XVIII. THE OLD SHED
Rhoda Gray opened her eyes, and, from the cot upon which she lay, staredwith drowsy curiosity around the garret--and in another instant wassitting bolt upright, alert and tense, as the full flood of memory sweptupon her.
There was still a meager light creeping in through the small, grimywindow panes, but it was the light of waning day. She must have slept,then, all through the morning and the afternoon, slept the dead, heavysleep of exhaustion from the moment she had flung herself down here afew hours before daybreak.
She rose impulsively to her feet. It was strange that she had not beendisturbed, that no one had come to the garret! The recollection of theevents of the night before were crowding themselves upon her now. Inview of last night, in view of her failure to keep that appointment inthe role of Danglar's wife, it was very strange indeed that she had beenleft undisturbed!
Subconsciously she was aware that she was hungry, that it was long sinceshe had eaten, and, almost mechanically, she prepared herself somethingnow from the store the garret possessed; but, even as she ate, her mindwas far from thoughts of food. From the first night she had come hereand self-preservation had thrust this miserable role of Gypsy Nan uponher, from that first night and from the following night when, to savethe Sparrow, she had been whirled into the vortex of the gang's criminalactivities, her mind raced on through the sequence of events that seemedto have spanned some vast, immeasurable space of time until they hadbrought her to--last night.
Last night! She had thought it was the end last night, but instead--Thedark eyes grew suddenly hard and intent. Yes, she had counted upon lastnight, when, with the necessary proof in her possession with which toconfront Danglar with the crime of murder, she could wring from the manall that now remained necessary to substantiate her own story and clearherself in the eyes of the law of that robbery at Skarbolov's antiquestore of which she was held guilty--and instead she had barely escapedwith her life. That was the story of last night.
Her eyes grew harder. Well, the way was still open, wasn't it? Lastnight had changed nothing in that respect. To-night, as the White Moll,she had only to find and corner Danglar as she had planned to do lastnight. She had still only to get the man alone somewhere.
Rhoda Gray's hands clenched tightly. That was all that wasnecessary--just the substantiation of her own story that the plot to robSkarbolov lay at the door of Danglar and his gang; or, rather, perhaps,that the plot was in existence before she had ever heard of Skarbolov.It would prove her own statement of what the dying woman had said. Itwould exonerate her from guilt; it would prove that, rather than havingany intention of committing crime, she had taken the only means withinher power of preventing one. The real Gypsy Nan, Danglar's wife, whohad died that night, bad, even in eleventh-hour penitence, refused toimplicate her criminal associates. There was a crime projected which,unless she, Rhoda Gray, would agree to forestall it in person and wouldgive her oath not to warn the police about it and so put the actualcriminals in jeopardy, would go on to its fulfillment!
She remembered that night in the hospital. The scene came vividly beforeher now. The woman's pleading, the woman's grim loyalty even in death toher pals. She, Rhoda Gray, had given her oath.
It became necessary only to substantiate those facts. Danglar could bemade to do it. She had now in her possession the evidence that wouldconvict him of complicity in the murder of Deemer, and for whichmurder the original Gypsy Nan had gone into hiding; she even had in herpossession the missing jewels that had prompted that murder; she had,too, the evidence now to bring the entire gang to justice for theirmyriad depredations; she knew where their secret hoard of ill-gottengains was hidden--here in this attic, behind that ingeniously contrivedtrap-door in the ceiling. She knew all this; and this information placedbefore the police, providing only it was backed by the proof that thescheme to rob Skarbolov was to be carried out by the gang, as she, RhodaGray, would say the dying woman had informed her, would be more thanenough to clear her. She had not had this proof on that first night whenshe had snatched at the mantle of Gypsy Nan as the sole means of escapefrom Rough Rorke, of headquarters; she did not have it now--but shewould have it, stake all and everything in life she had to have it, forit, in itself, literally meant everything and all--and Danglar wouldmake a written confession, or else--or else--She smiled mirthlessly.That was all! Last night she had failed. To-night she would not fail.Before morning came, if it were humanly within her power, she andDanglar would have played out their game--to the end.
And now a pucker came and gathered her forehead into little furrows, andanxiety and perplexity crept into her eyes. Another thought tormentedher. In the exposure that was to come the Adventurer, alias the Pug, wasinvolved. Was there any way to save the man to whom she owed so much,the splendidly chivalrous, high-couraged gentleman she loved, the thiefshe abhorred?
