Kitabı oku: «A Woman at Bay: or, A Fiend in Skirts», sayfa 11

The sixth man of the party, who was the next to get upon his feet, had the stamp of prison life all over him. His face bespoke the pallor which is acquired in no other place in the world, and the vicious, shifty, sneaking gleam in his eyes spoke well of the craftiness which is the result of long confinement under the domination of brutal guards and turnkeys.

So recently had he escaped from prison, apparently, that his hair was still cropped short to his skull, and one almost expected when looking at him to see the stripes of prison garb upon him.

"I am Joe Cuthbert," he said slowly, in a tone so low that it could scarcely be heard. "I wouldn't have come here to-night at all if I hadn't been assured on the level that it would be perfectly safe to do so. I don't think there is any one of you in this room except Madge herself who knows me, but you will all hear from me later on as sure as I'm alive and can escape arrest.

"You may have been told since you came here that I have just escaped from prison, or if you haven't been told it, and know how to read, you have probably seen the rewards for my recapture. You will know, too, that I was sent up for croaking another chap, or, as they call it in the courts, for murder. I want you all to know that I served eight years. Eight years of hell, and that I've come out of there with the determination of getting square with the man that sent me up. That man was Nick Carter; and that's all I've got to say."

There was a moment of utter silence after this announcement, which had in it many of the elements of the dramatic.

There was not a person in that room who had not seen the inside of a prison, and many of them had served as many as four years, while others had been in prison many times for short terms.

But to have just escaped from prison after having been confined for eight long years seemed to them the climax of the possibilities of hatred.

But the moment passed, and Madge fixed her eyes upon the seventh of the group, who slowly rose to his feet and said:

"After what we've just heard, Madge, it doesn't seem that anything that I can say can add to the intensity of feeling that pervades this distinguished assembly. I regard it as quite an honor to be among those who know so well how to hate. As for me, I have also been inside a prison, to which this man Nick Carter sent me. I had been mixed up in a little diamond robbery from one of the big firms in this town. I don't know but maybe some of you heard about it; it was called the taking of the pear-shaped diamonds, and at the time that happened I was in love with a very beautiful girl, and was outwardly leading a very respectable life. It's enough for me to say now that when the exposure that followed Nick Carter's investigation of that case, and through it the exposure of all my previous criminal record, which before that time I had been able to conceal, the girl went back on me, and would have nothing more to do with me. Now she is married to another man, and while I don't blame her any, I do blame the man that exposed me, and if any of you people that are gathered here can help me in getting square with him I'll be eternally grateful. My name is Eugene Maxwell."

There was only one other individual left in this collection who had not as yet spoken, and now, although Madge fixed her eyes instantly upon him, he remained in his chair as he was, with immovable, sphinxlike countenance and gloomy eyes. He was a tall, spare, rather well-dressed figure, when he rose at last in reply to her spoken request, and he stood, half leaning upon a cane which he held in his two hands, and bent a little toward her as he spoke.

"I haven't any name, so far as anybody knows," he said slowly, and with distinct and deliberate enunciation. "It has pleased my friends always to bestow a title upon me. Until to-night I have always worked alone, and have rarely made myself known to any of the inhabitants of the underworld, and if any of you here have ever happened to be told about The Parson, you will know who I am."

There was a distinct stir in the room when he uttered this name or title, for The Parson had always been more or less a mystery, and one that was much envied by thieves generally. He was a confidence man of the higher type; the sort of man who would go into strange cities or villages or communities, and represent himself to be a professional man; sometimes a minister; sometimes a priest; again a rabbi; and it was his graft to solicit and collect contributions for charitable purposes upon forged recommendations and letters which he had prepared in advance.

His success in this line had been enormous, and his work had always been done in the dark and alone, until six years before this particular occasion, having done it once too often, Nick Carter had trailed him down and captured him.

He continued:

"I was always very successful in my line of graft until Nick Carter got after me, and while I didn't get quite so long a term as our friend Cuthbert, I was sent up for five years, and served four years and three months of it. I want to say to you now that every night and every morning of my life during those four years and three months I cursed Nick Carter and everybody and everything that belonged to him. That's why I'm here. I take part in this little scheme that Madge has concocted to down that fellow with the greatest pleasure I have ever known. If you should happen to be in want of funds any time – "

"I'll supply the funds," interrupted Madge.

