Kitabı oku: «A Woman at Bay: or, A Fiend in Skirts», sayfa 14

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE CRIMINAL'S COMPACT

"How long have you been here in this room?" asked the detective sharply.

"I told you about a minute ago," was the surly reply. "About an hour."

"Where were you before you came here?"

"That's none of your infernal business."

"I want to know if you were downstairs in the saloon?"

"No, I wasn't, if that will satisfy you."

"Have you been there at all to-night?"

"Yes, I was there about three hours ago."

"Was Black Madge there when you were there?"

A cunning leer came into the fellow's face before he answered, and then he replied by asking another question.

"Who's Black Madge?" he demanded.

"You know well enough who Black Madge is," insisted the detective; "and, Phil, if you keep a civil tongue in your head and answer my questions as I ask them, it will be all the better for you. If you do not – "

"Well, what then?"

"If you do not, there are several little things connected with your career which will make it unpleasant to have the inspector up at headquarters question you about."

"Well, I ain't a-goin' to give away anybody downstairs, no matter what happens," said the bartender.

"I'm not asking you to give anybody away. I merely asked you to answer my questions."

"Well, go ahead and ask them. I will answer them if I can."

"Was Black Madge in the saloon downstairs when you were there?"

"Yes. She was."

"Has she been in the habit of coming here frequently of late?"

"I can't tell you for certain about that. You know, I'm on duty in the daytime, and people of her kind come only at night."

"Answer my question," said the detective sternly. "You know the answer to it, and you understand that I know you do."

"Well, I guess she's been in most every night for the last week."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"No."

"Do you know any of the gang that is traveling with her?"

"Yes; I guess I know most of that bunch."

"Well, Phil, I want you to tell me their names; every one of them. That is, every one that you are certain forms one of her gang."

"There ain't anything certain about it, Carter. I'll tell you that on the level. All I know about her and her gang is guesswork. But if I was asked to mention them I should say that, judging from appearance, there is about eight of them. Besides, Madge has got something up her sleeve, but what it is I haven't an idea. It looks to me, though, as if they were getting ready to crack some pretty big crib, and make the haul of their lives. Now, if you're on to that lay, and your only purpose is to prevent them doing it, so that I ain't telling you anything that will go for putting them behind the bars, I will be on the level and tell you all I know."

"You will have to tell me, anyhow, Phil," returned Nick quietly. "If you don't do it willingly, I know of more than one way to compel you to do it. However, you may rest easy upon the point you have made. I am not at the present moment seeking to put any of them behind the bars; only Black Madge herself. She has got to go there, whether you talk to me or not."

"Well," said the bartender, "she don't cut any ice with me, anyhow. She's too stuck up for my kind."

"All right," said Nick; "tell me the names of those eight men."

"There's Slippery Al, Surly Bob, Gentleman Jim, Fly Cummings, Joe Cuthbert, Eugene Maxwell, and The Parson. Oh, and there's Scar-faced Johnny; I forgot him. Now, I'll leave it to you, Carter, if that ain't a likely bunch."

"And they were all in the room downstairs to-night," murmured the detective meditatively.

"What!" exclaimed the bartender in astonishment, "do you mean to say that you have been inside that saloon to-night?"

"Certainly."

"Would you mind telling me how you got there?"

"Never mind all that, Phil. That is not what I am here for – to explain things to you. Do you know where Black Madge lives, or where she can be found besides in this saloon?"

"I don't know anything about her more than I've told you."

The detective looked around the room for a moment, and discovered that one of its articles of furniture was a tall, old-fashioned pier glass, which reflected the full length of a person who stood before it. Then he turned around and commanded the bartender to stand on his feet, studied his appearance carefully, and then he shook his head.

"It won't do," he muttered.

"What won't do?" asked Phil.

"I was considering the possibility of making myself up in your likeness, and of venturing in that disguise to go to the saloon," replied the detective.

"What! right now?" asked Phil.

"Yes."

"And you don't think you could do it, eh?"

"No, Phil. You're too tall and too big. I never could make myself up to look like you in the world. I will have to think of some other way."

