very
- wonderful reward given to her before she had even made the final sacrifice
- that she had pledged herself to make. If her soul revolted from the
- association that must come with Doctor Crang, if every instinct within her
- rose up in stark horror before the contamination of the man's wanton moral
- filth, one strange and wondrous thing sustained her. And she had no right
- to mistrust God, for God must have brought her this. She had bought an
- unknown life—that had become dearer to her than her own, or anything
- that might happen to her. She knew love. It was no longer a <i>stranger</i>
- who would live on through the years because she was soon to pay the price
- that had been set upon his life—it was John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire caught her hands suddenly to her breast. John Bruce! She was still
- afraid—for John Bruce. And to-night, all evening, that fear had been
- growing stronger, chilling her with a sense of evil premonition and
- foreboding. Was it only premonition? Crang had threatened. She had heard
- the threats. And she knew out of her own terrible experience that Crang,
- as between human life and his own desires, held human life as naught. And
- yet, surely John Bruce was safe from him now—at least his life was
- safe. That was how Crang had wrung the promise from her. No, she was not
- so sure! There was personal enmity between them now. Besides, if anything
- happened she would not be able to bring it to Crang's door—Crang
- would take care of that—and her promise would still hold. And so she
- was afraid.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not seen Crang since the night that John Bruce had thrown him down
- the stairs. She had thanked God for the relief his absence had brought her—but
- now, here again, she was not so sure! What had kept him away? Where was
- John Bruce? She began to regret that she had told John Bruce he must not
- attempt to see her or communicate with her any more, though she had only
- done so because she had been afraid for his sake—that it would but
- arouse the very worst in Doctor Crang. Perhaps John Bruce had yielded to
- her pleading and had left the city. She shook her head. If she knew the
- man she loved at all, John Bruce would run from no one, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire halted abruptly. She had reached the dingy rooming house where
- Hawkins lived. She brushed her hand resolutely across her eyes as she
- mounted the steps. The tears had come after all, for her lashes were wet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not necessary either to ring or knock; the door was always
- unfastened; and, besides, she had been here so many, many times that she
- knew the house almost as well as her own home. She opened the door,
- stepped into a black hallway, and began to feel her way up the creaking
- staircase. There was the possibility, of course, that Hawkins was either
- out or already in bed; but if he were out she would leave a note in his
- room for him so that he would come over to the old pawn-shop when he
- returned, and if he were already in bed her message delivered through the
- door would soon bring Hawkins out of it again—Hawkins, since he had
- been driving that old car which he had created, was well accustomed to
- calls at all hours of the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- A thin, irregular streak of light, the only sign of light she had seen
- anywhere in the house, showed now at the threshold under Hawkins'
- ill-fitting door, as she reached the landing. She stepped quickly to the
- door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. There was still
- no answer. Claire smiled a little whimsically. Hawkins was growing
- extravagant—he had gone out and left the light burning. She tried
- the door, and, finding it unlocked, opened it, stepped forward into the
- room—and with a sudden, low, half-hurt, half-frightened cry, stood
- still. Hawkins was neither out, nor was he in bed. Hawkins was sprawled
- partly on the floor and partly across a chair in which he had obviously
- been unable to preserve his balance. Several bottles, all empty but one,
- stood upon the table. There were two dirty glasses beside the bottles, and
- another one, broken, on the floor. Hawkins was snoring stertorously.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed somehow to Claire standing there that this was the last straw—and
- yet, too, there was only a world of pity in her heart for the old man. All
- the years rolled before her. She remembered as a child climbing upon his
- knee and pleading for the <i>tick-tick</i>—that great cumbersome
- silver watch, which, fallen out of his pocket now, dangled by its chain
- and swung in jerky rhythm to his breathing. She remembered the days when,
- a little older, she had dressed herself in her best clothes, and to
- Hawkins' huge delight had played at princess, while he drove her about in
- his old ramshackle hansom cab; and, later still, his gentle faithfulness
- to Paul Veniza in his trouble, and to her—and the love, and a
- strange, always welcome, tenderness that he had ever shown her. Poor frail
- soul! Hawkins had been good to every one—but Hawkins!
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not leave him like this, but she was not strong enough alone to
- carry him to his bed. She turned and ran hurriedly downstairs. There was
- the widow Hedges, of course, the old landlady.
- </p>
- <p>
- Back at the end of the lower hall, Claire pounded upon a door. Presently a
- woman's voice answered her. A moment later a light appeared as the door
- was opened, and with it an apparition in an old gingham wrapper and curl
- papers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it's you, Miss Claire!” the woman exclaimed in surprise. “What's
- brought you over here to-night, dear? Is your father worse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” Claire answered. “He wanted Hawkins, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hedges shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hawkins ain't in,” she said; “but I'll see that he gets the message when
- he comes back. He went out with the car quite a little while ago with some
- men he had with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With the car?” Claire found herself suddenly a little frightened, she did
- not quite know why. “Well, he's back now, Mrs. Hedges.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” asserted Mrs. Hedges positively. “I might not have heard him
- going upstairs, but I would have heard the car coming in. It ain't come
- back yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Hawkins <i>is</i> upstairs,” said Claire a little heavily. “I—I've
- been up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say Hawkins is upstairs?” Mrs. Hedges stared incredulously. “That's
- very strange!” She turned and ran back into her room and to a rear window.
- “Look, Miss Claire! Come here! You can see!” And as Claire joined her:
- “The door of the shed, or the gradge as he calls it, is open, and you can
- see for yourself it's empty. If he's upstairs what could he have done with
- the car? It ain't out in front of the house, is it, and—oh!” She
- caught Claire's arm anxiously. “There's been an accident, you mean, and
- he's——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure he never left the house,” said Claire, and her voice in its
- composed finality sounded strange even in her own ears. She was thoroughly
- frightened now, and her fears were beginning to take concrete form. There
- were not many who would have any use for that queer old car that was so
- intimately associated with Hawkins! She could think of only one—and
- of only one reason. She pulled at Mrs. Hedges' arm. “Come upstairs,” she
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hedges reached the door of Hawkins' room first.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my God!” Mrs. Hedges cried out wildly. “He ain't dead, is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Claire in a strained voice. “He's—he's only had too much
- to drink. Help me lift him on the bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It taxed the strength of the two women.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the car's stole!” gasped Mrs. Hedges, fighting for her breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Claire; “I am afraid so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we'll get the police at once!” announced Mrs. Hedges.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire looked at her for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “You mustn't do that. It—it
- will come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come back?” Mrs. Hedges stared helplessly. “It ain't a cat! You—you
- ain't quite yourself, are you, Miss Claire? Poor dear, this has upset you.
- It ain't a fit thing for young eyes like yours to see. Me—I'm used
- to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am quite myself.” Claire forced a calmness she was far from feeling
- into her voice. “You mustn't notify the police, or do a thing, except just
- look after Hawkins. It—it's father's car, you know; and he'll know
- best what to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, maybe that's so,” admitted Mrs. Hedges.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know who the men were who were here with Hawkins?” Claire asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don't,” Mrs. Hedges answered excitedly. “The thieving devils,
- coming here and getting Hawkins off like this! I just knew there were some
- men up in his room with him because I heard them talking during the
- evening, and then when I heard them go out and get the car I thought, of
- course, that Hawkins had gone with them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I see,” said Claire, striving to speak naturally. “I—I'll
- go back to father now. I can't leave him alone very long, anyhow. I'll
- tell him what has happened, and—and he'll decide what to do. You'll
- look after Hawkins, won't you, Mrs. Hedges?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You run along, dear,” said Mrs. Hedges reassuringly. “Who else but me has
- looked after him these ten years?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire ran from the room and down the stairs, and out to the street. The
- one thing left for her to do was to reach home and get to the telephone—get
- the Bayne-Miloy Hotel—and John Bruce. Perhaps she was already too
- late. She ran almost blindly along the street. Her intuition, the
- foreboding that had obsessed her so heavily all evening, was only too
- likely now to prove itself far from groundless. What object, save one,
- could anybody have in obtaining possession of the traveling pawn-shop, and
- at the same time of keeping Hawkins temporarily out of the road? Perhaps
- her deduction would show flaws if it were subjected to the test of pure
- logic, perhaps there were a thousand other reasons that would account
- equally well, and even more logically, for what had happened, but she <i>knew</i>
- it was Crang—and Crang could have but one object in view. The man
- was clever, diabolically clever. In some way he was using that car and
- Hawkins' helplessness to trap the man he had threatened. She must warn
- John Bruce. There was not an instant to lose! To lose! How long ago had
- that car been taken? Was there even a chance left that it was not already
- far too late? She had not thought to ask how long ago it was when Mrs.
- Hedges had heard the car leave the garage.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had never seemed so far—just that little half block and halfway
- along another. It seemed as though she had been an hour in coming that
- little way when she finally reached her home. Her breath coming in hard,
- short gasps, she opened the door, closed it, and, with no thought but one
- in her mind, ran across the room to the telephone. She remembered the
- number of the Bayne-Miloy. She snatched the telephone receiver from the
- hook—and then, as though her arm had suddenly become incapable of
- further movement, the receiver remained poised halfway to her ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang was leaning over the banister, and looking down at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a stifled little cry, Claire replaced the receiver.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza's voice reached her from above.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that you, Claire?” he called.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, father,” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang came down the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I just dropped in a minute ago—not professionally”—a snarl
- crept into his voice—“for I have never been informed that your
- father was ill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire did not look up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It—it wasn't serious,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So!” Crang smiled a little wickedly. “I wonder where you get the <i>gambling</i>
- spirit from? One of these days you'll find out how serious these attacks
- are!” He took a step forward. “Your father tells me you have been over to
- Hawkins' room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a curious hint of both challenge and perverted humor in his
- voice. It set at rest any lingering doubt Claire might have had.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, and faced him now, her eyes, hard and steady, fixed on
- his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Hawkins!” sighed Doctor Crang ironically. “Even the best of us have
- our vices! It should teach us to be tolerant with others!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire's little form was rigidly erect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you know how much I hate you?” she said in a tense, low
- voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've told me often enough!” A savage, hungry look came into Crang's
- eyes. “But you're mine, for all that! Mine, Claire! Mine! You understand
- that, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He advanced toward her. The door of the inner room, that for weeks, until
- a few days ago, had been occupied by John Bruce, was just behind her, and
- she retreated through it. He followed her. She did not want to cry out—the
- sound would reach the sick room above; and, besides, she dared not show
- the man that she had any fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't follow me like that!” she breathed fiercely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?” he retorted, as he switched on the light and closed the door.
- “I've got the right to, even if I hadn't something that I came over here
- particularly to-night to tell you about—quite privately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had put the table between them. That he made no effort to come nearer
- for the moment afforded her a certain relief, but there was something in
- the smile with which he surveyed her now, a cynical, gloating triumph,
- that chilled her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what is it?” she demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I trapped that damned lover of yours to-night!” he announced coolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire felt her face go white. It <i>was</i> true, then! She fought madly
- with herself for self-possession.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you mean Mr. Bruce,” she said deliberately, “I was just going to try
- to warn him over the phone; though, even then, I was afraid I was too
- late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” he exclaimed sharply. “You knew, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire shrugged her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes!” she said contemptuously. “My faith in you where evil is
- concerned is limitless. I heard your threats. I saw Hawkins a few minutes
- ago. He was quite—quite helpless. You, or some of your confederates,
- traded on his weakness, took the key of the car away from him, and then
- stole the car. Ordinary thieves would not have acted like that.” An icy
- smile came to her lips. “His landlady thought the police should be
- notified that the car had been stolen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You always were clever, Claire,” Crang grinned admiringly. “You've got
- some brains—all there are around here, as far as I can make out.
- You've got it straight, all right. Mr. John Bruce, Esquire, came out of
- Lavergne's on being informed that Hawkins was in bad shape—no lie
- about that!—and walked into the car without a murmur. Too bad to
- bother the police, though—the car will have been left in front of
- Hawkins' door again by now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was hard to keep her courage; hard to keep her lips from trembling;
- hard to keep the tears back; hard to pretend that she was not afraid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you going to do with him?” Her voice was very low. “The promise
- that I gave you was on the condition that he <i>lived</i>—not only
- then, but now.” Crang laughed outright.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, don't worry about that! He'd never let it get that far. He thinks too
- much of Mr. Bruce! He has already taken care of himself—at another
- man's expense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire stared numbly. She did not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll tell you,” said Crang, with brutal viciousness. “He's a professional
- gambler, this supposedly wealthy gentleman of leisure. He works for a man
- in San Francisco named Larmon, who really is wealthy, but who poses as a
- pillar of the church, or words to that effect. Never mind how, but Larmon
- will be here to-night in New York—just at the right moment. And Mr.
- Bruce has very kindly consented to assist in convincing Mr. Larmon that
- exposure isn't worth the few dollars that would buy him immunity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire did not speak. Still she did not understand. She sat down wearily
- in the chair beside the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang took a letter from his pocket abruptly, and, opening it, laid it in
- front of Claire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought perhaps you would like to read it,” he said carelessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands.
- She stared at the letter. At first the words ran together, and she could
- not make them out. Then a sentence took form, and then another—and
- she read them piteously. “... I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so
- felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in... She read on
- to the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's not true!” she cried out sharply. “I don't believe it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, it isn't true!” said Crang complacently. “And, of course, you
- don't believe it! But Larmon will. I've only shown you the letter to let
- you see what kind of a yellow cur this would-be lover of yours is.
- Anything to save himself! But so long as he wrote the letter, I had no
- quarrel with him if he wanted to fake excuses for himself that gave him a
- chance of holding his job with Larmon afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It couldn't be true—true that John Bruce had even written the
- letter, a miserable Judas thing that baited a trap, for one who trusted
- him, with the good name of a woman for whom he had professed to care. It
- couldn't be true—but the signature was there, and—and it was
- genuine: “John Bruce.... John Bruce.... John Bruce.” It seemed to strike
- at her with the cruel, stinging blows of a whip-lash: “John Bruce.... John
- Bruce.... John——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words became blurred. It was the infinite hopelessness of everything
- that crushed her fortitude, and mocked it, and made of it at last a beaten
- thing. A tear fell and splashed upon the page—and still another. She
- kept looking at the letter, though she could only see it through a
- blinding mist. And there was something ominous, and something that added
- to her fear, that she should imagine that her tears made <i>black</i>
- splashes on the blurred letter as they fell, and——-
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard a sudden startled snarl from Crang, and the letter was snatched
- up from the table. And then he seemed to laugh wildly, without reason, as
- a maniac would laugh—and with the letter clutched in his hand rushed
- from the room. Claire crushed her hands against her temples. Perhaps it
- was herself who had gone mad.
- </p>
- <p>
- The front door banged.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN—A WOLF LICKS HIS CHOPS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>UTSIDE the house
- Crang continued to run. He was unconscious that he had forgotten his hat.
- His face worked in livid fury. Alternately he burst out into short, ugly
- gusts of laughter that made of laughter an evil thing; alternately, racked
- with unbridled passion, he mouthed a flood of oaths.
- </p>
- <p>
- He ran on for some three blocks, and finally dashed up the steps of a
- small, drab-looking, cheap frame house. A brass sign, greenish with mold
- from neglect, flanked one side of the door. Under the street light it
- could just barely be deciphered: SYDNEY ANGUS CRANG, M.D.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried the door. It was locked. He searched impatiently and hastily in
- his pockets for his pass-key, and failing to find it instantly he rang the
- bell; and then, without waiting for an answer to the summons, he
- immediately began to bang furiously upon the panels.