"All the same, if you should happen to be in want of funds at any time, all you've got to do is to whisper it to The Parson and I'll put my hand down in my pocket and supply the dollars, for I've got a few left, and I know where there are a lot more to be obtained."

He resumed his seat slowly, rested his chin upon the head of his cane between his hands, and the gloomy look came over his face again like a mask.

And now Madge stood up behind the table, resting her hands upon it, and leaning a little bit forward as she spoke.

"I'm a proud woman, my friends," she said. "I'm a young woman, too, being not yet twenty-four, and a good hater. I am part Spanish and part French. I was raised in Paris, and learned all that I know about my business over there. The first time that I ever saw Nick Carter in my life was in the office of the Prefecture of Police in the room of the Chief of the Secret Service. I was seventeen years old at the time when the chief had sent for me to question me about the death of a woman which had occurred in the house where I lived on the floor above me, and about which, fortunately, I knew absolutely nothing.

"But Nick Carter came into the chief's office while I was there. I had only a fleeting glance of him at the time. I left the room almost as soon as he entered it. I did not see him again for five years, at which time he came in disguise to the thieves' headquarters where I was staying. I recognized him that time by his eyes, but nevertheless he captured me and sent me to jail.

"I escaped from that jail before I came to trial, and did it through the help of my friends. Somewhat later than that he hunted me down a second time, but I escaped, and I have sworn now to be even with him, and that is why I have brought you here together. You will please to stand up now, raise your right hands, and repeat after me in taking the oath of The Band of Hatred."

CHAPTER XX.
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

A strange series of accidents began the night of the day following the receipt of the letter, and Nick Carter had no doubt whatever that it was the first act to be played in the drama of vengeance which Black Madge had inaugurated against them.

It was rather a simple thing of itself, and did no damage to amount to anything. The fact was that during the night some malicious person had placed under the front steps in the areaway of his house a barrel that had been filled with cotton waste saturated with oil. It was only necessary after that to apply a match to the inflammable material to start an incipient conflagration. Had the house itself not been built of granite, and – save the doors and windows and other trimmings – been practically fireproof, the result would have been disastrous; as it was, however, beyond badly scorching the door, and cracking a few of the stones by reason of the intense heat that was generating, no damage was done.

But the fact had been sufficient to remind Nick Carter and his three assistants that Madge had not threatened idly, and that already she had undertaken to carry out the substance of some of her warning.

At midnight the day following the fire in the areaway a blazing bomb was hurled through the window of the second story of Nick Carter's house, and rolled to the middle of the floor, where it blazed furiously, and would undoubtedly have done a great deal of damage had it not so happened that the housekeeper was present at the time, for Nick had a guest that night, and she had been called late to prepare the room for him.

The day following this one, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Joseph discovered a dynamite cartridge containing a pound and a half of the explosive in the vestibule at the front door. The fuse of this cartridge was already alight and would have reached and exploded the percussion, or detonating cap, if Joseph, for some reason unknown, had not gone to the front door at that moment. He was not called there, and had not heard anybody in the vestibule, or on the steps, and Joseph forever insisted after this incident that it was an intervention of Providence.

This last incident was extremely serious, for had the cartridge been exploded it must have torn away the entire front of the house, and have done enormous damage, even if it had taken no lives.

Friday night of that week at about half-past eight o'clock in the evening Chick and Patsy were walking up Madison Avenue together, and when they arrived at the corner of Thirtieth Street, and were about to turn toward Fifth Avenue, a shot was fired at them from across the street.

Fortunately the bullet did not strike either of them; and, although they both immediately pursued the would-be assassin, he was evidently prepared to avoid them, for he leaped upon a bicycle and sped away so swiftly that there was no hope of overtaking him. They only saw that he was tall and slender, and that was all.

The Saturday morning following an express wagon stopped at Nick Carter's house and delivered a package addressed to the detective, which was marked: "Fragile. This side up, with care."

Joseph carried it to the detective's study, placed it upon the table, and was about to leave the room when Nick stopped him.

"What is that, Joseph?" he asked.

"An express package, sir, which just came for you."