Phil was thoughtful for a moment, while the detective was absorbed in his own study of the situation, and then he looked up suddenly and exclaimed:

"Why don't you send me downstairs for you?"

"Because," replied Nick, "the moment you got there you would call up the whole gang, and have them up here after me inside of a minute."

"I wouldn't, either, Carter. Not if I agreed not to."

"I can't trust you, Phil."

Again that cunning leer came into the dissipated face of the bartender, and he said quickly:

"You can trust me, if you pay me enough for it."

"A bribed man is usually the first to betray," said Nick.

"Not if the bribe is big enough, Carter."

"Do you mean to say that I can trust you to go down into the saloon and to come back here presently and tell me exactly what the situation is?"

"You can, if you pay me enough. I told you that before."

"It isn't the question of pay, Phil; that is, the amount of pay. I would be willing to give you almost anything if I thought you would perform exactly what I want done, and return to me with the information I desire, without saying or doing anything to betray my presence here."

"Well, I'm your huckleberry, if you want me to do it. All you've got to do on your part is to cough up the dough."

The detective, who always went well supplied with funds, took a roll of bills from his pocket, and slowly counted out one hundred dollars, which, without a word, he handed to the bartender.

"I am going to take you at your word, Phil," he said slowly, "and that is the first installment only of what I shall give you if you perform the service well and thoroughly, and do exactly as I instruct you to do, no more, and no less."

"And if I do it all as you tell me to do, how much more do I get?"

"Listen, and I will tell you."

"I'm listening, you bet your life."

"I came here to-night, Phil, with my first assistant, Chick; he is downstairs somewhere now, probably bound and gagged and thrown under a table, or behind the bar, or locked up in a closet. I want you to go down there, and find out exactly what has become of Chick, and what has happened to him. I want you to pick up all the information you can about what has happened there to-night – that is, what they are saying about it. You will have to remain there perhaps half an hour to accomplish this, and all of that time you must be extremely careful not to let it appear that you know anything about me at all."

"Well, and after that, what am I to do?"

"When you know what has become of Chick, and where he is now, figure out the best way in which we can set him at liberty at once, or, if you can manage to do it before you return to me, do it. If you succeed in setting him at liberty yourself within the next half hour, I will, before the sun goes down to-morrow, give you nine hundred dollars more, and that will be a pretty good nest egg for you, Phil."

"I'll do the job, you needn't fret."

"Wait, there is another thing."

"Well, sir?"

"If you find that you cannot liberate him yourself without assistance, you are to return to me at once, and we will plan together how it can best be accomplished. When we have done that, if through your aid I succeed in getting Chick safely away from here, you shall have the nine hundred plunks extra just the same."

"On the level, Carter?"

"Yes, on the level, Phil. I mean every word I say."

"Well, I'm the huckleberry that can do it."

"Wait, Phil, before you start, there is one more thing still."

"What! another?"

"Yes. This. After we have gotten safely out of this pickle, and the place has quieted down, it will be up to you to find out for me where Black Madge hangs up her clothes. It is important, Phil, that I should get that woman back into the prison where she belongs."

"I ain't no stool pigeon," grumbled the bartender.

"Neither am I asking you to be a stool pigeon," said the detective. "What I want you to do is simple enough. I am not laying any plans against any of the regular frequenters of this place. It's only Black Madge I want, and you have confessed already that you don't like her. Now, it's up to you if you want to go through this whole job, and do it right. And, Phil, if you will stick to me and see the whole game through the way I have outlined it to you, another thousand goes with the first one."

"Geewhiz! do you mean that?"

"I certainly do."

"Well, then, I'm game for the whole layout, and I will see it through to the end, but I don't want you to forget, Carter, that, if anything ever comes of it so that my part in this business is found out by any one of that crowd down there now, male or female, I wouldn't give a snap for my chances of being alive twenty-four hours afterward."

"They won't find it out through me," said the detective. "If they find it out at all it will be through you. And there's one thing more you must remember, Phil, and that is if you betray me you will be in a whole lot worse fix than you would be if your friends downstairs discover your treachery. For if you do betray me, I will never let up on you, Phil, until I see you behind the bars for a term of years that will make you an old man before you come out again."