- </p>
- <p>
- An old woman, his housekeeper, whose bare feet had obviously been thrust
- hurriedly into slippers, and who clutched at the neck of a woolen dressing
- gown that also obviously, and with equal haste, had been flung around her
- shoulders over her nightdress, finally opened the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of the road!” Crang snarled—and brushed his way roughly
- past her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stepped forward along an unlighted hall, opened a door, and slammed it
- behind him. He switched on the light. He was in his consulting room. The
- next instant he was standing beside his desk, and had wrenched John
- Bruce's letter from his pocket. He spread this out on the desk and glared
- at it. Beyond any doubt whatever, where Claire's tears had fallen on the
- paper, traces of writing were faintly discernible. Here, out of an
- abortive word, was a well-formed “e”; and there, unmistakably, was a
- capital “L.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang burst into a torrent of abuse and oaths; his fists clenched, and he
- shook one of them in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Double-crossed—eh?—damn him!” he choked. “He tried to
- double-cross me—did he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Carrying the letter, he ran now into a little room behind his office,
- where he compounded his medicines, and that was fitted up as a sort of
- small laboratory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm a clever man,” Crang mumbled to himself. “We'll see about this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- With sudden complacence he began to study the sheet of paper. He nodded
- curtly to himself as he noted that the traces of the secret writing were
- all on the lower edge of the paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll be very careful, <i>very</i> careful”—Doctor Crang was still
- mumbling—“it may be useful in more ways than one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned on the water faucet, wet a camel's-hair brush, and applied the
- brush to the lower edge of the letter. The experiment was productive of no
- result. He stared at the paper for a while with wrinkled brow, and then
- suddenly he began to laugh ironically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, of course, not!” He was jeering at himself now. “Clever? You are not
- clever, you are a fool! She <i>cried</i> on the paper. Tears! Tears
- possess a slight trace of”—he reached quickly for a glass container,
- and began to prepare a solution of some sort—“a very slight trace...
- that's why the characters that already show are so faint. Now we'll see,
- Mr. John Bruce, what you've got to say.... Salt!... A little salt, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dipped the camel's-hair brush in the solution and drew it across the
- bottom edge of the paper again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, ha!” exclaimed Doctor Crang in eager excitement. Letters, words and
- sentences began to take form under the brush. “Ha, ha! He'd play that game
- with me, would he? Damn him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Very carefully Sydney Angus Crang, M.D., worked his brush upward on the
- paper line by line, until, still well below the signature that John Bruce
- had affixed in his, Crang's, presence, there failed to appear any further
- trace of the secret writing. He read as fast as a word appeared—like
- a starving beast snatching in ferocious greed at morsels of food. It made
- whole and complete sense. His eyes feasted on it now in its entirety:
- </p>
- <p>
- Keep away. This is a trap. Stall till you can turn tables. Information
- obtained while I was delirious. Am a prisoner in hands of a gang whose
- leader is a doctor named Crang. Veniza will tell you where Crang lives.
- Get Veniza's address from Lavergne at the house. The only way to save
- either of Us is to trick Crang. Look out for yourself. Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tossed the camel's-hair brush away, returned to his desk, spread the
- letter out on a blotter to allow the lower edge to dry, and slumping down
- in his desk chair, glued his eyes on the secret message, reading it over
- and over again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Trick Crang—eh?—ha, ha!” He began to chuckle low; then
- suddenly his fingers, crooked and curved until they looked like claws,
- reached out as though to fasten upon some prey at hand. And then he
- chuckled once more—and then grew somber, and slumped deeper in his
- chair, and his eyes, brooding, were half closed. “Not to-night,” he
- muttered. “One job of it to-morrow... squeal like a pair of rats that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat suddenly bolt upright in his chair. It came again—-a low
- tapping on the window; two raps, three times repeated. He rose quickly,
- crossed the room, opened the door, and stood motionless for a moment
- peering out into the hall. It was a purely precautionary measure—he
- had little doubt but that his old housekeeper had long since mounted the
- stairs and returned to her bed. He stepped rapidly then along the hall,
- and opened the front door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That you, Birdie?” he called in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man's form appeared from the shadow of the stoop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure!” the man answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in!” Doctor Crang said tersely.
- </p>
- <p>
- He led the way back into the consulting room, and slumped down again in
- his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Peters arrived all right,” Birdie reported. “He registered at the
- Bayne-Miloy Hotel, and he's there now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good!” grunted Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a full five minutes he remained silent and without movement in his
- chair, apparently utterly oblivious of the other, who stood, shifting a
- little awkwardly from foot to foot, on the opposite side of the desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Crang spoke—more to himself than to Birdie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll be anxious, of course, and growing more so,” he said. “He might
- make a break of some kind. I'll have to fix that. I'm not ready yet.
- What?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birdie, from staring inanely at the wall, came to himself with a sudden
- start at what he evidently interpreted as a direct question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—sure!” he said hurriedly. “No—I mean, no, you're not
- ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang glared at the man contemptuously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What the hell do you know about it?” he inquired caustically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up the telephone directory, studied it for a moment, then,
- reaching for the desk telephone, asked for his connection. Presently the
- Bayne-Miloy Hotel answered him, and he asked for Mr. R. L. Peters' room. A
- moment more and a voice reached him over the phone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that Mr. Peters?” Crang inquired quietly. “Mr. R. L. Peters, of San
- Francisco?... Yes? Then I have a message for you, Mr. Peters, from the
- person who sent you a telegram a few days ago... I beg your pardon?...
- Yes, I am sure you do... Myself? I'd rather not mention any names over the
- phone. You understand, don't you? He told me to tell you that it is
- absolutely necessary that no connection is known to exist between you, and
- for that reason he does not dare take the chance of getting into touch
- with you to-night, but he will manage it somehow by early afternoon
- to-morrow... What say?... Yes, it is very serious, otherwise he would
- hardly have telegraphed you to come on from San Francisco... No,
- personally, I don't know. That was his message; but I was also to warn you
- on no account to leave your rooms, or have communication with anybody
- until you hear direct from him.... No, I do not know the particulars. I
- only know that he is apparently in a hole, and a bad one, and that he is
- now afraid that you will get into it too.... Yes. You are sure you fully
- understand?... No, not at all! I am only too glad.... Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang, with a curious smile on his lips, hung up the receiver. He turned
- abruptly to Birdie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You get a taxi to-morrow,” he said brusquely. “We'll want it for two or
- three hours. Slip the chauffeur whatever is necessary, and change places
- with him. See? You'll know where to find one that will fall for that. Then
- you come here for me at—let's see—the boat sails at four—you
- come here at half past one sharp. Get me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure!” said Birdie, with a grin. “That's a cinch!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, then!” Crang waved his hand. “Beat it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birdie left the room. A moment later the front door closed behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang picked up the letter and examined it critically. The lower three or
- four inches of the paper was slightly crinkled, but quite dry now; the
- body of the original letter showed no sign whatever of his work upon the
- lower portion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Doctor Crang nodded contentedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose abruptly, secured his surgical bag, and from it selected a lance.
- With the aid of a ruler and the keen-bladed little instrument, he very
- carefully cut away the lower section of the paper. The slip containing the
- erstwhile secret message he tucked away in his inside pocket; then he
- examined the letter itself again even more critically than before. For all
- evidence that it presented to the contrary, it might have been the
- original size of the sheet. There was even a generous margin of paper
- still left beneath John Bruce's signature. He folded the letter, replaced
- it in its envelope—and now sealed the envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow!” said Doctor Sydney Angus Crang with a sinister smile, as he
- produced a hypodermic syringe from his pocket and rolled up the sleeve of
- his left arm. He laughed as the needle pricked his flesh. “To-morrow—John
- Bruce!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slumped far down in his chair once more. For half an hour he sat
- motionless, his eyes closed. Then he spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn you!” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—ALIAS MR. ANDERSON
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span> OCTOR Sydney
- Angus Crang looked at his watch, as he stepped from a taxi the next
- afternoon, and entered the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. It was fifteen minutes of
- two. He approached the desk and obtained a blank card. “From J. B.,” he
- wrote upon it. He handed it to the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please send this up to Mr. R. L. Peters,” he requested.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned nonchalantly against the desk as a bellboy departed with the
- card. From where he stood the front windows gave him a view of the street,
- and he could see Birdie parking the taxi a little way up past the
- entrance. He smiled pleasantly as he waited.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently the bell-boy returned with the information that Mr. Peters would
- see him; and, following the boy upstairs, he was ushered into the sitting
- room of one of the Bayne-Miloy's luxurious suites. A tall man with a thin,
- swarthy face confronted him. Between his fingers the tall man held the
- card that he, Crang, had sent up; and between his lips the tall man sucked
- assiduously at a quill toothpick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Peters, of course?” Crang inquired easily, as the door closed behind
- the bell-boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Peters, alias Gilbert Larmon, nodded quietly. “I was rather expecting
- Mr. Bruce in person,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang looked cautiously around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It still isn't safe,” he said in a lowered voice. “At least, not here; so
- I am going to take you to him. But perhaps you would prefer that I should
- explain my own connection with this affair first?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again Larmon nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it would be just as well,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more Crang looked cautiously around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We—we are quite alone, I take it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite,” said Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My name is Anderson, William Anderson,” Crang stated smoothly. “I was the
- one who telephoned you last night. I am a friend of John Bruce—the
- only one he's got, I guess, except yourself. Bruce and I used to be boys
- together in San Francisco. I hadn't seen him for years until we ran into
- each other here in New York a few weeks ago and chummed up again. As I
- told you over the phone, I don't know the ins and outs of this, but I know
- he is in some trouble with a gang that he got mixed up with in the
- underworld somehow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Tck!</i>” The quill toothpick flexed sharply against one of the tall
- man's front teeth. “William Anderson”—he repeated the name musingly—“yes,
- I remember. I sent a telegram in your care to Mr. Bruce a few days ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- The quill toothpick appeared to occupy the tall man's full attention for a
- period of many seconds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you conversant with the contents of that telegram, Mr. Anderson?” he
- asked casually at last.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang suppressed a crafty smile. Mr Gilbert Larmon was no fool! Mr.
- Gilbert Larmon stood here as Mr. R. L. Peters—the telegram had been
- signed: “Gilbert Larmon.” The question that Larmon was actually asking
- was: How much do you really know?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes,” said Crang readily. “I did not actually see the telegram, but
- Bruce told me it was from a friend of his, a Mr. Peters, who would arrive
- in New York Wednesday night, and whom he seemed to think he needed pretty
- badly in his present scrape.” Larmon took a turn or two up and down the
- room. He halted again before Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am obliged to admit that I am both anxious and considerably at sea,” he
- said deliberately. “There seems to be an air of mystery surrounding all
- this that I neither like nor understand. You did not allay my fears last
- night when you telephoned me. Have you no more to tell me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang shook his head slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said. “You've got everything I know. Bruce has been like a clam
- as far as the nature of what is between himself and this gang is
- concerned. He will have to tell you himself—if he will. He won't
- tell me. Meanwhile, he sent you this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang reached into his pocket and took out the envelope addressed to Mr.
- R. L. Peters, that he had taken pains to seal the night before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon took the envelope, stepped over to the window, presumably for
- better light, and opening the letter, began to read it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang watched the other furtively. The quill toothpick, from a series of
- violent gyrations, became motionless between Larmon's lips. The thin face
- seemed to mold itself into sharp, dogged lines. Again and again Larmon
- appeared to read the letter over; and then the hand that held the sheet of
- paper dropped to his side, and he stood for a long time staring out of the
- window. Finally he turned slowly and came back across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is bad, Mr. Anderson—far worse than I had imagined,” he said
- in a hard voice. “I believe you said you would take me to Bruce. This
- letter asks me to accompany you, and I see we are to go at once.” He
- motioned toward a box of cigars on the table. “Help yourself to a cigar,
- Mr. Anderson, and take a chair while I change and get ready. I will only
- be a few minutes, if you will excuse me for that length of time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's face expressed concern.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, certainly, Mr. Peters,” he agreed readily. He helped himself to a
- cigar, and sat down in a chair. “I'm sorry if it's as bad as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon made no answer, save to nod his head gravely as he stepped quickly
- toward the door of the apartment's adjoining room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang struck a match and lighted his cigar. The door of the connecting
- room closed behind Larmon. A cloud of blue smoke veiled Crang's face—and
- a leer that lighted his suddenly narrowed eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that's it, is it?” grinned Crang to himself. “I wondered how he was
- going to work it! Well, I guess he would have got away with it, too—if
- I hadn't got away with it first!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat motionless in his chair—and listened. And suddenly he smiled
- maliciously. The sound of running water from a tap turned on somewhere on
- the other side of the connecting door reached him faintly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now a little salt!” murmured Doctor Sydney
- </p>
- <p>
- Angus Crang. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it dissolve.
- “And, presto!—like the smoke ring—nothing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The minutes passed, perhaps five of them, and then the door opened again
- and Larmon reappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm ready now,” he announced quietly. “Shall we go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang rose from his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said. He glanced at Larmon, as he tapped the ash from the end of
- his cigar. Larmon had <i>not</i> forgotten to change his clothes. “I've
- got a taxi waiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” agreed Larmon briskly—and led the way to the elevator.
- </p>
- <p>
- Out on the street, Crang led the way in turn—to the taxi. Birdie
- reached out from his seat, and flung the door open. Crang motioned Larmon
- to enter, and then leaned toward Birdie as though to give the man the
- necessary address. He spoke in a low, quiet tone:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep to the decent streets as long as you can, so that he won't have a
- chance to get leery until it won't matter whether he does or not.
- Understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birdie touched his cap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi jerked forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's not very far,” said Crang. He smiled engagingly as he settled back
- in his seat—and his hand in his coat pocket sought and fondled his
- revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon, apparently immersed in his own thoughts, made no immediate reply.
- The taxi traversed a dozen blocks, during which time Crang, quite
- contented to let well enough alone, made no effort at conversation. Larmon
- chewed at his quill toothpick until, following a savage little click, he
- removed it in two pieces from his mouth. He had bitten it in half. He
- tossed the pieces on the floor, and produced a fresh one from his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My word!” observed Crang dryly. “You've got good teeth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon turned and looked at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mr. Anderson, I have!” His voice was level. “And I am going to show
- them—when I get hold of Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's expression was instantly one of innocent bewilderment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why,” he said, “I thought you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever met the lady?” Larmon asked abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The—lady?” Crang glanced out of the window. Birdie was making good
- time, very good time indeed. Another five minutes at the outside and the
- trick was done.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The woman in the case,” said Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” Crang whistled low. “I see! No, I've never met her. I didn't know
- there was one. I told you he had said nothing to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon was frowning heavily; his face was strained and worried. He laughed
- out suddenly, jerkily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I should give him credit for keeping you at least in the dark,”
- he said shortly; “though it strikes me as more or less of a case of
- locking the stable door after the horse has gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's eyebrows were raised in well-simulated perplexity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't quite get you, Mr. Peters,” he said politely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's of no consequence.” Larmon's eyes were suddenly fastened on the
- window. From an already shabby street where cheap tenements hived a
- polyglot nationality, the taxi had swerved into an intersection that
- seemed more a lane than anything else, and that was still more shabby and
- uninviting. “This is a rather sordid neighborhood, isn't it?” he observed
- curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's safe,” said Crang significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We get out here, Mr. Peters,” Crang announced pleasantly, as Birdie
- opened the door. “It's a bit rough, I'll admit; but”—he shrugged his
- shoulders and smiled—“you'll have to blame Bruce, not me. Just
- follow me, Mr. Peters—it's down these steps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to descend the steps of a cellar entrance, which was
- unprepossessingly black, and which opened from the rear of a seedy looking
- building that abutted on the lane. He did not look behind him. Larmon had
- made <i>sure</i> that the letter was to be relied upon, hadn't he?—and
- it was John Bruce, not anybody else, that Larmon was trusting now.