"Who brought it, Joseph?"

"The express wagon, sir."

"Bring it over here. Let me see it."

Joseph took the package in his hand, carried it over to place it on the desk in front of the detective, who regarded it with a smile, while strangely enough his mind went back to the number of attempts to injure him that had been made during the week that was now nearly past.

"Did you sign for it, Joseph?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I am expecting no package." said the detective.

"No, sir," said Joseph, not knowing what else to reply.

"I think, Joseph," said the detective, "that if you will take it to the basement, or, rather, to the laundry, and draw one of the tubs there full of water, it would be a good idea to put the package to soak for five or six hours before we open it."

"Really, sir," said Joseph. "Why?"

"Joseph, if that package had come here as it has a week or ten days ago, I should have opened it without a second thought, but, under the circumstances and considering all that has happened of late, I deem it wise to use every precaution. Take the package down and soak it as I have directed."

Some hours later, when the detective recalled the incident to mind, he and Chick went to the basement together, found the package, and with a great deal of care opened it – from the bottom.

It was found to contain an infernal machine of the most approved pattern, loaded with broken glass, slugs of lead and old iron, and an assortment of nails, old keys, and bullets.

"A very pretty little present to send a fellow," said Nick, smiling grimly. "I rather think it is a lucky thing, Chick, that it occurred to me to give it a good soaking. I wonder what the woman will do next?"

Sunday evening when the detective entered his room he found Joseph writhing on the floor in evident agony, brought about by the contents of what had been a box of candy, and Nick instantly guessed that another attempt had been made upon his life, this time to poison him.

But Joseph fortunately had only nibbled at one of the pieces, and, beyond an hour's suffering for his foolishness, was not injured.

It appeared, when Nick questioned him, that a boy had handed the box of candy in at the door, saying, when Joseph appeared to receive it, that it had been ordered by the detective himself, and was to be placed in his study for him; and the boy had had the temerity to raise the lid of the box when he delivered it, wink slyly at Joseph, and exclaim:

"See! aren't they dandy? I tasted one; they're fine."

And then he had run away, laughing.

Joseph had seen the candy, and, being fond of it, could not resist the temptation also to take a taste of it when he placed the box upon his master's table.

That same night, at half-past eleven o'clock, Nick was seated at the desk in his study, which is located on the third floor in the rear of his house. He was engaged in looking over some notes relative to an old case which he wished to recall to mind.

The shade at the window was lowered, but the light was in such a position that it threw his shadow against the curtain and outlined his head upon it almost perfectly.

Suddenly he was startled by the report of a gun, and the next instant a bullet crashed through the glass of his window and buried itself in the opposite wall of the room.

Later on, when he investigated the incident, he found that the bullet had passed directly through the shadow of his head as it was cast upon the window shade, the person who fired it evidently supposing that his head was directly behind that shadow; but the fact that the light was at one side of the room, and had therefore thrown the shadow somewhat back of where he was actually seated, saved his life.

Further investigation disclosed the fact that the bullet had been fired from the rear of one of the houses in the block directly behind where the detective lived. It was not discovered how the would-be assassin had secured his position on the roof.

But this accumulation of accidents – so called for want of a better term – was altogether too much for the serenity and the composure of the detective and his assistants.

It was evident that Madge had determined to make his life miserable if it could be done, and when Nick recalled the substance of the letter she had sent him he decided in his own mind that the bullet had not really been intended to take his life, but only to warn him of the dangers that were hovering over him every minute that he lived.

In the meantime – or, rather, during the time that has already been mentioned – the detective and his assistants had not been idle. There had not been a day or a night when he and Chick and Patsy and Ten-Ichi had not been engaged in searching some part of the city for Black Madge, or for some trace of her.

They had visited the dens in the lower part of the city; they had questioned the policemen and the stool pigeons of the detective bureau, and they had even gone so far as to communicate directly with crooks who were known to them for information concerning the woman.

But none had been forthcoming. Black Madge was keeping herself as thoroughly under cover as if she were still in the prison in that other State from which she had escaped.

But after this occurrence of Sunday night, when the bullet was shot through the window at the detective, he determined to make no more half-hearted efforts to find Madge, but to set out at once that very night in search of her; and accordingly he put away his papers and called Chick into the room with him.