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE GLARE OF A MATCH

When the bartender had taken his departure, Nick found a cigar in one of his pockets, and seated himself to smoke quietly until Phil should return. But when more than half an hour later the cigar was consumed, and he had thrown it aside, he began to feel a sense of uneasiness that the man should be gone so long a time.

However, he realized that it was no easy task that Phil had undertaken, and that he might well occupy an hour or more in accomplishing it.

He had no more cigars to smoke, but he seated himself resolutely in a chair, determined to wait with patience until his messenger should return.

There was a small clock, ticking away merrily on the mantel, at the far end of the room, and the detective watched it while the minute hand worked its way slowly around the dial, until an hour, then an hour and a quarter, and, finally, an hour and twenty minutes had elapsed since the departure of the bartender.

His impatience was now so great, and his natural distrust of the confederate he had employed was so prominent in his mind that he left his chair, having first extinguished the light, and, going to the door, opened it softly and peered outside.

The hallway was in utter darkness, the same as when he was there last, and, although he listened intently, he could not hear the suggestion of a sound from the lower regions of the house. After waiting a few moments longer, he tiptoed forward cautiously to the stairs, and descended them, being careful to step as closely as possible to the spindles of the balustrade, in order that they might not creak beneath his weight, and thus alarm others in the house. In this way he gained the lower floor.

Nick was somewhat handicapped without his flash light, but he remembered quite distinctly the location of the sound he had heard two hours earlier, when the party from the laundry had followed him in, and passed through the hallway to a rear door. Now he sought that door by following carefully along the wall until he came to it.

But, although he searched diligently for many minutes, he could not find so much as a suggestion of a door anywhere.

He remembered then that in all probability there was no perceptible door at all; that the door which was there somewhere was concealed in the wainscoting in some way, or otherwise hidden from casual observation. To have maintained a door of entrance to the saloon from that hallway would have rendered it entirely unnecessary for Grinnel to keep up his private entrance to the saloon from the other street. Nick's only method of finding it now was to light a match, and this he hesitated to do, not knowing what warning its glare might convey to others.

But there was no alternative, and presently he began his search by lighting matches one after another, permitting them to flare up sufficiently for a moment's vision, and then throwing them quickly to the floor, after the manner adopted by burglars when they were engaged in robbing a house before the pocket flash light was invented.

He was not long in discovering the entrance he sought. The walls along the hallway were not plastered; they were merely built up with matched boards, which had stood there unpainted for so long a time that they had achieved a veneer of filth and dirt which made them look, in the flare of the match, like mahogany.

But he could easily see where there was a keyhole cut into one of these boards, and, although around it there was no other evidence of a door, he knew that if he could turn the tumblers in that lock it would be revealed to him.

He went to work with his picklock, and, as he supposed, the instant the bolt of the lock was shot back the door opened easily and noiselessly in his grasp, and from beyond it he could at once hear the murmur of distant voices; also very far ahead of him, and beneath what was evidently another door, he could perceive a gleam of light.

He stepped through, and closed it after him, but, realizing that it was more than likely that he might wish to leave in a hurry, he left it unlocked.

And now he tiptoed forward to the door beneath which the light shone, and, getting upon his hands and knees, held his ear down where he could hear with more distinctness.

The effect was almost the same as if he were inside the saloon. Strangely enough, also, it was Madge's voice that came to him first, for it appeared that she was seated near that very door, and by the answers that were returned to her, Nick knew that no less a person than Mike Grinnel himself was her companion. And they were speaking in low tones, but, nevertheless, every word they uttered could be heard distinctly by the detective.

It was in the midst of their conversation, evidently, that Nick began to listen, and Madge was saying:

"I swore then, Mike, that I would be even with him, and that if I ever succeeded in getting out of that prison where he put me I would never rest another minute until Nick Carter was placed beyond the power of injuring anybody."

"You bit off a little more than you could chew, didn't you, Madge?" asked Mike Grinnel, in his slow, even voice, in which he never permitted a sign of emotion.