- Certainly, it was much easier to <i>lead</i> Larmon as long as Larmon
- could be led; if Larmon hesitated about following, Birdie stood ready to
- pitch the other headlong down the steps—the same end would be
- attained in either case!
- </p>
- <p>
- But Larmon still showed no suspicion of the good faith of one William
- Anderson. He was following without question. The daylight streaking down
- through the entrance afforded enough light to enable Crang, over his
- shoulder, to note that Larmon was always close behind him. At a door
- across the cellar Crang gave two raps, three times repeated, and as the
- door was opened, entered with Larmon beside him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man who had let them in—one of three, who had evidently been
- rolling dice at a table close to the entrance—closed the door behind
- them, and resumed his game.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you'll just wait here a minute, Mr. Peters,” Crang said breezily,
- “I'll find Bruce for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not wait for a reply. It mattered very little as to what Larmon
- said or did now, anyhow—Larmon's exit was barred by three men! He
- walked up the length of the low-ceiled, evil-smelling place, and with a
- key which he took from his pocket unlocked a door at the farther end. As
- he stepped through the door his revolver was in his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed in an ugly way, as John Bruce rose from the mattress and faced
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Salt is a great thing, isn't it?” he jeered. He drew from his pocket the
- slip of paper he had cut from the bottom of the letter, and held it so
- that John Bruce could see it. Then he put it back in his pocket again.
- “Understand? He got the <i>rest</i> of the letter, all right; and so he
- has come down to pay you a little visit. He's outside there now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang laughed again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You thought you'd double-cross me, did you? You poor fool! Well, it's a
- showdown now. I'm going to bring him in here—and let you tell him
- what he's up against. I guess you can convince him. He's got less than an
- hour in which to come across—if you are going to sail on that
- steamer. If you don't make yourself useful to that extent, you go out—for
- keeps; and Larmon stays here until he antes up—or rots! Is that
- quite clear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's lips scarcely moved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; it is quite clear,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought it would be!” snarled Crang—and backed out through the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—THE HOSTAGE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S Crang
- disappeared through the doorway, John Bruce stepped noiselessly forward
- across the earthen floor. With the door half open and swung inward, it
- left a generous aperture at the hinges through which he could see down the
- length of the cave-like den outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was strangely calm. Yes, there was Larmon down there—and Crang
- was walking toward him. And Crang had left the door open here. Well, why
- not?—with those three apaches at that table yonder! Yes, why not?—except
- that Crang had also left open the way to one last move, left him, John
- Bruce, one last card to play!
- </p>
- <p>
- Strange, the cold, unnatural calmness that possessed him! His mind seemed
- instantaneously to have conceived and created a project that almost
- subconsciously he was now in the act of putting into effect. He reached
- out, and extracting the key from the outside of the door, inserted it on
- the inside of the lock. He smiled grimly. So far, it was quite safe! The
- door was swung so far inward that the inner edge of it, and therefore his
- act, certainly could not be seen by any one out there.
- </p>
- <p>
- A last card! His lips tightened. Well, perhaps! But it was more than that.
- His unnatural composure had something deeper than that behind it—a
- passionate fury smoldering on the verge of flame. Larmon was out there—trapped!
- He could not put Larmon in greater jeopardy now, no matter what he, John
- Bruce, did personally, because Larmon dead would not be worth anything to
- them. But for himself—to stand and take it all like a sheep at the
- hands of a damned, cringing——
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head in quick, curious self-rebuke. Not yet! He needed that
- cold composure a little longer since it was to be a showdown now. That was
- what Crang had said—a showdown. And Crang was right! It meant the
- end—one way or the other. But with luck, if Crang was as yellow as
- he believed the man to be, the idea of the bluff that had leaped into his
- mind would work successfully; and if it didn't work—well, then,
- there was the end—and at least it would not be a scatheless one for
- Crang!
- </p>
- <p>
- The mind works swiftly. Had Crang had time only to walk down <i>half</i>
- the length of that room out there toward Larmon? Yes, he saw Crang halt
- now, and heard Crang call out sharply to the three men at the table:
- </p>
- <p>
- “See if he's got a gun!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce, through the crack, saw Larmon whirl around suddenly, as though
- aware for the first time that he was in danger; saw two of the men grasp
- Larmon roughly, while the third searched through his clothes.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Crang laughed out raucously:
- </p>
- <p>
- “This way, <i>Mr. Peters</i>—please! You three can stay where you
- are—I'll call you if I need you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- For still another instant John Bruce watched through the crack. Larmon,
- though his face was set and stern, advanced calmly to where Crang stood.
- Crang, with a prod of his revolver, pushed him onward. They were coming
- now—Larmon first, and Crang immediately behind the other. Without a
- sound, John Bruce slipped around to the other side of the door; and, back
- just far enough so that he would not be seen the instant the threshold was
- reached, crouched down close against the wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- A second passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on in there!” he heard Crang order.
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon's form crossed the threshold; and then Crang's—and John Bruce
- hurled himself forward, striking, even while his hands flew upward to lock
- like a vise around Crang's throat, a lightning blow at Crang's wrist that
- sent the revolver to the soft earthen floor without a sound—and a
- low, strangling, gurgling noise was alone the result of Crang's effort at
- a shout of alarm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shut the door—<i>quietly!</i> And lock it, Larmon!” John Bruce
- flung out.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an impotent thing. It struck at the air blindly, its fists going
- like disjointed flails. Strong! He had not just risen from a sick bed this
- time! John Bruce and the soul within him seemed to chuckle In unison
- together at this wriggling thing that he held up by the neck with its feet
- off the ground. But he saw Larmon, though for the fraction of a second
- held spellbound in amazement, spring and lock the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you make a sound that reaches out there”—John Bruce was
- whispering now with panting, labored breath, as he swung Crang over to the
- corner and forced him down upon the mattress—“it will take too long
- to break that door in to be of any use to you! Understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bruce!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Larmon standing over them. John Bruce scarcely turned his head. His
- hands were still on Crang's throat, though the man lay cowed and passive
- now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His inside coat pocket!” John Bruce jerked out. “It will save a lot of
- explanation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon leaned over and thrust his hand into Crang's pocket. He produced
- several envelopes and the slip of paper cut from John Bruce's letter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Read the slip!” said John Bruce grimly. “He showed it to me a minute ago
- when he came in to tell me you were here. It was written in our invisible
- ink at the bottom of the letter he brought you.” He laughed shortly. “When
- you've read it, I'll introduce you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon read the slip hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God!” he cried out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Crang,” said John Bruce evenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But”—Larmon's face was tense and strained—“how———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did he discover there was anything there to begin with, and then hit
- on the salt solution?” John Bruce interrupted. “I don't know. We'll find
- out.” He relaxed his hold a little on Crang's throat, and taking the slip
- of paper from Larmon, thrust it into his own pocket. “Go on, Crang! Tell
- us!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's eyes roved from John Bruce to Larmon and back to John Bruce again.
- His face was ashen. He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll <i>talk!</i>” said John Bruce with ominous quiet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the less urging”—his grip began to tighten again—“the
- better for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait!” Crang choked. “Yes—I—I'll tell you. I showed the
- letter to Claire. She—she cried on it. A tear splash—black
- letter began to appear. I took the letter home, and—trace of salt in
- tears—and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's voice died away in a strangling cry. Claire! John Bruce had barely
- caught any other word but that. Claire! The face beneath him began to grow
- livid. Claire! So the devil had brought Claire into this, too. <i>Too!</i>
- Yes, there was something else. Something else! He remembered now. There
- was a reckoning to come that was beyond all other reckonings, wasn't
- there? He would know now what hold this thing, that was beast, not man,
- had upon her. He would know now—or it would end now!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire! D'ye hear?” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. “You know what I mean!
- What trick of hell did you play to make her promise to marry you? Answer
- me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The thing on the mattress moaned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bruce! For God's sake, Bruce, what are you doing?” Larmon cried out
- sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce raised his head and snarled at Larmon. Neither Larmon, nor any
- other man, would rob him of this now!
- </p>
- <p>
- “You stand aside, Larmon!” he rasped out. “This is between me and Crang.
- Keep out of the way!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook at Crang again. He laughed. The man's head bobbed limply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Answer me!” He loosened his grip suddenly. Queer, he had forgotten that—Crang
- couldn't speak, of course, if he wouldn't let him!
- </p>
- <p>
- The man gasped, and gasped again, for his breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I give you one second.” John Bruce's lips did not move as he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- Twice Crang tried to speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quick!” John Bruce planted his knees on the other's chest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—yes, yes, yes!” Crang gurgled out. “It's you—the night
- you—you were stabbed. You were—were nearly gone. I—I
- gave her the—the choice—to marry me, or—or I'd let you—go
- out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce felt his shoulders surge forward, felt his muscles grow taut as
- steel, and he shook at something flabby that made no resistance, and his
- knees rocked upon something soft where they were bedded. <i>him</i>—Claire
- had faced that inhuman choice, born in this monster's brain—to save
- <i>his</i> life! Madness seized upon him. The room, everything before him
- whirled around in great, red, pulsing circles. A fury that shook at the
- roots of his soul took possession of him. He knew nothing, saw nothing,
- was moved by nothing save an overwhelming lust for vengeance that seemed
- to give him superhuman strength, that enabled him to crush between his two
- bare hands this nauseous thing that——-
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard a voice. It seemed to come from some infinite distance:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are killing the man! In the name of God, John Bruce, come away!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Larmon's voice. He looked up. He was vaguely conscious that it was
- Larmon who was pulling at his shoulders, wrenching madly at his hands, but
- he could not see Larmon—only a blurred red figure that danced
- insanely up and down. Killing the man! Of course! What an inane thing to
- say! Then he felt his hands suddenly torn away from a hold they had had
- upon something, and he felt himself pulled to his feet. And then for a
- little he stood swaying unsteadily, and he shuddered, then he groped his
- way over to the chair by the table and dropped into it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared in front of him. Something on the floor near the door glittered
- and reflected the light from the single, dim incandescent. He lurched up
- from the chair, and going toward the object, snatched it up. It was
- Crang's revolver—but Larmon was upon him <i>in</i> an instant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that way, either!” said Larmon hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce brushed his hand across his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not that way, either,” he repeated like a child.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went back to the chair and sat down. He was aware that Larmon was
- kneeling beside the mattress, but he paid no attention to the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The man's unconscious,” Larmon said.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce did not turn his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- The minutes passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's brain began to clear; but the unbalanced fury that had
- possessed him was giving place now only to one more implacable in its
- considered phase. He looked around him. Crang, evidently recovered, was
- sitting up on the mattress. The letters Larmon had taken from Crang's
- pocket lay on the table. John Bruce picked them up idly. From one of them
- a steamer ticket fell out. He stared at this for a moment. A passage for
- John Bruce to South America! Then low, an ugly sound, his laugh echoed
- around the place.
- </p>
- <p>
- South America! It recalled him to his actual surroundings—that on
- the other side of the door were Crang's apaches. There was still time to
- catch the steamer, wasn't there—for South America? “If the bluff
- worked”—he remembered his thoughts, the plan that had actuated him
- when he had crouched there at the door, waiting for Crang to enter.
- Strange! It wouldn't be a <i>bluff</i> any more! All that was gone. What
- he would do now, and carry it through to its end, was what he had intended
- to bluff Crang into believing he would do. And Crang, too, would
- understand now how little of bluff there was—or, misunderstanding,
- pay for it with his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thrust the ticket suddenly into his pocket, stepped from his chair, the
- revolver in his hand, and confronted Crang. The man shrank back,
- trembling, his face gray with fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stand up!” John Bruce commanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang, groveling against the wall, got upon his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a full minute before John Bruce spoke again, and then the words
- came choking hot from his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You damned cur!” he cried. “That's what you did, was it? The price Claire
- paid was for my life. Well, it's hers, then; it's no longer mine. Can you
- understand that, and understand that I am going to pay it back, if
- necessary, to rid her of you? We are going to walk out of here. You will
- lead the way. We are going down to that steamer, and you are going on John
- Bruce's ticket where you proposed to send me—to South America.
- Either that—or you are going on a longer journey. I shall carry this
- revolver in the pocket of my coat, and walk beside you. It is your affair
- how we pass those men out there. If you make any attempt at trickery in
- getting out of here, or later in the street attempt to escape, I will fire
- instantly. It does not matter in the slightest degree what happens to me
- at the hands of your men, or at the hands of a thousand people in the most
- crowded street. You will have gone out <i>first</i>. The only
- consideration that exists is that Claire shall be free of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick flexing against one of Larmon's teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce turned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not understand,” said Larmon in a low, grim way. “If I had, I am
- not sure I should have stopped you from throttling him when I did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce nodded curtly. He spoke again to Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not asking you whether you agree to this or not,” he said with level
- emphasis. “You have your choice at any moment to do as you like—you
- know the consequences.” He slipped his hand with his revolver into the
- right-hand side pocket of his coat, and took his place at Crang's left
- side. “Now, go ahead and open that door, and lead the way out! Mr. Larmon,
- you follow close behind me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” Crang stammered, “yes—for God's sake—I—I'll do it—I—-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Open that door!” said John Bruce monotonously. “I didn't ask you to talk
- about it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang opened the door. The little procession stepped out into the long,
- low cellar, and started down toward the lower end. The three men, from
- playing dice at the table near the door, rose uncertainly to their feet.
- John Bruce's revolver in his pocket pressed suggestively against Crang's
- side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all right, boys,” Crang called out. “Open the door. I've got Birdie
- outside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They passed the table, passed through the doorway, and the door closed
- behind them. In the semi-darkness here, as they headed for the exit to the
- lane, Larmon touched John Bruce's elbow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He brought me down here in a taxi,” Larmon whispered. “I suppose now it
- was one of his men who drove it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Birdie, he just told those rats,” said John Bruce tersely. “Do you hear,
- Crang? If he's still out there, send him away!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They emerged into the lane. A taxi-cab stood opposite the exit; Birdie
- lounged in the driver's seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's revolver bored into Crang's side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beat it!” said Crang surlily to the man. “I won't want you any more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won't—what?” Birdie leaned out from his seat. He stared for a
- moment in bewilderment, and then started to climb out of the taxi.
- </p>
- <p>
- The pressure of John Bruce's revolver increased steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn it, you fool!” Crang screamed out wildly. “Beat it! Do you hear?