"Chick," he said, "do you happen to know anything about Mike Grinnel's place?"

"I only know," said Chick, "that he is said to keep one of the worst dives in the city, and that it is located somewhere in Rivington Street. I am not sure about it, because I have never had occasion to go there. The only thing I do know about it is that it is said to be a great Sunday night resort for thieves and crooks of all classes."

"Right," said Nick. "That coincides with what I have heard. I have never been there, either, Chick but I am going there to-night – now. The question is, do you want to go with me?"

"I sure do," replied Chick.

CHAPTER XXI.
CURLY JOHN, THE BANK THIEF

Mike Grinnel's place in Rivington Street was at that time one of those monstrosities which were permitted to exist within the limits of New York City nobody knows how. During the day and the early part of the evening it was to all appearances merely an ordinary saloon, and if a stranger were passing it he would regard it as a likely place to enter if he required refreshment.

But when the hours deepened into the night, the place gradually assumed more and more the aspect which might be labeled dangerous. Men and women drifted in together and talked in low tones at tables arranged along the side of the room, and as the time continued toward midnight, and passed it, the air of respectability gradually disappeared until it was entirely gone.

By eleven o'clock the place was usually thronged by people who seemed to know each other in a furtive sort of way, and who sometimes would call others by name across the room.

At one o'clock the front doors were closed and locked; the curtains were tightly drawn so that not a ray of light was permitted to escape into the street, blinds were pulled up to make this fact doubly secure, and this was when the place really began to live and thrive in its true character. Then also was when Mike Grinnel himself came out of his shell, and assumed personal charge of the affairs of the place; for Mike Grinnel had a reputation among the crooks and thieves who were his customers, and if an incipient row started at any time among his guests he had only to look with his frowning brow in their direction to quell it.

The way into this dive of Grinnel's after the legal hours, and when it was supposed to be closed, was, strangely enough, through a house from the other side, and of course it followed that only the initiated – those who were known to the man at the door – could pass.

When Nick Carter and his first assistant left the house that particular Sunday night to go to Mike Grinnel's, the principal question was how they were to get inside the place at all.

Nick had no doubt in his mind whatever that if Black Madge were in town that she would be one who would most certainly visit Mike Grinnel's dive Sunday night, for that was the red-letter night of the week at that place among the inhabitants of the underworld.

He knew that she would feel perfectly secure against intervention there. He knew that she would have perfect confidence in the espionage which Mike Grinnel exercised in his place for the safety of his customers, for it was his boast that no thief or criminal of any sort had ever been arrested in his place and taken from it by the officers.

And, therefore, Nick felt sure that if he could but gain admission and Black Madge were in the city, which he did not doubt, he would find her there.

To enter a place of this kind one must be actually introduced; that is, vouched for by some frequenter of it. It will not suffice for one to apply at such a place, and state merely that he knows so-and-so and is all right; he will be turned down hard. But Nick Carter was never without resource in a matter of this kind, and, therefore, when he left the house with Chick, instead of going directly to Mike Grinnel's they took their way to police headquarters, where, as he knew would be the case, he found the inspector.

"Inspector," he said, "I noticed in the paper yesterday morning that Curly John had been arrested by one of your men and brought to headquarters on suspicion of being connected with that Liverpool bank robbery three months ago."

"That's correct," said the inspector. "Do you know anything about the case?"

"Not a thing in the world," said Nick, laughing; "but I want to use Curly John. I want to use him very badly. I want you to lend him to me for to-night, if you will."

The inspector could only stare his amazement. He had known Nick Carter a good many years, but never before had he received a request of this kind from him.

"I guess you will have to say that again, and say it slow, Nick; I don't think I understand you."

The detective laughed heartily. Then he began at the beginning and told first about the letter he had received from Black Madge containing the threats, and then one by one related the incidents that had happened to him and to his household during the week that was past. In conclusion, he said:

"Now, inspector, I am convinced that if Black Madge is in the city of New York, she is now at this very moment seated at one of the tables at Mike Grinnel's place. I want to go there to find out. If she is there I want to know it. If she is there and I can manage to find out where she goes when she leaves there, that is all I care to know to-night."