"No, I didn't," she retorted. "I made some mistakes, maybe. I shouldn't, for instance, have written him the letter I did."

"What was the letter, Madge?"

"Like a fool I wrote him a threatening letter, in which I told him to look out for me. That was my vanity, I suppose. I wanted him to know that I was on his track. I wanted to worry him; to give him something to think of, and a lot of things to look out for."

"Well, what then, Madge?"

"It was then, Mike, that I began to get the guns together, Slippery Al, and Gentleman Jim, and the others, and, of course, I made this place our headquarters."

"That, Madge, is just what you shouldn't have done. That's what I'm finding fault with you about now.

"Well," she said, "it's done, and it can't be helped; and Nick Carter has been here, and he's gotten away again; but, all the same, we've got Chick in our power, and if I do to him as I feel like doing now, he will regret the day that he ever took my trail."

"If you leave him where he is now, Madge, he'll do that," said Grinnel, laughing softly.

"Why, what would happen to him there?" she demanded quickly.

"For one thing the rats would probably eat him up before very long, and it wouldn't be the first meal of that kind they've had down there, either."

"You didn't tell me where you put him," said Madge.

"I don't tell anybody exactly where that place is, Madge. It's a little hole that I've dug out underneath the cellar of this house; if it was anywhere in the old country it would be called a dungeon; as it is, I call it the grave – people who go there have a habit of never coming out again."

The detective was anxious to know what had become of Phil, the bartender. It was evident that the man had done nothing to betray the detective, since these two were talking so quietly just inside the door where Nick was listening.

The next words, while they did not exactly reassure him, made him think that, after all, the bartender might be carrying out his contract by attempting to set Chick at liberty himself.

"Is that where you sent Phil a few moments ago?" she asked. "Down there to the dungeon where you put Chick?"

The detective could hear Grinnel chuckle and then reply:

"Yes, Madge, I sent him down there to fasten the young fellow up, so that there would be no chance of his getting loose. You see, he was senseless when we chucked him in there, and I forgot to make him fast, as a sailor would say, but there are staples in the wall down there, and there are chains fastened to those staples, and there are nice little steel bracelets at the end of those chains, that fit beautifully around a man's ankles. I sent Phil down to lock them fast."

"I thought nobody knew where that place was except yourself," said Madge quickly.

"Oh, Phil's all right. I have to have some confidence in my men here, or I couldn't run the place."

"All the same," the detective heard her murmur, "I'd rather you had left Chick to me. They're a slippery lot, those detectives, and I shall be uneasy – "

The detective heard no more of what was said, for at that instant he was greatly startled by hearing a sound behind him, and evidently beneath him, the consequence being that he paid no further attention to the conversation beyond the door.

Indeed, he drew back away from it, and softly rose to his feet, in order that he might be thoroughly prepared for anything that should happen; and while he stood there he was conscious of a cold, damp draught of air blown into his face – air that smelled as if it might come from the cellar – and he was somehow conscious that a trapdoor had been lifted, while the next moment he was aware that somebody was climbing through it into that narrow hallway – somebody who was not more than ten or twelve feet away from him. How he had wished for his little flash light then.

Once he imagined that he could hear a faint whisper, and a sharp, warning hiss for silence immediately following it.

Then it came back to him suddenly, all that he had heard Mike Grinnel say to Madge about the dungeon in the house, and the bartender's errand to it.

He thought then that the people who had raised themselves through the trap – and he was sure that there were two of them – must be Phil and Chick, the latter having been liberated by the former; and, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he struck a match and held it into the faces of the two men. The glare of the match shone directly into the face of Chick.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
BLACK MADGE CAUGHT IN A TRAP

But the flaring up of the match also developed another rather startling fact, and that was the presence of Curly, who, with the bartender, Phil, was standing directly behind Chick.

The light also discovered Nick Carter to the others, as it discovered them to him, and, although it burned but a moment, it was a revelation to all the parties concerned. It was Phil, the bartender, who acted more quickly than the others in this somewhat confusing moment of the encounter, for, with admirable presence of mind, he stepped quickly forward, and, reaching out his hands, managed to pull the others toward him until their heads were so close together that the faintest whisper could be heard, and then he said:

"Follow me along the corridor into the front hall. We can talk there."