- Beat it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birdie's face darkened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh—sure!” he muttered, with a disgruntled oath. He shot the gears
- into place with a vicious snap. “Sure—anything <i>you</i> say!” The
- taxi roared down the lane, and disappeared around the corner in a volley
- of exhausts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on!” John Bruce ordered.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the corner of the lane John Bruce turned to Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are safe, and out of it now,” he said. “I am going to ask you to step
- into the first store we pass and get me some good light rope, but after
- that I think you had better leave us. If anything happened between here
- and the steamer, or on the steamer, you would be implicated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tck!” It was the quill toothpick again. “I'll get the rope with
- pleasure,” Larmon said calmly; “but I never lay down a good hand. I am
- going to the steamer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce shrugged his shoulders. Larmon somehow seemed an abstract
- consideration at the moment—but Larmon had had his chance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What time does the steamer sail, Crang?” John Bruce bit off his words, as
- he looked at his watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Four o'clock,” Crang mumbled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Walk faster!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They stopped for a moment in front of a store. Larmon entered, and came
- out again almost immediately with a package under his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- A block farther on John Bruce hailed a passing taxi.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fifteen minutes later, pushing through the throng on the dock, John Bruce
- produced the ticket, they mounted the gangway, and a steward led them to a
- stateroom on one of the lower decks.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce closed the door and locked it. His revolver was in his hand
- now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There isn't much time left,” he said coldly. “About ten minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the end of five, Crang, bound hand and foot, and gagged, lay lashed
- into his bunk.
- </p>
- <p>
- A bugle sounded the “All Ashore!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce tossed the ticket on the couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's your ticket!” he said sternly. “I wouldn't advise you to come
- back—nor worry any further about exposing Mr. Larmon, unless you
- want to force a showdown that will place some very interesting details
- connected with the life of Doctor Crang in the hands of the police!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The bugle rang out again.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce, without a further glance in Crang's direction, opened the
- cabin window slightly, then unlocking the door, he motioned Larmon to pass
- out. He locked the door on the outside, stepped to the deck, tossed the
- key through the window to the floor of Crang's cabin, and drew the window
- shut again. A minute more, and with Larmon beside him, he was standing on
- the dock.
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither John Bruce nor Larmon spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- And presently the tugs caught hold of the big liner and warped her out of
- her berth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “John Bruce” had sailed for South America.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER NINETEEN—CABIN H-14
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a time, Crang
- lay passive. Fear was dominant. He could move his head a little, and he
- kept screwing it around to cast furtive glances at the cabin door. He was
- sure that Bruce was still outside there, or somewhere near—Bruce
- wouldn't leave the ship until the last moment, and....
- </p>
- <p>
- The craven soul of the man shrivelled within him. Bruce's eyes! Damn
- Bruce's eyes, and that hideous touch of Bruce's pocketed revolver! The
- fool would even have killed him back there in the cellar if it hadn't been
- for Larmon! He could still feel those strangling fingers at his throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mechanically he made to lift his hand to touch the bruised and swollen
- flesh—but he could not move his hands because they were bound behind
- his back and beneath him. The fool! The fool had <i>wanted</i> to shoot.
- Perhaps with Larmon out of the road, and just at the last minute, that was
- what he still meant to do—to open the door there, and—and <i>kill</i>.
- Terror swept upon him. He tried to scream—but a gag was in his
- mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was that? He felt a slight jar, another, and another. He listened
- intently. He heard a steady throbbing sound. The ship was moving—moving!
- That meant that Bruce was ashore—that he need not fear that door
- there. He snarled to himself, suddenly arrogant with courage. To the
- devil's pit with John Bruce!
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to work at his bonds now—at first with a measure of
- contained persistence; and then, as he made no progress, angry impatience
- came, and he began to struggle. He tossed now, and twisted himself about
- on the bunk, and strained with all his might. The gag choked him. The
- bonds but grew the tighter and cut into his wrists. He became a madman in
- his frenzy. Passion and fury lashed him on and on. He flogged himself into
- effort beyond physical endurance—and finally collapsed through utter
- exhaustion, a limp thing bathed in sweat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he began the struggle again, and after that again. The periods came
- in cycles... the insensate fury... exhaustion... recuperation...
- </p>
- <p>
- After a time he no longer heard the throbbing of the engines or the
- movement of the ship during those moments when he lay passive in weakness,
- nor did the desire for freedom, for merely freedom's sake, any longer
- actuate him; instead, beneath him, in his pocket, he had felt the little
- case that held his hypodermic syringe, and it had brought the craving for
- the drug. And the craving grew. It grew until it became torture, and to
- satisfy it became the one incentive that possessed him. It tormented, it
- mocked him. He could feel it there in his pocket, always there in his
- pocket. Hell could not keep him from it. He blasphemed at the ropes that
- kept it from his fingers' reach, and he wrenched and tore at them, and
- sobbed and snarled—and after long minutes of maniacal struggle would
- again lie trembling, drained of the power either to move or think.
- </p>
- <p>
- It grew dark in the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, in one of his series of struggles, something snapped beneath him—a
- cord! One of the cords around his wrists had given away. He tore one hand
- free. Yes, yes—he could reach his pocket! Ha, ha—his pocket!
- And now his other hand was free. He snatched at the hypodermic syringe
- with feverish greed—and the plunger went home as the needle pricked
- its way beneath the skin of his forearm.
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached up then, unloosened the knots at the back of his head, and spat
- the gag from his mouth. His penknife freed his legs. He stood up—tottered—and
- sat down on the edge of his bunk. He remained motionless for a few
- minutes. The drug steadied him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked around him. It was dark. The ship was very still; there was no
- sense of movement, none of vibration from the engines. It seemed to him
- that in a hazy, vague way he had noticed that fact a long time ago. But,
- nevertheless, it was very curious!
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood up again. This was better! He felt secure enough now on his feet.
- It was only as though a great fatigue were upon him, and that he seemed to
- be weighted down with lead—nothing more than that. He crossed to the
- window, drew the shade, and opened the window itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, for a long time, puzzled, his brows drawn together, he stood
- there staring out. Close at hand, though but faintly outlined in the
- darkness, he could see the shore. And it was not imagination, for beyond
- the shore line, he could see innumerable little lights twinkling.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was strange! He rubbed his eyes. Here was something else! The window
- opened on a narrow, dimly lighted and deserted deck—one of the lower
- decks, he remembered. Below this deck, and evidently alongside of the
- steamer's hull, he could make out the upper-structure of some small
- vessel.
- </p>
- <p>
- A figure came along the deck now from the forward end—one of the
- crew, Crang could see from the other's dress, as the man drew nearer.
- Crang thrust his head out of the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, look here!” he called, as the other came opposite to him. “What's
- all this about? Where are we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Down the bay a bit, that's all, sir,” the man answered. “We've had some
- engine trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang pointed to the small vessel alongside. A sudden, wild elation surged
- upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a tug down there, isn't it?” he said. “They're going to tow us
- back, I suppose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, sir,” the man replied. “It's the company's tug, all right, that
- they sent down to us, but she'll be going back as soon as we're off again.
- It's nothin' serious, and we won't be more'n another hour, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang snarled under his breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon, sir?” inquired the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing!” said Crang. “I'm much obliged to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, sir,” said the man, and went on along the deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang returned to his bunk and sat down again on its edge. He could still
- see the reflection of the shore lights. This seemed to obsess him. He kept
- staring out through the window. Suddenly he chuckled hoarsely—and
- then, as suddenly, his fist clenched and he shook it in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another hour, eh?” he muttered. “Then, I'll get you yet, Bruce—ha,
- ha, I'll get you yet! But I'll make sure of Claire <i>first</i> this time!
- That's where I made the mistake—but Doctor Sydney Angus Crang
- doesn't make two mistakes alike!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He relapsed into silent meditation. At the end of five minutes he spoke
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm a clever man,” said Doctor Crang between his teeth. “First Claire—then
- you, Bruce. And I'll take good care that you know nothing, Mr. John Bruce—not
- this time—not until it is too late—both ways! I'll show you!
- I'll teach you to pit your clumsy wits against me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got up from the bunk and turned on a single incandescent light. Bruce
- had thrown the key in through the window, he remembered. Yes, there it was
- on the floor! He picked it up; and quickly and methodically he began to
- work now. He gathered together the pieces of rope with which he had been
- bound, tucked them under his coat, and running to the window, thrust his
- head outside again. The deck was clear, there was not a soul in sight. He
- unlocked the door now, stepped noiselessly out on the deck, dropped the
- pieces of rope overboard, and then, returning to the cabin, smiled
- ironically as he made a mental note of the number on the cabin door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “H-14,” observed Doctor Crang grimly. “Quite so—H-14!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He halted before the mirror and removed the more flagrant traces of his
- dishevelled appearance; then he took off his coat, flung it on a chair,
- pushed the electric button, and returned to his bunk.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sitting up on the edge of the bunk, and yawning, as the steward
- answered his summons.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, steward!” said Crang somewhat thickly. “I guess I've overslept
- myself. Overdid the send-off a little, I'm afraid. What are we stopping
- for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A little engine trouble, sir,” the steward answered. “It was right after
- we started. We're only a little way down the bay. But it's all right, sir.
- Nothing serious. We'll be off again shortly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Humph!” Crang dismissed the subject with a grunt. “I suppose I've missed
- my dinner, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, sir,” replied the steward. “It's only just a little after seven
- now, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's better!” smiled Crang. “Well, get my traps right up here, like a
- good fellow, and I'll clean up a bit. And hurry, will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The steward looked a little blank.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your traps, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Luggage—traps—baggage,” defined Crang with facetious
- terseness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I knew what you meant, sir,” said the steward. “It's where your traps
- are, sir? I—I thought it a bit strange you didn't have anything with
- you when you came aboard this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you, now?” inquired Crang sweetly. “Well, then, the sooner you get
- them here the less strange it will seem. Beat it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But where are they, sir?” persisted the man. “Where are they? Good God,
- how do I know!” ejaculated Crang sarcastically. “I sent them down to the
- ship early this morning to be put aboard—in your baggage room.
- You've got a baggage room aboard, haven't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir; but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would suggest the baggage room, then!” interrupted Crang crisply. “And
- if they are not there, ask the captain to let you have any of the crew who
- aren't too busy on this engine trouble, and get them to help you search
- the ship!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The steward grinned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, sir. Would you mind describing the pieces?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are four,” said Crang with exaggerated patience, as he created the
- non-existent baggage out of his imagination. “And they have all got your
- 'wanted on the voyage' labels, with my name and cabin written on them—Mr.
- John Bruce; Cabin H-14. There is a steamer trunk, and two brown
- alligator-leather—which I do not guarantee to be genuine in spite of
- the price—suit-cases, and a hat box.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, sir,” said the steward again—and hurried from the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang got up and went to the window. The tug alongside seemed to furnish
- him with engrossing reflections, for he stood there, smiling queerly,
- until he swung around in answer to a knock upon his door.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man in ship's uniform entered ahead of the steward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The steward here, sir,” said the man, “was speaking about your baggage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Speaking</i> about it!” murmured Crang helplessly. “I told him to get
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the man; “but I am sorry to say that no such baggage as
- you describe has come aboard the ship. There has been no baggage at all
- for Mr. Bruce, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not aboard!” gasped Crang. “Then—then where is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't say, sir, of course,” said the other sympathetically. “I am only
- stating a fact to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—but I sent it down to the dock early this morning.” Crang's
- voice was rising in well-affected excitement. “It must be here! I tell
- you, it must be here!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's my job, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I know positively your
- baggage is not aboard this ship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what's to be done?” Crang's voice rose louder. “You've left it on
- the dock, that's what—fools, thundering idiots!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man with the baggage job looked uncomfortable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang danced up and down on the floor of the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the way to South America to stay six months,” he yelled insanely, “and
- my baggage left behind! I can't go on without my baggage, do you hear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a whispered conference between the two men. The steward vanished
- through the doorway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've sent for the purser, sir,” volunteered the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang stormed up and down the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently the purser appeared. Crang swung on him on the instant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've left my baggage behind!” he shouted. “My papers, plans,
- everything! I can't go on without them!” He shook his fist. “You'll either
- get that baggage here, or get me ashore!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The purser eyed Crang's fist, and stiffened perceptibly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not a magician, Mr. Bruce,” he said quietly. “I am very sorry indeed
- that this should have happened; but it is quite impossible, of course, to
- get your baggage here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then get me ashore!” Crang snatched up his coat and put it on. “There's a
- tug, or something, out there, isn't there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the purser, “that's the company's tug, and I suppose you could
- go back on her, if you think you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Think!” howled Crang. “I don't <i>think</i> anything about it! I know
- that——” His eye suddenly caught the envelope on the couch
- containing the ticket. “And what about this?” He picked it up, jerked out
- the ticket, and waved it in the purser's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- The purser refused the document.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll have to see the New York office, sir, about that,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will, will I?” snapped Crang. “Well, that isn't all I'll see them
- about!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure they will do what they can, sir, to make things right—if
- they are to blame,” said the purser a little sharply. “But it might have
- been your teamer, you know, who made the mistake.” He turned to the door.
- “I will arrange about your going ashore, Mr. Bruce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes!” growled Crang savagely—and five minutes later, swearing
- volubly for the benefit of those within hearing, he wriggled his way down
- a rope ladder to the tug's deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- A deck hand led him to the pilot house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The captain 'll be along as soon as we start,” the man informed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang made himself comfortable in a cushioned chair. He sat chuckling
- maliciously, as he stared up at the towering hull that twinkled with
- lights above him—and then the chuckle died away, and little red
- spots came and burned in his sallow cheeks, and his lips worked, and his
- hands curled until the nails bit into the palms.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lost track of time.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man came into the pilot house, and gave the wheel a spin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We're off!” said the man heartily. “You've had tough luck, I hear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's fingers caressed his bruised and swollen throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Crang with a thin smile; “but I think somebody is going to pay
- the bill—in full.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tug was heading toward New York.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWENTY—OUTSIDE THE DOOR
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AWKINS very
- cautiously got out of bed, and consulted his watch. It was five minutes
- after nine. He stole to the door and listened. There was no sound from
- below. Mrs. Hedges, who had been his jailor all day, had now, he was
- fairly certain, finally retired for the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old blue eyes blinked in perplexity and he scratched at the fringe of
- hair behind his ear in a perturbed way, as he began, still cautiously, to
- dress. It had been a very dreary day, during which he had suffered not a
- little physical discomfort. Mrs. Hedges had been assiduous in her
- attentions; more than that, even—motherly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless her!” said Hawkins to one of his boots, as he laced it up.
- “Only she wouldn't let me out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped lacing the boot suddenly, and sat staring in front of him. Mrs.
- Hedges had been more than even motherly; she had been—been—yes,
- that was it—been puzzling. If she had said Paul Veniza wanted to see
- him, why had she insisted that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him?
- Hawkins' gaze at the blank wall in front of him became a little more
- bewildered. He tried to reconstruct certain fragments of conversation that
- had taken place between Mrs. Hedges and himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, you just lie still,” Mrs. Hedges had insisted during the afternoon,
- when he had wanted to get up. “Claire told me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He remembered the sinking of his heart as he had interrupted her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire,” he had said anxiously, “Claire ain't—she don't know about
- this, does she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly <i>not!</i>” Mrs. Hedges had assured him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you said she told you something”—Hawkins continued to
- reconstruct the conversation—“so she must have been here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Law!” Mrs. Hedges had returned. “I nearly put my foot in it, didn't I—I—I
- mean starting you in to worry. Certainly she don't know anything about it.