"But how can Curly help you?" asked the inspector.

"Curly can help me in this way: I know something about his reputation and his career. I came across him once several years ago in reference to an old case of mine with which he had nothing to do, but concerning which he gave me some valuable information. I found that Curly John was all right at that time, and, as people of his profession regard it, pretty much on the square. I want you, if you will, to ring the bell and order him brought up here and let me talk to him."

"That's easy," said the inspector, and he did as requested.

Five minutes later when Curly John entered the room he paused when he was just inside of the door, and fixed his eyes intently upon Nick Carter, and then, with scarcely a glance at the inspector, who had summoned him, he addressed himself directly to the detective.

"I know you," he said. "I remember you perfectly well, Mr. Carter, and I wouldn't be afraid to bet that it was you that sent for me right now. I hope you've come to get me out, for I give you my word that I know no more about that Liverpool crib-cracking business than you do, and that's what they're holding me for just now."

"Curly," said Nick, "you gave me some assistance once in a case I had after I assured you that you would not betray a pal in doing it, and that I would do a certain favor for you afterward. Did I keep my word with you?"

"You kept it for fair, Mr. Carter. I ain't forgot it, neither."

"Well, Curly, I have come here to-night to get you to do another favor for me, but first answer me one question."

"All right, sir. What's that?"

"Do they let you in at Mike Grinnel's Sunday night prayer meetings?"

"They sure do, Mr. Carter."

"If you were at liberty at this minute, isn't that the first place you would point for?"

"That's about the size of it."

"And you would have no trouble in getting inside?"

"Not the least in the world."

"If the inspector will consent to let you go will you take me there – me and this young man beside me, who is my assistant – on condition that I make you a solemn promise that I will make no arrest while there; that I will in no way interfere with Grinnel's business, or with any of his customers who are there, and that unless you reveal the fact yourself it will never be known that I was inside the place?"

Curly John scratched his head in perplexity.

"That's a pretty big contract you ask of me, Mr. Carter," he said. "What's the game?"

"The game is, Curly, that I am very anxious to find out if a certain person is in the city. If that person is in the city that person will be at Grinnel's to-night, I know."

Curly scratched his head some more.

"And suppose, Mr. Carter, that person is at Grinnel's to-night, what do you expect to do to that person?"

"To use your own words," replied Nick, "not the least thing in the world."

"Then what do you want to go there for?"

"I have already told you that. I want to find out if that person is in the city."

"Are you giving me this on the square?" asked Curly John.

"Absolutely on the square."

"And you won't make any trouble?"

"Not a particle of trouble of any kind."

"You nor that chap over there who is with you?"

"Neither of us. You have my word for that."

"Well, what about what's to come after it? Do you intend to follow that person down and do the arresting afterward?"

"I will promise you, Curly, that there shall be no arrest of any kind or of any person arising out of the visit to Grinnel's place to-night within twenty-four hours from this moment."

Curly scratched his head a third time very intently and seriously, and at last asked:

"Don't any of them coves over there know you, Mr. Carter?"

"I suppose," said Nick, smiling, "that every one of them knows me, and that many of them know Chick as well."

"And so that's Chick, is it? I have heard about him. Well, now, Mr. Carter, let me ask you this: You just now said that unless I told it, not a soul would know that you were there at that place to-night if I took you there. Now, how do you reconcile that with the fact that they all know you?"

"In this way, Curly: That I shall ask you to wait here a few moments after you give your consent, while Chick and I step into the next room and make some alteration in our appearances with things that the inspector will loan me from his cabinet."

Curly sneered.

"Oh! this is a disguise business, is it? Well, Mr. Carter, do you think that the guns down there at Grinnel's are such blamed fools as not to see through a racket of that kind?"

"Oh! I can fool them, all right," said Nick, "if you consent. Now, Curly, I have given you a promise once before in my life, and lived up to it literally. I have made you one now, and I will live up to it literally. The inspector will let you go and will send for you in case he should want you again. You get your liberty, and I get what I want. And now, Curly, it's up to you. Will you do it?"

"Yes, by thunder, I'll do it! Go into the next room and get ready. When you're ready, I am. And I will introduce you and Chick there as a pair of old pals of mine from the other side of the water."