They did so, and presently they stood together in the front hallway beside the stairs beyond the hidden doorway which Nick had discovered. And, during the time they occupied in getting to this point, Nick, who realized that the disguise he wore was no longer of any importance, busily engaged himself in removing it, or, at least, the facial part of it, so that, although in the dark they could not see him, he had restored himself, nevertheless, to his proper person.

"Now, Curly," said the detective, "tell me what this all means. I don't understand it at all."

"Let me talk," interrupted Phil. "It's this way, Carter: When you escaped from the barroom through the little door into the boss' sanctum, you had no sooner gone than Grinnel switched on the lights again, and your absence was discovered. Then it was that the whole bunch lit on to Curly and Chick here, with both feet, downed them, trussed them up, and when Chick was taken to the cellar below, to feed the rats, if he had been left there long enough, Curly was fired along with him. I tell you, right now, Carter, it's all up with Curly in this place. He never can make himself good with this bunch again as long as he lives, and it's up to him to light out now, for good and all, unless he wants to turn up his toes and go to the morgue."

The detective turned to Curly again, and once more struck a match so that they could all see the faces of one another.

"Is that straight, Curly?" he asked.

"That's about the size of it, Mr. Carter."

"Then," said Nick, "am I to understand that the occurrences of this evening have released me from my promise to you to make no arrests in this place, or any arrest of any one who is now in this place within twenty-four hours?"

"Yes, sir, the promise is all off. You can do as you've a mind to. It would suit me to a T if you would gather in the whole push."

"Thank you, Curly," said Nick. "That statement of yours lets me out of a peck of trouble, for having given the promise, of course I would not break it, and I could not quite see how we could carry this thing through to a finish without."

He was silent for a moment after that, and then he asked:

"Can I rely upon you, Curly, to stand by me through what is to come?"

"To the last ditch, Mr. Carter," was the emphatic response.

"And you, Phil – what about you?"

"Well," was the slow reply, for the man was evidently considering his words with very great care, "I guess my usefulness in this place is just about over. When the boss finds out that Curly and Chick have both gotten out of the dungeon below, he will know mighty well who it was that let them out, and that will mean yours truly for the dead wagon in about fifteen minutes; so I think, Carter, that I'd better tie up to you while I've got the chance. I am not a crook myself, and never have been one, although I have consorted with them, and been companions with them for a good many years."

"And will you see the thing through to the finish, Phil?" asked Nick again.

"I will do just as Curly said he would do. I'll stand by you to the last ditch."

"Are you all ready to obey my orders, exactly as I shall give them?" asked Nick again, slowly.

"We are," came the unanimous response.

"In this case," said the detective, "I am going to make a desperate effort to find out what a bold stroke will do, and here is my plan: We will go back together to that door before which I was standing a moment ago, which, I conclude, from its character, is rather a flimsy – "

"It is that," said Phil.

"And after we get there we will stand silently for a moment, each one of you preparing for the signal which I shall give. When I say, 'Now,' I will throw myself against the door, and burst it open, and as I do so, and leap into the room, you three are to follow me, one after the other, as quickly as possible.

"You, Phil, will make directly for the electric switch, and you will see to it, no matter what happens, that the room is not plunged in darkness.

"You, Curly – by the way, have you any weapons about you?"

"I have got two guns in my pocket, all right."

"Very well; you, Curly, the moment you get into the room, will draw your two guns, and level them at the crowd.

"After that all you have to do is to follow the lead of Chick and myself, and protect yourselves until the fight is over – if there is a fight."

"I reckon I can do that, too, Mr. Carter," said Curly.

"I haven't a doubt of it, Curly. I want you to remember not to shoot too quick, and under no circumstances to shoot to kill, unless it is absolutely necessary; as a matter of fact, I don't expect that we will have much trouble, for when they see us in the room, fully armed, and hear the first words that I shall utter, I think we will have no difficulty in carrying our point."