- She just came over to say her father wanted to see you, and I says to her
- you ain't feeling very well, and she says it's all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins resumed his dressing. His mind continued to mull over the
- afternoon. Later on he had made another attempt to get up. He was feeling
- quite well enough to go over and find out what Paul Veniza wanted. And
- then Mrs. Hedges, as though she had quite forgotten what she had said
- before, said that Paul Veniza didn't want to see him, or else he'd send
- word.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins scratched behind his ear again. His head wasn't quite clear. Maybe
- he had not got it all quite straight. Suddenly he smiled. Of course! There
- wasn't anything to be bewildered about. Mrs. Hedges was just simply
- determined that he would not go out—and he was equally determined
- that he would. Paul Veniza or not, he had been long enough in bed!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Hawkins; “God bless her, that's it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins completed his toilet, and picking up his old felt hat,
- reconnoitered the hallway. Thereafter he descended the stairs with amazing
- stealth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless her!” said Hawkins softly again, as he gained the front door
- without raising any alarm and stepped outside—and then Hawkins
- halted as though his feet had been suddenly rooted to the spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the curb in front of the house was an old closed motor car. Hawkins
- stared at it. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at it again. He
- stared for a long time. No; there was no doubt about it—it was the
- traveling pawn-shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' mind harked back to the preceding evening. He had met two men in
- the saloon around the corner, whom he had seen there once or twice before.
- He had had several drinks with them, and then at some one's suggestion, he
- could not recollect whose, there had followed the purchase of a few
- bottles, and an adjournment to his room for a convivial evening. After
- that his mind was quite blank. He could not even remember having taken out
- the car.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I must have been bad,” said Hawkins to himself, with a rueful
- countenance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He descended the steps, and approached the car with the intention of
- running it into the shed that served as garage behind the house. But again
- he halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Hawkins, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the front
- door; “if I started it up, Mrs. Hedges would hear me. I guess I'll wait
- till I come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins went on down the street and turned the corner. He had grown a
- little dejected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm just an old bum,” said Hawkins, “who ain't ever going to swear off
- any more 'cause it don't do any good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke aloud to himself again, as he approached the door of Paul
- Veniza's house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I <i>am</i> her daddy,” whispered the old man fiercely; “and she is
- my little girl. It don't change nothing her not knowing, except—except
- she ain't hiding her face in shame, and”—Hawkins' voice broke a
- little—“and that I ain't never had her in these arms like I'd ought
- to have.” A gleam of anger came suddenly into the watery blue eyes under
- the shaggy brows. “But he ain't going to have her in <i>his!</i> That
- devil from the pit of hell ain't going to kill the soul of my little girl—somehow
- he ain't—that's all I got to live for—old Hawkins—ha,
- ha!—somehow old Haw-kins 'll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' soliloquy ended abruptly. He was startled to find himself in the
- act of opening the front door of the one-time pawn-shop. He even
- hesitated, holding the door ajar—and then suddenly he pushed the
- door wider open and stepped softly inside, as the sound of a voice, angry
- and threatening in its tones, though strangely low and muffled, reached
- him. He knew that voice. It was Doctor Crang's.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was dark here in the room that had once been the office of the
- pawn-shop, and upon which the front door opened directly; but from under
- the door leading into the rear room there showed a thread of light, and it
- was from there that Hawkins now placed the voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood irresolute. He stared around him. Upstairs it was dark. Paul
- Veniza, because he had not been well, had probably gone to bed early—unless
- it was Paul in there with Crang. No! He caught the sound of Claire's voice
- now, and it seemed to come to him brokenly, in a strangely tired, dreary
- way. And then Crang's voice again, and an ugly laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- The wrinkled skin of Hawkins' old weather-beaten hands grew taut and white
- across the knuckles as his fists clenched. He tiptoed toward the door. He
- could hear distinctly now. It was Crang speaking:
- </p>
- <p>
- “... I'm not a fool! I did not speak about it to make you lie again. I
- don't care where you met him, or how long you had been lovers before he
- crawled in here. That's nothing to do with it. It's enough that I know you
- were lovers before that night. But you belong to me now. Understand? I
- spoke of it because the sooner you realize that <i>you</i> are the one who
- is the cause of the trouble between Bruce and me, the better—<i>for
- him!</i> I wasn't crowding you before, but I'm through fooling with it now
- for keeps. I let you go too long as it is. To-day, for just a little
- while, he won out—yes, by God, if you want the truth, he nearly
- killed me. He got me tied in a cabin of a ship that sailed this afternoon
- for South America; but the engines broke down in the harbor, and, damn
- him, I'm back! You know what for. I've told you. There's one way to save
- him. I've told you what that is, too. I'm waiting for your answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be me?” Claire's voice was dull and colorless. “Why cannot
- you leave me alone—I, who hate and loathe you? Do you look for
- happiness with me? There will be none.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be you?” Crang's voice was suddenly hoarse with passion.
- “Because you have set my brain on fire, because you have filled me with a
- madness that would mock God Himself if He stood between us. Do you
- understand—Claire? Claire! Do you understand? Because I want you,
- because I'm going to have you, because I'm going to own you—yes, <i>own</i>
- you, one way or another—by marriage, or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- A low cry came from Claire. It tore at Hawkins' heart in its bitter shame
- and anguish. His face blanched.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you asked for it, and you got it!” Crang snarled. “Now, I'm waiting
- for your answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause, then Claire spoke with an obvious effort to steady
- her voice:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I got to buy him <i>twice?”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't bought him <i>once</i> yet,” Crang answered swiftly. “I
- performed my part of the bargain. I haven't been paid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Hawkins, standing there, listening, heard nothing for a long time; and
- then he distinguished Claire's voice, but it was so low that he could not
- catch the words. But he heard Crang's reply because it was loud with what
- seemed like passionate savagery and triumph:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're wise, my dear! At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, then. And since
- Mr. John Bruce's skin is involved in this, you quite understand that he is
- not to be communicated with in any way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand.” Hawkins this time caught the almost inaudible reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” Crang said. “There's a padre I know, who's down on Staten
- Island now. We'll go down there and be married without any fuss. I'll be
- here at eight o'clock. Your father isn't fit to ride in that rattle-trap
- old bus of yours. I'll have a comfortable limousine for him, and you can
- go with him. Hawkins can drive me, and”—he was laughing softly—“and
- be my best man. I'll see that he knows about it in time to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a blind man, Hawkins was groping his way toward the front door.
- Married! They were to be married to-morrow morning!
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself on the street. He hurried. Impulse drove him along. He
- did not reason. His mind was a tortured thing. And yet he laughed as he
- scurried around the corner, laughed in an unhinged way, and raised both
- hands above his head and pounded at the air with his doubled fists. They
- were to be married to-morrow morning, and he—he was to be <i>best
- man</i>. And as he laughed, his once ruddy, weather-beaten face was white
- as a winding-sheet, and in the whiteness there was stamped a look that it
- was good on no man's face to see.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then suddenly two great tears rolled down his cheeks, opening the
- flood gates of his soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My little girl!” he sobbed. “Daddy's little girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And reason and a strange calmness came.
- </p>
- <p>
- “John Bruce,” he said. “He loves her too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And in front of Mrs. Hedges' rooming-house he climbed into the driver's
- seat of the old traveling pawn-shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- It didn't matter now how much noise he made.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—THE LAST CHANCE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE closed
- the door of Larmon's suite, and, taking the elevator, went up to his own
- room in the Bayne-Miloy Hotel, two floors above. Here, he flung himself
- almost wearily into a chair. Larmon had gone to bed; but bed offered no
- appeal to him, John Bruce, in spite of the fact that he was conscious of
- great mental fatigue. Bed without sleep was a horror, and his spirits were
- too depressed to make sleep even a possibility.
- </p>
- <p>
- From a purely selfish standpoint, and he admitted to utter selfishness
- now, it had been a hollow victory. Crang was gone, disposed of, and as far
- as Larmon was concerned the man no longer existed, for if Crang had held
- certain intimate knowledge of Larmon's life over Larmon's head, Larmon was
- now in exactly the same position in respect to Crang. And Crang, too, for
- the time being at least, was no longer a factor in Claire's life.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled grimly to himself. Hollow! The victory had been sweeping,
- complete, conclusive—for every one but himself! He had not even
- waited to leave the dock before he had telephoned Claire. And Claire had——
- He rose suddenly and began to walk feverishly up and down the room.
- Hollow! He laughed out shortly. She had curtly refused to talk to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had only meant to telephone to say that he was on the way up to her
- house, and he had managed to say that much—and she had coldly,
- contemptuously informed him that she would not be at home, and had hung up
- the receiver. She had given him no opportunity to say any more.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not like Claire. It had been so unexpected that he had left the
- dock mentally dazed. The sight of the liner out in the stream had seemed
- to mock him ironically. After that, until now, he had followed the line of
- least resistance. He had come back here to the hotel, and dined with
- Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood still in the middle of the room. Larmon! It had been a singular
- evening that he had just spent with Larmon. He had got a new viewpoint on
- Larmon—a strange, grave, sympathetic Larmon. He had given Larmon the
- details of everything that had happened; and Larmon had led him on to talk—of
- everything, and anything, it seemed now, as he looked back upon it. And
- somehow, he could not tell why, even while he felt that Larmon was drawing
- him out, urging him even to speak of Claire and the most intimate things
- of the last few weeks, he had been glad to respond. It was only when
- Larmon for a little while had discussed his great chain of gambling houses
- that he, John Bruce, had felt curiously detached from it all and estranged
- from the other, as though he were masquerading as some one else, as some
- one whom Larmon believed to be John Bruce, and as though he in his true
- self had no interest in these matters any longer in a personal sense, as
- though his connection with them had automatically ceased with the climax
- of Crang's removal. It was queer! But then his mind had been obsessed,
- elsewhere. And yet here, too, he had been frank with Larmon—frank
- enough to admit the feelings that had prompted him to refrain from actual
- play only two nights before. He remembered the quick little tattoo of
- Larmon's quill toothpick at this admission, and Larmon's tight little
- smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it had been a singular evening! In those few hours he seemed to have
- grown to know Larmon as though he had known the man all his life, to be
- drawn to Larmon in a personal way, to admire Larmon as a man. There was
- something of debonair sang-froid about Larmon. He had made no fuss over
- his escape that day, and much less been effusive in any thanks. Larmon's
- philosophy of life was apparently definitely fixed and settled; and, in so
- far as Larmon was concerned, satisfactorily so. The whole world to Larmon
- was a gamble—and, consistently enough, his own activities in that
- respect were on as vast a scale as possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- Larmon with his unemotional face and his quill toothpick! No; not
- unemotional! When Larmon had finally pleaded fatigue and a desire to go to
- bed, there had been something in Larmon's face and Larmon's “good-night,”
- that still lingered with him, John Bruce, and which even now he could not
- define.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's brows gathered into tight furrows. His mind had flown off at
- a tangent. There was Claire! It had not been like Claire. Nor had he
- meant, nor did he intend now to accept her dismissal as final. But what
- was it that had happened? What was it? He could think of only one thing—the
- letter he had written to Larmon, and which, on that account, he had asked
- for and received back from the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a certainty that Crang's hand was in this somewhere, and Crang had
- said that he had shown the letter to Claire, but——
- </p>
- <p>
- The telephone rang.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stepped to the desk, and picked up the instrument.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes? Hello!” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The clerk's voice from the office answered him:
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's a man down here, Mr. Bruce, who insists on seeing you. He's
- pretty seedy, and looks as though he had been on a bat for a week. I'm
- sorry to bother you, but we can't get rid of him. He says his name is
- Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Send him up at once!” said John Bruce sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir.” The clerk coughed deprecatingly. “Very well, Mr. Bruce. Thank
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins! John Bruce walked to the door of his suite, and opened it. He
- looked at his watch. It was getting on now to eleven o'clock. What on
- earth had brought Hawkins up here to the Bayne-Miloy at this hour? He
- smiled a little grimly as he stood waiting on the threshold, and the
- recollection of the night before last came back to him. Well, at least, he
- was safe to-night from any kidnaping through the medium of Hawkins!
- </p>
- <p>
- The elevator door clanged a little way down the corridor, and Hawkins,
- followed by a bell boy, stepped out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This way, Hawkins!” John Bruce called—and dismissed the bell boy
- with a wave of his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as Hawkins reached the door, John Bruce stared in amazement, and
- for a moment absolved the clerk for his diagnosis. Hawkins' face was like
- parchment, devoid of color; his hands, twisting at the old felt hat,
- trembled as with the ague; and the blue eyes, fever-burned they seemed,
- stared out in a fixed way from under the shaggy brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce pulled the old man inside the apartment, and closed the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord, Hawkins!” he exclaimed anxiously. “What's the matter with
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins caught at John Bruce's arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's to-morrow morning,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow morning at eight
- o'clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is?” inquired John Bruce. He forced the old cabman gently into a
- chair. “You're upset, Hawkins. Here—wait! I'll get you something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Hawkins held him back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want a drink.” There was misery, bitterness, in Hawkins' voice.
- “I don't want a drink—for once. It's come! It—it's come to the
- end now. Crang and—and my little girl are going to be married
- to-morrow morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then John Bruce laughed quietly, and laid his hand reassuringly on the
- old cabman's shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Hawkins,” he said. “I don't know where you got that idea; but it
- won't be to-morrow morning, nor for a good many to-morrow mornings either.
- Crang at the present moment is on board a ship on his way to South
- America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” said Hawkins dully. “But half an hour ago I left him with Claire
- in Paul Veniza's house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's hand tightened on Hawkins' shoulder until the old man winced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You what?” John Bruce cried out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Hawkins. “I heard him talking about it in the back room. They
- didn't know I was there. He said there was something the matter with the
- engines.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang back! John Bruce's face was set as chiselled marble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what you are saying, Hawkins?” he demanded fiercely, as
- though to trample down and sweep aside by the brute force of his own
- incredulity the other's assertion. “Do you know what you are saying—<i>do
- you?"''</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know,” said Hawkins helplessly. “He said you nearly killed him
- to-day, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's laugh, with a savagery that had him now at its mercy and in
- its grip, rang suddenly through the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, for once, he told the truth!” he cried. “He tricked me cold with
- that old bus last night, and trapped me in the rats' hole where his gang
- holds out, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins stumbled to his feet. His face seemed to have grown grayer still,
- more haggard and full of abject misery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's it, then!” he whispered. “I—I understand now. I was drunk
- last night. Oh, my God, I'm to blame for this, too!”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce pushed Hawkins almost roughly back into his chair. Last night
- was gone. It was of no significance any more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind about that!” he said between his teeth. “It doesn't matter
- now. Nothing matters now except Claire. Go on, tell me! What does it mean?
- To-morrow morning, you said. Why this sudden decision about to-morrow
- morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' lips seemed dry. He circled them again and again with his tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said you nearly killed him to-day, as I—I told you,” said
- Hawkins, fumbling for his words. “And he said that you had been lovers
- before that night when you were stabbed, and that he wasn't going to stand
- for it any longer, and—and”—Hawkins' voice broke—“and
- that she belonged to him. And he said she was the only one who could stop
- this trouble between you and him before it was too late, and that was by
- marrying him at once. And—and Claire said she would.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins stopped. His old felt hat was on his knees, and he twisted at it
- aimlessly with shaking fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stood motionless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on!” he bit off his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all,” said Hawkins, “except he made her promise not to let you
- know anything about it. They're going to leave the house to-morrow
- morning, and are going down to Staten Island to get married because
- there's some minister down there he knows, Crang said. And I'm to take
- Crang, and—and”—the old man turned away his face—“I—I'm
- to be best man. That—that's what he said—best man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce walked abruptly to the window, and stared blindly out into the
- night. His brain seemed afire.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a time neither man spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said you loved her,” said Hawkins at last. “I came to you. There
- wasn't any other place to go. Paul Veniza can't do anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce turned from the window, and walking to
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins, laid his two hands on the other's shoulders. He was calmer now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I love her,” he said huskily. “And I think—I am not sure—but
- I think now there is a chance that she can be made to change her mind even
- here at the last minute. But that means I must see her; or, rather, that
- she must see me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins paused in the twisting of his felt hat to raise bewildered eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've got the car here,” he said. “I'll take you down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The car!” exclaimed John Bruce quickly. “Yes, I never thought of that!
- Listen, Hawkins! Claire refused to see me this afternoon, or even to talk
- to me over the telephone. I am not quite sure why. But no matter what her
- reason was, I must see her now at once. I have something to tell her that
- I hope will persuade her not to go on with this to-morrow morning—or
- ever.” His voice was growing grave and hard. “I hope you understand,
- Hawkins. I believe it may succeed. If it fails, then neither you nor I,
- nor any soul on earth can alter her decision. That's all that I can tell
- you now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins nodded his head. A little color, eagerness, hope, had come into
- his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's enough,” he said tremulously, “as long as you—you think
- there is a chance even yet. And—and you do, don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said John Bruce, “I think there is more than a chance—if I
- can see her alone and make her listen to me. The car will be just the
- thing. But she would refuse to come out, if she knew I were in it. I
- depend on you for that. We'll drive down there, and you will have to make
- some excuse to get her to come with you. After that you can keep on
- driving us around the block until I either win or lose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins rose hurriedly to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us go, John Bruce! For God's sake, let us go!” he cried eagerly.
- “I'll—I'll tell her Mrs. Hedges—that's my landlady—has
- got to see her at once. She'll come quick enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce put on his hat and coat, and without a word led the way to the
- door—but at the door he paused for an instant. There was Larmon—and
- Crang was back. And then he shook his head in quick decision. There was
- time enough later. It would serve no purpose to tell Larmon now, other
- than the thankless one of giving Larmon a restless night.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce went on. He did not speak again until, outside the hotel, he
- stepped into the traveling pawnshop as Hawkins opened the car door for
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will have to make sure that Crang has gone,” he said quietly. “Don't
- stop in front of the house, Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll make sure,” whispered Hawkins, as he climbed to his seat. “Oh, my
- God, my little girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old car jolted forward. John Bruce's face was set again in hard,
- chiselled lines. He tried to think—but now his brain seemed
- curiously impotent, as though it groped through chaos and through turmoil
- only to stagger back bewildered, defeated, a wounded thing. And for a time
- it was like that, as he sat there swaying with the lurch of the speeding
- car, one thought impinging fast upon another only to be swallowed up so
- quickly in turn by still another that he could correlate-no one of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, after a little time again, out of this strange mental strife
- images began to take form, as sharply defined and distinct one from the
- other as before they had been mingled in hopeless confusion—and he
- cried out aloud in sudden agony of soul. It was to save his life that this
- had happened. He had wrung that knowledge from Crang. That was the lever
- he meant to use with Claire now, and it <i>must</i> succeed. He must make
- it succeed! It seemed to drive him mad now, that thought—that
- to-morrow morning she should die for him. Not physical death—worse
- than that! God! It was unthinkable, horrible, abominable. It seemed to
- flaunt and mock with ruthless, hell-born sacrilege what was holiest in his
- heart. It stirred him to a fury that brought him to his feet, his fists
- clenched. Claire in her purity—at the mercy of a degenerate beast!
- </p>
- <p>
- He dropped back on the seat. He battled for calmness. In a little while
- Claire would be here beside him—<i>for a little while</i>. He shook
- his head. This was not real, nothing of his life had been real since that
- moon-mad night on the sands of Apia. No; that was not true! Soul, mind and
- body rose up in fierce denial. His love was real, a living, breathing,
- actual reality, Claire——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce sank his face in his hands. Hours seemed to pass. And then he
- was conscious that the car had stopped. He roused himself, and drawing the
- window curtain slightly, looked out. Hawkins had stopped a few houses down
- past the one-time pawnshop.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce rose suddenly and changed his seat to the one in the far
- opposite corner, his back to the front of the car. The time seemed
- interminable. Then he heard a light footstep ring on the pavement, and he
- heard Hawkins' voice. The car door was opened, a dark form entered, sat
- down, the door closed, and the car started forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was strange! It was like that, here in this car, that he had stepped in
- one night and found Claire—as she would now find him. That was so
- long ago! And it seemed so long too since even he had last seen her—since
- that night when, piqued so unwarrantably, he had left Paul Veniza's house.
- He felt his hands tremble. He steadied himself. He did not want to
- frighten or startle her now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” he said softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard a slight, quick rustle of garments—and then the light in
- the car was flashed on.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was leaning tensely forward, a little figure with loose cloak flung
- over her shoulders, without hat, a wondrous sheen from the light on the
- dark, silken hair, her eyes wide, her finger still on the electric-light
- button.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You!” she cried sharply. “And Hawkins, too, in this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She reached for the door handle; but John Bruce caught her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Wait! If it is a trick, at least you know
- that with Hawkins and me you will come to no harm. What else could I do?
- You would not speak to me this afternoon, you would not let me see you,
- and I must talk to you to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Must?”</i> she repeated coldly. “And to-night? Why to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” John Bruce answered quickly, “to-morrow would be too late. I
- know about to-morrow morning. Hawkins told me. He was outside the door of
- that room when Crang was talking to you to-night.” She sank back in her
- seat with a little cry. Her face had gone white—but again she
- steadied herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and do you think that is any reason why you should have
- inveigled me into this car?” she asked dully. “Do you think that anything
- you can say will alter—to-morrow morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I do!” said John Bruce earnestly. “But”—he smiled a little
- bitterly—“I am afraid, too, that it will be hopeless enough if first
- you will not tell me what has so suddenly come between us. Claire, what is
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The dark eyes lighted with a glint, half angry, half ironical.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is <i>that</i> what you brought me here for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” she said coolly, “if you do not know, I will tell you. I read a
- letter that you wrote to a certain Mr. Larmon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a long minute before he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I thought it might be that,” he said slowly. “I knew you had seen
- it. Crang told me so. And—and I was afraid you might believe it—Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Believe it!” she returned monotonously. “Had I any choice? Have I any
- now? I knew you were in danger. I knew it was written to save your life. I
- knew it was your handwriting. I knew you wrote it.” She turned away her
- head. “It was so miserable a lie, so cowardly a betrayal—to save
- your life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But so hard to believe, and so bitter a thing to believe”—there was
- a sudden eager thrill in John Bruce's voice—“that you wept upon it.
- Look, Claire!” he cried. “I have that letter here—and this, that I
- took from Crang to-day when I turned the tables on him. See! Read them
- both!” He took from his pocket the letter and the slip cut from the bottom
- of the sheet, and laid them in her lap. “The bottom was written in
- invisible ink—the way always communicated privately with Larmon.
- Salt brings it out. I knew Larmon would subject it to the test, so I was
- willing to write anything that Crang dictated. I wrote that secret message
- on the bottom of the paper while Crang was out of the room where he had me
- a prisoner. Oh, don't you see now, Claire? When your tears fell on the
- paper faint traces of the secret writing began to appear. That gave Crang
- the clew, and he worked at it until he had brought out the message, and
- then he cut off the bottom before delivering the letter to Larmon, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stopped. Claire's face was buried in the cushions, and, huddled
- in the corner of the car, she was sobbing bitterly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't! Don't cry, Claire!” John Bruce whispered, and laid his hand over
- hers where it crushed the letter in her lap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believed it,” she said. “I did you that wrong. There is no forgiveness
- for such meanness of soul as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” John Bruce answered gently, “there is no forgiveness—because
- there is nothing to forgive. It was only another piece of that miserable
- hound's cunning that tricked us both. I did not appreciate what he was
- after in that reference to you; I thought he was only trying to make the
- letter bullet-proof in its plausibility for Larmon's benefit—I never
- thought that he would show it to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not drawn her hand away, but her face was still hidden; and for a
- moment there was silence between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire,” John Bruce said in a low voice, “the night I left your house you
- said that, rather than regretting your promise to marry Crang, you had
- come to be glad you had made it. Can you still say that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her face now, tear-stained, the brown eyes strangely radiant
- through the wet lashes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said. “I am glad. So glad—because I know now that it was
- worth it all so many, many times over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire”—his voice was lower still—“I left your house that
- night, angry, jealous, misjudging you because you had said that. You asked
- for forgiveness a minute ago when there was nothing to forgive; I asked
- for forgiveness from you after that night, but even then I did not know
- how far beyond the right to forgiveness I had gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him in a startled way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—what do you mean?” she breathed.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now John Bruce's face was alight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have confessed your love, Claire!” he cried passionately. “It was not
- fair, perhaps, but I am past all that now—and you would not have
- confessed it in any other way. Glad! I was a stranger that night when you
- bought my life—and to-night you are glad, not because my life is now
- or ever could be worth such a sacrifice as yours, but because love has
- come to make you think so, sweetheart, and you care—you care for
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know!” Her face was deathly white. “You know about—about that
- night?” she faltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce had both her hands imprisoned now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I know!” He laughed with a strange buoyancy; passion, triumph, were
- vibrant in his voice. “Did Crang not tell you how near to death he came
- to-day? I choked the truth out of him. Yes; I know! I know that it was to
- save my life you made that promise, that you sold everything you held dear
- in life for me—but it is over now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beside her. He raised her two hands to draw her arms around his
- neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- She struggled back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” she cried wildly. “Oh, you must not—you must not!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Must not!” His voice rang his challenge to the world. The blood was
- pounding in mad abandon through his veins. His soul itself seemed aflame.
- Closer, closer he drew her to him. “Must not! There is only you and me—and
- our love—on all the earth!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But still she struggled—-and then suddenly the tears came.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you are so strong—so strong,” she sobbed—and like some
- weary child finding rest her head dropped upon his shoulder and lay hidden
- there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire! Claire!” It was his soul that spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- He kissed the silken hair, and fondled it; and kissed the tear-wet eyes;
- and his cheek lay against hers; and she was in his arms, and he held her
- there tight-clasped so that she might never go again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And after a time she sobbed no more; and her hand, lifting, found his face
- and touched it gently, and creeping upward, brushed the hair back from his
- forehead—and then suddenly she clung to him with all her strength
- and drew his head down until her lips met his.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there was no world about them, and time was non-existent, and only
- they two lived.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Claire at last who put his arms from her in a wistful, lingering
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have been mad for a little while,” she whispered. “Take me back home
- now, John—and—and you must never try to see me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And something seemed to grow chill and cold within John Bruce's heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that, Claire!” he cried out. “You do not mean that—that, after
- this, you will go on with—with tomorrow morning!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A brave little effort at a smile quivered on her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have had our hour, John,” she said; “yours and mine. It can never be
- taken from us, and I shall live in it all my life; but it is over now.
- Yes; I shall go through with it to-morrow morning. There is no other way.
- I must keep my promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” he cried out again. “It shall never be! Claire, you cannot mean what
- you are saying! A promise like that! It was forced upon you inhumanly,
- horribly. He would have murdered me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But to-night you are alive,” she answered quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alive! Yes!” he said fiercely. “I am alive, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is because you are alive that I promised,” she broke in gently. “He
- kept his word. I cannot break mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alive!” John Bruce laughed now in sudden, bitter agony. “Alive—yes!
- And do you think that I can walk about the streets, and talk, and smile,
- and suck the honey out of life, while you have paid for it with a tortured
- soul? Claire, you shall not! That man is—— No, wait! There is
- myself. He called me a snivelling hypocrite. You shall know the worst of
- me before you know the worst of him. There is not much to tell—because
- he has told you. I am a gambler. All my life I've gambled. As far back as
- I can remember I've been a rolling stone. My life has been useless,
- utterly worthless. But I was never ashamed of it; I never saw any reason
- to be ashamed until you came into my life. It hasn't been the same since
- then '—and it will never be the same again. You have given me
- something to live for now, Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “You do not argue well,” she said softly. “If I have
- brought this to you, John, I am so glad—so glad for this, too. Oh, I
- cannot tell you how glad I am, for, because I loved you, the knowledge of
- what your life was hurt me. But I had faith in you, John, as I always
- shall have. So don't you see”—the brave little smile came again—“that
- this is a reward, something tangible and great, to make still more worth
- while the promise that I made?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her. He swept his hand across his eyes. She seemed—she
- seemed to be slipping away from him—beyond—beyond his reach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That man!” he said desperately. “You said you knew him—but you do
- not know him. He is the head and front and brains of a gang of crooks. I
- know! He held me a prisoner in their dirty lair, a hidden place, a cellar
- over in the slums—like rats they were. He is a criminal, and a
- dangerous one—while he masquerades with his medicine. God alone
- knows the crimes, if there are any, that he has not committed. He is a
- foul, unclean and filthy thing, debauched and dissolute, a moral leper.
- Claire, do you understand all this—that his life is pollution and
- defilement, that love to him is lust, that your innocence——”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a broken, piteous cry, Claire stopped him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And again he stared at her. She did not speak, but in her eyes he read the
- torment of a far greater and fuller appreciation of the price than he, he
- knew, though it turned his soul sick within him, could ever have.
- </p>
- <p>
- And suddenly he covered his face with his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bought!” he said brokenly in his agony. “Oh, my God, this has bought me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt his hands drawn away, and her two palms laid upon his cheeks. He
- looked at her. How white she was!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Help me, John,” she said steadily. “Don't—don't make it harder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She reached out and touched the bell button beside the seat. In a
- subconscious way he remembered that was the signal for Hawkins to bring
- the traveling pawn-shop to the end of its circuit around the block in its
- old-time trips to Persia. He made no effort to stop her. There was
- something of ultimate finality in her face and eyes that answered, before
- it was uttered, the question that stumbled on his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire! Claire!” he pleaded wildly. “Will nothing change you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no other way,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stretched out his arms to draw her to him again, to lay her head once
- more upon his shoulder—but now she held him back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” she whispered. “Be merciful now, John—my strength is almost
- gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And there was something in her voice that held him from the act.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as the door was opened and she stood up, suddenly she leaned
- swiftly forward and pressed her lips to his—and springing from the
- car, was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce groped his way out of the car. Across the sidewalk the door of
- Paul Veniza's house closed. Hawkins, standing by the car door, clutched at
- his arm. And Hawkins' hand was trembling violently. Slowly his eyes met
- Hawkins'.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old lined face seemed to gray even in the murky light of a distant
- street lamp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd rather see her dead,” said the old cab driver brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Hawkins, gulping his words, spoke again:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—where'll I drive you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce started blindly on past Hawkins down the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nowhere,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—THROUGH THE NIGHT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> GAUNT and haggard
- figure stalked through the night; around him only shuttered windows,
- darkened houses, and deserted streets. The pavements rang hollow to the
- impact of his boot-heels. Where the way lay open he went. But always he
- walked, walked incessantly, without pause, hurrying—nowhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a raw, biting chill in the air, and his hands, ungloved, as they
- swung at his sides, were blue with cold. But sweat in great beads stood
- out upon his forehead. At times his lips moved and he spoke aloud. It was
- a hoarse sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Or him!” he said. “Or him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- On! Always on! There was no rest. It was ceaseless. The gray came into the
- East.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then at last the figure halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a large window with wire grating, and a light burned within. In
- the window was a plate mirror, and a time-piece. It was a jeweler's
- window.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man looked at the time-piece. It was five o'clock. He looked at the
- mirror. It reflected the face of a young man grown old. The eyes burned
- deep in their sockets; the lines were hard, without softness; the skin was
- tightly drawn across the cheek bones, and was colorless. And he stared at
- the face, stared for a time without recognition. And then as he smiled and
- the face in the mirror smiled with him in a distorted movement of the
- lips, he swept his hand across his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “John Bruce,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to arouse him from some mental absorption in which his physical
- entity had been lost. It was five o'clock, and he was John Bruce. At
- eleven o'clock—or was it twelve?—last night he had left
- Hawkins standing by the door of the traveling pawn-shop, and since then——
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared around him. He was somewhere downtown. He did not know where. He
- began to walk in an uptown direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something had been born in those hours. Something cataclysmic. What was
- it?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Or him!” The words came again—aloud—without apparent
- volition.