There was nothing more said then, and Nick turned away, and led them quickly back again to the door, near which he had heard the conversation between Black Madge and Mike Grinnel.

For a moment they stood there, waiting to get their breath, and to prepare their muscles and sinews and nerves for the ordeal to which they were about to be put; and then from the detective came a low and emphatic – "Now!"

The instant that the detective shouted out this word, he plunged forward, throwing his shoulder heavily against the flimsy door, already mentioned, so that it was burst from its lock and from its hinges at the same time, and was sent flying halfway across the room.

But even before the clatter which followed the crash had subsided, Nick Carter, with a pistol in either hand, had leaped across the threshold, and with one more bound arrived at the spot directly beside Mike Grinnel.

Turning the weapon about while he approached, he brought the butt of it down, with a resounding whack, upon Grinnel's skull, sending him tumbling to the floor, and then he straightened up, with both arms extended, and the muzzles of his pistols wavering from form to form of the astonished throng in the room, and he cried out:

"Hands up, every one of you. I am here after just one person. The rest of you I don't want, unless somebody interferes with me, and if you do interfere there are enough outside of this house, without doubt, to take you all in."

When he leaped across the threshold, the others followed him, as he had directed, and, having already cautioned Chick in a whisper to look out for Madge, and feeling sure that the others would do their respective duties, as he had directed, Nick had no fear whatever of the result.

A collection of criminals assembled as these were are always glad to hear that there is only one among them who is "wanted," for each one seems instinctively to know that he is not "it." And Nick Carter knew the criminal class so well that he was certain that this announcement would prevent any immediate attack upon him by the twenty or thirty men who were gathered there.

Having heard this statement, and having, also, taken due notice of his suggestion that there were plenty of reënforcements outside the building, although it will be remembered that the detective had not explained how far outside they were, and remembering that a considerable time had elapsed since Nick Carter left that room before, they were one and all willing to wait a moment before beginning what might be an unnecessary attack, which would be sure to send many of them to prison before it was over. And so they waited, casting furtive glances at one another, many of them with their hands upon their weapons, and all of them ready to fight, if need be, but quite as ready to avoid a fight, if it were policy to do so.

"Now, listen to me," said Nick Carter. "I came here to-night to get Black Madge, and I know by the sounds I have heard behind me since I entered the room just now that she has got a pair of bracelets on her that she doesn't like to wear. I am going to take her away with me, and she is going to be sent back to the prison from which she escaped, and if there is anybody in this crowd that interferes with me, or offers to do so, it will be very much the worse for that person.

"On the other hand, if I am not interfered with, we shall go away quietly with Madge, and what the rest of you may do after that does not concern me. You have my word for it, and you all know that when Nick Carter gives his word, he keeps it. Now, answer me, somebody, and let him speak for all. Does what I say go?"

A voice from the far end of the room replied instantly:

"I say it goes, for one."

"Then answer, all of you," said the detective.

"It goes. You bet it goes."

In their eagerness to answer his request, they came near to all shouting at once.

"Thank you," said Nick, smiling. "Now, I have one more word to say, and then we will take our departure. There are eight men here whose names I will call, and I want them each to take this as a warning from me. They are Scar-faced Johnny; a man called Slippery Al; Surly Bob, whose career I know; Gentleman Jim, who, for the good of his health, ought to take a vacation on the other side of the ocean; Joe Cuthbert; Eugene Maxwell; Fly Cummings; and, last, but not least, is the man who is known as The Parson, and that same Parson had better get himself out of New York as quickly as possible.

"I am speaking now to those eight whose names I have mentioned. I know that you have all joined in with an organization created by Black Madge. I know, or think I know, the purpose of that organization. I will give all of you twenty-four hours to get out of the city of New York, and if any one of you is found inside of the limits of the city after that time, look out for squalls."

There was a low murmur around the room following upon this speech by the detective, but whether in protest or approbation, the detective did not concern himself to discover.

With calm deliberation, he turned his back upon them all, and motioned to Chick, who had Madge securely handcuffed to his own wrist, to precede him through the door.