- </p>
- <p>
- What did that mean? It had something to do with Hawkins; with what Hawkins
- had said, standing there by the traveling pawn-shop. What was it Hawkins
- had said? Yes; he remembered: “I'd rather see her dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Or him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- With cold judicial precision now the hours unrolled themselves before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Or him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was going to kill Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- The hours of mental strife, of torment through which he had just passed,
- were as the memory of some rack upon which his soul had been put to
- torture. They came back vividly now, those hours—every minute of
- them a living eternity. His soul had shrunk back aghast at first, and
- called it murder; but it was not murder, or, if it was, it was imperative.
- It was the life of a foul viper—or Claire's. It was the life of an
- unclean thing that mocked and desecrated all decency, that flung its
- sordid challenge at every law, both human and divine—or the life of
- a pure, clean soul made the plaything of this beast, and dragged into a
- mire of unutterable abomination to suffocate and strangle in its noxious
- surroundings and die.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that soul was in jeopardy because at this moment he, John Bruce, had
- the power of movement in his limbs, the sense of sight, the ability to
- stretch out his hand and feel it touch that lamp-post there, and, if he
- would, to speak aloud and designate that object for what it was—a
- lamp-post. She had bought him these things with her life. Should she die—and
- he live?
- </p>
- <p>
- And he remembered back through those hours since midnight, when his soul
- had still faltered before the taking of human life, how it had sought some
- other way, some alternative, <i>any</i> alternative. A jail sentence for
- Crang. There was enough, more than enough now with the evidence of Crang's
- double life, to convict the man for the robbery of that safe. But Claire
- had answered that in the long ago: “I will marry him when he comes out.”
- Or, then, to get Crang away again like this afternoon—no, <i>yesterday</i>
- afternoon. It was <i>this</i> morning, in a few hours, that they were to
- be married. There was no time left in which to attempt anything like that;
- but, even if there were, he knew now, that it but postponed the day of
- reckoning. Claire would wait. Crang would come back.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was going to kill Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- If he didn't, Crang would kill him. He knew that, too. But his decision
- was not actuated, or even swayed, by any consideration of
- self-preservation. He had no thought of his future or his safety. That was
- already settled. With his decision was irrevocably coupled the forfeiting
- of his own life. Not his own life! It belonged to Claire. Claire had
- bought it. He was only giving it back that the abysmal price she had
- agreed to pay should not be extorted from her. Once he had accomplished
- his purpose, he would give himself up to the police.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was going to kill Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was what had been born out of the travail of those hours of the
- night. But there were other things to do first. He walked briskly now. The
- decision in itself no longer occupied his thoughts. The decision was
- absolute; it was final. It was those “other things” that he must consider
- now. There was Larmon. He could not tell Larmon what he, John Bruce, was
- going to do, but he must warn Larmon to be on his guard against any past
- or present connection with John Bruce coming to light. Fortunately Larmon
- had come to New York and registered as Peters. He must make Larmon
- understand that Larmon and John Bruce had never met, even if he could not
- give Larmon any specific reason or explanation. Larmon would probably
- refuse at first, and attribute it as an attempt to break, for some
- ulterior reason, the bond they had signed together that night on the beach
- at Apia.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce smiled gravely. The bond would be broken in any case. Faustus
- was at the end of the play. A few months in prison, the electric chair—how
- apt had been his whistling of that aria <i>in his youth!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- Youth! Yes, he was old now; he had been young that night on the beach at
- Apia.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took off his hat and let the sharp air sweep his head. He was not
- thinking clearly. All this did not express what he meant. There was
- Larmon's safety. He must take care of that; see to it, first of all, that
- Larmon could not be implicated, held by law as an accomplice through
- foreknowledge of what was to happen; then, almost of as great importance
- for Larmon's sake and future, the intimacy between them, their business
- relations of the past, must never be subjected to the probe of the trial
- that was to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce nodded his head sharply. Yes, that was better! But there was
- still something else—that bond. He knew to-night, even if prison
- walls and a death penalty were not about to nullify that bond far more
- effectively than either he or Larmon ever could, that the one thing he
- wanted now, while yet he was a free agent, while yet it was not
- arbitrarily his choice, was to cancel that agreement which was so typical
- of what his life up to the present time had always stood for; and in its
- cancellation, for what little time was left, to have it typify, instead, a
- finer manhood. The future, premonitive, grim in its promise, seemed to
- hold up before him as in a mirror where no lines were softened, where only
- the blunt, brutal truth was reflected, the waste and worthlessness of the
- past. He had no wish to evade it, or temporize with it, or seek to
- palliate it. He knew only a vain and bitter regret; knew only the desire
- now at the end, in so far as he could, to face death a changed man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked on and on. He was getting into the uptown section now. How many
- miles he must have covered since he had left Hawkins, and since the door
- of the one-time pawn-shop had closed on that little bare-headed figure
- with the loose cloak clutched about her throat—the last sight he had
- had of Claire! How many miles? He did not know. It must have been many,
- very many. But he felt no weariness. It was strange! It was as though his
- vitality and energy flowed into him from some wholly extraneous source;
- and as though physically he were non-existent.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered what Larmon would say. Larmon alone had the right to cancel
- the bond. That was the way it had been written. Would Larmon refuse? He
- hoped not, because he wanted to part with Larmon as a friend. He hoped
- not, though in the final analysis, in a practical way, Larmon's refusal
- must be so futile a thing. Would Larmon laugh at him, and, not knowing,
- call him a fool? He shook his head. He did not know. At least Larmon would
- not be surprised. The conversation of last evening——
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce looked up. He was at the entrance to the Bayne-Miloy Hotel. He
- entered, nodded mechanically to the night clerk, stepped into the
- elevator, and went up to his room. There was his revolver to be got.
- Afterward he would go down to Larmon's room. Somehow, even in the face of
- that other thing which he was to do, this interview which was to come with
- Larmon obsessed him. It seemed to signify some vital line of demarcation
- between the old life and the new.
- </p>
- <p>
- The new! He smiled grimly, without mirth, as, entering his room, he
- switched on the light, stepped quickly to his desk, pulled open a drawer,
- and took out his revolver. The new! There would be very little of the new!
- He laughed now in a low, raucous way, as he slipped the weapon into his
- pocket. The new! A few weeks, a few months of a prison cell, and then——
- His laugh died away, and a half startled, half perplexed look settled on
- his face. For the first time he noticed that a letter, most obviously
- placed to attract his attention, lay on the center of the desk pad.
- Strange, he had not seen it instantly!
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at it now. It was a plain envelope, unstamped, and addressed to
- him. The writing was familiar too! Larmon's! He picked it up, opened it—and
- from the folds of the letter, as he drew it from the envelope, four torn
- pieces of paper fluttered to the desk. And for a long time, in a dazed
- way, he gazed at them. The letter dropped from his hand. Then mechanically
- he pieced the four scraps together. It was one of the leaves torn from
- Larmon's notebook that night in Apia—and here was the heavy scrawl
- where he, John Bruce, had signed with the quill toothpick. It was Larmon's
- copy of the bond.
- </p>
- <p>
- And again for a long time he stared at it, then he picked up the letter
- again. He read it slowly, for somehow his brain seemed only able to absorb
- the words in a stunned way. Then he read it again:
- </p>
- <p>
- Dear Bruce:—11 P. M.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something has come into your life that was not there on a night you will
- remember in the Southern Seas, and I know of no other way to repay you for
- what you did for me to-day than to hand you this. I knew from what you
- said to-night, or, rather perhaps, from what you did not say, that this
- was in your heart. And if I were young again, and the love of a good woman
- had come to me, I too should try—and fail, I fear, where you will
- succeed—to play a man's part in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so I bid you good-by, for when you read this I shall be on my way back
- West. What I lose another will gain. Amongst even my friends are men of
- honorable callings and wide interests who need a John Bruce. You will hear
- from one of them. Godspeed to you, for you are too good and clean a man to
- end your days as I shall end mine—a gambler.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yours,
- </p>
- <p>
- Gilbert Larmon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The love of a good woman—and young again! John Bruce's face was
- white. A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to surge upon him. There was
- something fine and big in what Larmon had done, like the Larmon whose real
- self he had come to glimpse for the first time last night; and something
- that was almost ghastly in the unconscious irony that lay behind it all.
- And for a little while he stood there motionless, holding the letter in
- his hand; then with a quick, abrupt return to action, he began to tear the
- letter into little shreds, and from his pocket he took his own copy of the
- bond and tore that up, and the four pieces of Larmon's copy he tore into
- still smaller fragments, and gathering all these up in his hands, he
- walked to the window and let them flutter out into the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- The way was clear. There was nothing to connect Gilbert Larmon with the
- man who to-morrow—no, <i>to-day</i>—would be in the hands of
- the police charged with murder. Nothing to bring to light Larmon's private
- affairs, for nothing bearing Larmon's signature had ever been kept; it was
- always destroyed. Larmon was safe—for, at least, they could never
- make John Bruce <i>talk</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a strange relief upon him, a strange uplift; not only for
- Larmon's sake, but for his own. The link that had bound him to the past
- was gone, broken, dissolved. He stood free—for the little time that
- was left; he stood free—to make a fresh start in the narrow confines
- of a prison cell. He smiled grimly. There was no irony here where it
- seemed all of irony. It meant everything—all. It was the only
- atonement he could make.
- </p>
- <p>
- He switched off the light, left his room, and went down to the desk. Here
- he consulted the directory. He requested the clerk to procure a taxi for
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was five minutes after six by the clock over the desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- He entered the taxi and gave the chauffeur the address. He was unconscious
- of emotion now. He knew only a cold, fixed, merciless purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was going to kill Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi stopped in front of a frame house that bore a dirty brass
- name-plate. He dismissed the taxi, and mounted the steps. His right hand
- was in the pocket of his coat. He rang the bell, and obtaining no
- response, rang again—and after that insistently.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door was finally opened by an old woman, evidently aroused from bed,
- for she clutched tightly at a dressing gown that was flung around her
- shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to see Doctor Crang,” said John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The doctor isn't in,” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will wait for him,” said John Bruce.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know when he will be back. He hasn't been here since yesterday
- morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will wait for him,” said John Bruce monotonously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce brushed his way past her into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will wait for him,” he repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- A door was open off the hallway. John Bruce looked in. It was obviously
- Crang's office. He went in and sat down by the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman stood for a long time in the doorway watching him. Finally she
- went away.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce's mind was coldly logical. Crang was not aware that his escape
- was known to any one except Claire, and he had been cunning enough to keep
- under cover. That was why he had not been home. But he would be home
- before he went out to be married. Even a man like Crang would have a few
- preparations to make.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce sat by the window. Occasionally the old woman came and stood in
- the doorway—and went away again.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no sign of Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- At fifteen minutes of eight John Bruce rose from his chair and left the
- house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was to be at Paul Veniza's at eight,” said John Bruce to himself with
- cool precision.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—THE BEST MAN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AWKINS sat at the
- table in his room, and twined and twined one old storm-beaten hand over
- the other. For hours he had sat like that. It was light in the room now,
- for it was long after seven o'clock. His bed had not been slept in. He was
- dressed in his shiny best suit; he wore his frayed black cravat. He had
- been dressed like that since midnight; since he had returned home after
- Claire had fled into her house, and John Bruce had strode by him on the
- sidewalk with set, stony face and unseeing eyes; since, on reaching his
- room here, he had found a note whose signature was false because it read
- “Paul Veniza,” when he knew that it came from Crang. Crang was taking
- precautions that his return should not leak out! The note only
- corroborated what he had heard through the door. He was to be at Paul
- Veniza's at eight o'clock with the traveling pawn-shop..
- </p>
- <p>
- The note had said nothing about any marriage; but, then, he knew! He was
- to be the best man. And so he had dressed himself. After that he had
- waited. He was waiting now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The first,” said Hawkins, with grave confidence to the cracked mirror.
- “Yes, that's it—the first in line, because I <i>am</i> her old
- father, and there ain't nothing can change that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His own voice seemed to arouse him. He stared around the shabby room that
- was his home, his eyes lingering with strange wistfulness on each old
- battered, and long familiar object—and then suddenly, with a choking
- cry, his head went down, buried in his arms outflung across the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pawned!” the old man cried brokenly. “It's twenty years ago, I pawned her—twenty
- years ago. And it's come to this because—because I ain't never
- redeemed her—but, oh God, I love her—I love my little girl—and—and
- she ain't never going to know how much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice died away. In its place the asthmatic gas-jet spat venomous
- defiance at the daylight that was so contumaciously deriding its puny
- flame.
- </p>
- <p>
- And after a little while, Hawkins raised his head. He looked at his watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's time to go,” said Hawkins—and cleared his throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins picked up his hat and brushed it carefully with his coat sleeve;
- his shoulders, and such of his attire as he could reach, he brushed with
- his hands; he readjusted his frayed black cravat before the cracked
- mirror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm the best man,” said Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oblivious to the chattering gas-jet, he descended the stairs, and went out
- to the shed in the rear that housed the traveling pawn-shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The first in line,” said the old cab driver, as he climbed into the seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Five minutes later, he drew up in front of the onetime pawn-shop. He
- consulted his watch as he got down from his seat and entered the house. It
- was twenty-five minutes of eight.
- </p>
- <p>
- He twisted his hat awkwardly in his hands, as he entered the rear room. He
- felt a sudden, wild rush of hope spring up within him because there was no
- sign of Crang. And then the hope died. He was early; and, besides, Claire
- had her hat on and was dressed to go out. Paul Veniza, also dressed, lay
- on the cot.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Paul Veniza's frame was racked with a fit of coughing, and out of a
- face ashen in pallor his eyes met Hawkins' in silent agony—and then
- he turned his head away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins twisted at his hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came a little early;” he said wistfully, “because I thought mabbe you
- might—that mabbe there might be some change—that mabbe you
- might not——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped. He was looking at Claire. Her face was very white too. Her
- smile seemed to cut at his heart like a knife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Hawkins,” she said in a low voice; “there is no change. We are going
- to Staten Island. You will drive Doctor Crang. There is a limousine coming
- for father and me, that will be more comfortable for father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' eyes went to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I didn't mean that kind of a change,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you didn't, Hawkins. But—but I am trying to be practical.”
- Her voice broke a little in spite of herself. “Doctor Crang doesn't know
- that you overheard anything last night, or that you know anything about
- the arrangements, so—so I am explaining them to you now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' eyes were still on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ain't there nothing”—his voice was thick and husky—“ain't
- there nothing in all the world that any of us can do to make you change
- your mind? Claire, ain't there nothing, nothing at all? John Bruce said
- there wasn't, and you love John Bruce, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't, Hawkins!” she cried out pitifully.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old shoulders came slowly up, and the old head; and the old blue eyes
- were of a sudden strangely flints like.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've got to know,” said Hawkins, in a dead, stubborn way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing,” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' eyes reverted to the floor. He spoke now without lifting them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then—then it's—it's like saying good-by,” he said, and the
- broken note was back again in his voice. “It's—it's so many years
- that mabbe you've forgotten, but when you were a little girl, and before
- you grew up, and—and were too big for that, I—I used to hold
- you in my arms, and you used to put your little arms around my neck, and
- kiss me, and—and you used to say that—Hawkins would never let
- the bugaboos get you, and—and I wonder if—if——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Hawkins!” Claire's eyes were full of tears. “I remember. Dear, dear
- Hawkins! And I used to call you Daddy Hawkins. Do <i>you</i> remember?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A tear found a furrow and trickled down the old weather-beaten face
- unchecked, as Hawkins raised his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire! Claire!” His voice trembled in its yearning. “Will—will you
- say that again, Claire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Daddy Hawkins,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- His arms stretched out to her, and she came to them smiling through her
- tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've been so good to me,” she whispered again. “You <i>are</i> so good
- to me—dear, dear Daddy Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A wondrous light was in the old cabman's face. He held the slight form to
- him, trying to be so tenderly careful that he should not hurt her in his
- strength. He kissed her, and patted her head, and his fingers lingered as
- they smoothed the hair back from where it made a tiny curl about her ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he felt her drawing him toward the couch—and he became
- conscious that Paul Veniza was holding out his hands to them both.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Claire knelt at the side of the couch and took one of Paul Veniza's
- hands, and Hawkins took the other. And no one of them looked into the
- other's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- The outer door opened, and Doctor Crang came in. He stood for an instant
- surveying the scene, a half angry, half sarcastic smile spreading over his
- sallow face, and then he shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you're here, like me, ahead of time, Hawkins, I see!” he said
- shortly. “You're going to drive me to Staten Island where——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire rose to her feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have told Hawkins,” she said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins' hand tightened over Paul Veniza's for a moment, and then he
- turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I'll wait outside,” said Hawkins—and brushed has hand
- across his eyes as he went through the doorway.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza was racked with a sudden fit of coughing again. Doctor Crang
- walked quickly to the couch and looked at the other sharply. After a
- moment he turned to Claire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you ready to go?” he asked crisply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I am ready,” she answered steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, then,” said Crang, “you had better go out and get into the old
- bus. You can go with Hawkins and me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But”—Claire looked in a bewildered way at Paul Veniza—“but
- you said——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I did,” Crang interrupted brusquely, “but we're all here a little
- early and there's lots of time to countermand the other car.” He indicated
- Paul Veniza with a jerk of his head. “He's far from as well as he was last
- night. At least you'll admit that I'm a <i>good</i> doctor, and when I
- tell you he is not fit to go this morning that ought to be enough for both
- of you. I'll phone and tell them not to send the limousine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still Claire hesitated. Paul Veniza had closed his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can do as you like, but I don't imagine”—a snarl crept into his
- voice—“that it will give him any joy to witness the ceremony, or you
- to have him. Suit yourselves; but I won't answer for the consequences.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll go,” said Claire simply—and as Paul Veniza lifted himself up
- suddenly in protest, she forced him gently back upon the couch again.
- “It's better that way,” she said, and for a moment talked to him in low,
- earnest tones, then kissed him, and rose, and walked out from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang, with a grunt of approval, started toward the telephone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait!” Paul Veniza had raised himself on his elbow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang turned and faced the other with darkened face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not too late even now at the last moment!” Paul Veniza's face was
- drawn with agony. “I know you for what you are, and in the name of God I
- charge you not to do this thing. It is foul and loathsome, the basest
- passion—and whatever crimes lay at your door, even if murder be
- among them, no one of them is comparable with this, for you do more than
- take a human life, you desecrate a soul pure as the day God gave it life,
- and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The red surged into Crang's face, and changed to mottled purple.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn you!” he flung out hoarsely. “Hold your cackling tongue! This is my
- wedding morning—understand?” He laughed out raucously. “My wedding
- morning—and I'm in a hurry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Paul Veniza raised himself a little higher. White his face was—white
- as death.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then God have mercy on your soul!” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Crang stared for a moment, then turned on his heel—and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—THE RIDE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN BRUCE turned
- the corner, and, on the opposite side of the street, drew back under the
- shelter of a door porch where he could command a view of the entrance to
- Paul Veniza's house. And now he stood motionless, waiting with cold
- patience, his eyes fixed on the doorway across the street. He was there
- because Crang was either at the present moment within the house, or
- presently would come to the house. It was nearly eight o'clock. The old
- traveling pawn-shop was drawn up before the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no definite plan now. No plan was needed. He was simply waiting for
- Crang.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes had not left the doorway. Suddenly, tense, he leaned a little
- forward. The door opened. No; it was only Hawkins! He relaxed again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only Hawkins! John Bruce's face grew a little sterner, his lips a little
- more tightly compressed. Only Hawkins—only an old man who swayed
- there outside the door, and whose face was covered with his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched Hawkins. The old cabman moved blindly along the sidewalk for
- the few steps that took him to the corner, and turning the corner, out of
- sight of the house, sat down on the edge of the curb, and with his
- shoulders sunk forward, buried his face in his hands again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And John Bruce understood; and his fingers, in his pocket, snuggled
- curiously around the revolver that was hidden there. He wanted to go to
- that old bent figure there in its misery and despair, who was fighting now
- so obviously to get a grip upon himself. But he did not move. He could not
- tell Hawkins what he meant to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- Were they minutes or were they hours that passed? Again the front door of
- Paul Veniza's house opened, and again John Bruce leaned tensely forward.
- But this time he did not relax. Claire! His eyes drank in the slim,
- little, dark-garbed figure, greedy that no smallest gesture, no movement,
- no single line of face or form should escape him. It was perhaps the last
- time that he would see her. He would not see her in his prison cell—he
- would not let her go there.
- </p>
- <p>
- A queer sound issued from his throat, a strange and broken little cry. She
- was gone now. She had crossed the sidewalk and entered the traveling
- pawn-shop. The curtains were down, and she was hidden from sight. And for
- a moment there seemed a blur and mist before John Bruce's eyes—then
- Hawkins, still around the corner, still with crouched shoulders, still
- with his face hidden in his hands, took form and grew distinct again. And
- then after a little while, Hawkins rose slowly, and came back along the
- street, and climbed into the driver's seat of the traveling pawnshop, and
- sat fumbling at the wheel with his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door of Paul Veniza's house opened for the third time—and now
- John Bruce laughed in a low, grim 'way, and his hand, hugging the revolver
- in his pocket, tightened and grew vise-like in its grip upon the weapon.
- It was Crang at last!
- </p>
- <p>
- And then John Bruce's hand came out from his pocket—empty.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Not in front of Claire!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He swept his hand across his forehead. It was as though a sudden shock had
- aroused him to some stark reality to which he had been strangely
- oblivious. Not in front of Claire! Claire was in the car there. He felt
- himself bewildered for a moment. Hawkins had said nothing about driving
- Claire too.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crang's voice reached him from across the street:
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, Hawkins! Go ahead!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Where was Paul Veniza? Crang had got into the car, and the car was moving
- forward. Wasn't Paul Veniza going too?
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, it did not matter, did it? Crang was there. And it was a long way to
- Staten Island, and before then a chance would come, <i>must</i> come; he
- would make one somehow, and——-
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce ran swiftly out into the street, and, as the car turned the
- corner, swung himself lightly and silently in beside Hawkins. Crang would
- not know. The curtained panel at the back of the driver's seat hid the
- interior of the car from view.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins turned his head, stared into John Bruce's face for an instant,
- half in a startled, half in a curiously perplexed way, made as though to
- speak—and then, without a word, gave his attention to the wheel
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car rattled on down the block.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce, as silent as Hawkins, stared ahead. On the ferry! Yes, that
- was it! It was a long way to Staten Island. Claire would not stay cooped
- up in a closed car below; she would go up on deck to get the air. And even
- if Crang accompanied her, it would not prove very difficult to separate
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked around suddenly and intercepted a furtive, puzzled glance cast
- at him by Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Hawkins spoke for the first time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'd better get off, John Bruce,” he said in a choked voice. “You've
- done all you could, and God bless you over and over again for it, but you
- can't do anything more now, and it won't do you any good to come any
- further.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said John Bruce, “I'm going all the way, Hawkins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins relapsed into silence. They were near the Battery when he spoke
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the way,” Hawkins repeated then, as though it were but a moment gone
- since John Bruce had spoken. “All the way. Yes, that's it—after
- twenty years. That's when I pawned her—twenty years ago. And I
- couldn't never redeem her the way Paul Veniza said. And she ain't never
- known, and thank God she ain't never going to know, that I—that I——”
- A tear trickled down the old face, and splashed upon the wrinkled skin of
- the hand upon the wheel. And then old Hawkins smiled suddenly, and nodded
- toward the clock on the cowl-board—and the speed of the car
- increased. “I looked up the ferry time,” said Hawkins.
- </p>
- <p>
- They swung out in front of the ferry house, and the car stopped. A ferry,
- just berthing, was beginning to disgorge its stream of motors and
- pedestrians.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We're first in line,” said Hawkins, nodding his head. “We'll have to wait
- a minute or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce nodded back indifferently. His eyes were fixed on the ferry
- that he could just see through the ferry house. Certainly, Claire would
- not stay down in the confined space of the ferry's run-way all the trip;
- or if she did, Crang wouldn't. His face set. Quite unconsciously his hand
- had gone to his pocket, and he found his fingers now snuggling again
- around the weapon that lay there.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he looked at Hawkins—and stared again at the other,
- startled. Strange, he had not noticed it before! The smile on Hawkins'
- face did not hide it. The man seemed to have aged a thousand years; the
- old face was pinched and worn, and deep in the faded, watery blue eyes
- were hurt and agony. And a great sympathy for the man surged upon John
- Bruce. He could not tell Hawkins, but—— He reached out, and
- laid his hand on the other's arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't take it too hard, Hawkins,” he said gently. “I—perhaps—perhaps,
- well, there's always a last chance that something may happen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me?” said Hawkins, and bent down over his gears as he got the signal to
- move forward. “Do I look like that? I—I thought it all out last
- night, and I don't feel that way. I'll tell you what I was thinking about.
- I was just thinking that I did something to-day when I left my room that I
- haven't done before—in twenty years. I've left the light burning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce stared a little helplessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Hawkins. He smiled at John Bruce. “Don't you worry about me.
- Mabbe you don't understand, but that's all I've been thinking about since
- we've been waiting here. I've left the light burning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sick at heart, John Bruce turned his head away. He made no response.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hawkins paid the fare, ran the car through the ferry house, and aboard the
- ferry itself. He was fumbling with a catch of some kind behind his seat,
- as he proceeded slowly up the run-way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll want a little air in there,” said Hawkins, “because it's close down
- here. It opens back, you know—the whole panel. I had it made that
- way when the car was turned into a traveling pawn-shop—didn't know
- what tough kind of a customer Paul might run into sometime, and I'd want
- to get in beside him quick to help, and I——” The old cabman
- straightened up.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car was at the extreme forward end of the ferry—and suddenly it
- leaped forward. “Jump, John Bruce! Jump clear!” old Hawkins cried.
- “There's only two of us going all the way—and that's Crang and me!
- Claire and Paul 'll be along in another car—tell them it was an
- accident, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- John Bruce was on his feet—too late. There was a crash, and the
- collapsible steel gates went down before the plunging car, and the guard
- chain beyond was swept from its sockets. He reeled and lost his balance as
- something, a piece of wreckage from the gates or chain posts, struck him.
- He felt the hot blood spurt from shoulder and arm. And then, as the car
- shot out in mid-air, diving madly for the water below, and he was thrown
- from his feet, he found himself clinging to the footboard, fighting wildly
- to reach the door handle. Claire was in there! Claire was in there!
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a terrific splash. A mighty rush of water closed over him.
- Horror, fear, madness possessed his soul. Claire was in there! Claire was
- in there—and somehow Hawkins had not known! Yes, he had the door
- handle now! He wrenched and tore at the door. The pressure of the water
- seemed to pit itself against his strength. He worked like a maniac. It
- opened. He had it now! It opened. He could scarcely see in the murky water—only
- the indistinct outlines of two forms undulating grotesquely, the hands of
- one gripped around the throat of the other—only that, and floating
- within his reach a woman's dress. He snatched at the dress. His lungs were
- bursting. Claire! It was Claire! She was in his arms—then blackness—then
- sunlight again—and then, faintly, he heard a cheer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held her head above the water. She was motionless, inert.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire! Claire!” he cried. Fear, cold, horrible, seized upon him. He swam
- in mad haste for the iron ladder rungs at the side of the slip.
- </p>
- <p>
- Faces, a multitude of them, seemed to peer at him from above, from the
- brink of this abyss in which he was struggling. He heard a cheer again.
- Why were they cheering? Were they cheering because two men were locked in
- a death grip deep down there in the water below?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” he cried out again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as his hand grasped the lower rung, she opened her eyes slowly,
- and a tremor ran through her frame.
- </p>
- <p>
- She lived! Was he weak with the sudden revulsion that swept upon him now?
- Was that it? He tried to carry her up—and found that it was beyond
- his strength. And he could only cling there and wait for assistance from
- above, thankful even for the support the water gave his weight. It was
- strange! What were those red stains that spread out and tinged the water
- around him? His arm! Yes, he remembered now! His shoulder and arm! It was
- the loss of blood that must have sapped his strength, that must be sapping
- it now so that—-
- </p>
- <p>
- “John!” Claire whispered. “You—John!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He buried his face in the great wet masses of hair that fell around her.
- Weak? No, he was not weak! He could hold her here always—always.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt her clutch spasmodically at his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and Hawkins, John?” she faltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his head and stared at the water. Little waves rippled across
- its surface, gamboling inconsequentially—at play. There wasn't
- anything else there. There never would be. He made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- A sob shook her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How—how did it happen?” she whispered again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think a—a gear jammed, or something,” he said huskily.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard her speak again, but her voice was very low. He bent his head
- until it rested upon hers to catch the words.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was crying softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear, dear Hawkins—dear Daddy Hawkins,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- A great mist seemed to gather before John Bruce's eyes. A voice seemed to
- come again, Hawkins' voice; and words that he understood now, Hawkins'
- words:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've left the light burning.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
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