She pushed the remains of her frugal meal away from her, stood upabruptly from the rickety washstand at which she had been seated, andcommenced to pace nervously up and down the stark, bare garret. Wherewas the line of demarcation between right and wrong? Was it a grievoussin, or an infinitely human thing to do, to warn the man she loved, andgive him a chance to escape the net she meant to furnish the police? Hewas a thief, even a member of the gang--though he used the gang as hispuppets. Did ethics count when one who had stood again and again betweenher and peril was himself in danger now? Would it be a righteous thing,or an act of despicable ingratitude, to trap him with the rest?
She laughed out shortly. Warn him! Of course, she would warn him! Butthen--what? She shivered a little, and her face grew drawn and tired.It was the old, old story of the pitcher and the well. It was almostinevitable that sooner or later, for some crime or another, the man sheloved would be caught at last, and would spend the greater portion ofhis days behind prison bars. That was what the love that had come intoher life held as its promise to her! It was terrible enough without heragency being the means of placing him there!
She did not want to think about it. She forced her mind into otherchannels, though they were scarcely less disquieting. Why was it thatduring the day just past there had been not a sign from Danglar or anyone of the gang, when every plan of theirs had gone awry last night, andshe had failed to keep her appointment in the role of Danglar's wife?Why was it? What did it mean? Surely Danglar would never allow what hadhappened to pass unchallenged, and--was that some one now?
She halted suddenly by the door to listen, her hand going instinctivelyto the wide, voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt for her revolver.Yes, there was a footstep in the hall below, but it was descendingnow to the ground floor, not coming up. She even heard the street doorclose, but still she hung there in a strained, tense way, and into herface there came creeping a gray dismay. Her pocket was empty.
The revolver was gone! Its loss, pregnant with a hundred ominouspossibilities, seemed to bring a panic fear upon her, holding her for amoment inert--and then she rushed frantically to the cot. Perhaps it hadfallen out of her pocket during the hours she had lain there asleep.She searched the folds of the soiled and crumpled blanket, that was thecot's sole covering, then snatched the blanket completely off the cotand shook it; and then, down on her knees, she searched the floor underthe cot. There was no sign of the revolver.
Rhoda Gray stood up, and stared in a stunned way about her. Was this,then, the explanation of her having seemingly been left undisturbedhere all through the day? Had some one, after all, been here, and--? Sheshook her head suddenly with a quick, emphatic gesture of dissent.The door was still locked, she could see the key on the inside; and,besides, as a theory, it wasn't logical. They wouldn't have taken herrevolver and left her placidly asleep!
The loss of the revolver was a vital matter. It was her one safeguard;the one means by which she could first gain and afterwards hold thewhip-hand over Danglar in the interview she proposed to have with him;the one means of escape, the last resort, if she herself were corneredand fell into his power. It had sustained
her more than once, thatresolution to turn it against herself if she were in extremity. It meanteverything to her, that weapon, and it was gone now; but the panic thathad seized upon her was gone too, and she could think rationally andcollectively again.
Last night, or rather this morning, when she had made her way back tothe shed out there in the lane behind the garret, she had been in astate of almost utter exhaustion. She had changed from the clothes ofthe White Moll to those of Gypsy Nan, but she must have done so almostmechanically for she had no concrete recollection of it. It was quitelikely then, even more than probable, that she had left the revolver inthe pocket of her other clothes; for she had certainly had, not only herrevolver, but her flashlight and her skeleton keys with her when she hadvisited old Luertz's place last night, and later on too, when she hadjumped into that automobile in front of the Silver Sphinx, she had hadher revolver, for she had used it to force the chauffeur out of thecar--and she had no one of those articles now.
Of course! That was it! She stepped impulsively to the door, and,opening it, made her way quickly down the stairs to the street. Therevolver was undoubtedly in the pocket of her other skirt, and she felta surge of relief sweep upon her; but a sense of relief was far fromenough. She would not feel safe until the weapon was again in herpossession, and intuitively she felt that she had no time to lose insecuring it. She had already been left too long alone not to make abreak in that unaccountable isolation they had accorded her as somethingto be expected at any moment. She hurried now down the street to thelane that intervened between Gypsy Nan's house and the next corner,glanced quickly about her, and, seeing no one in her immediate vicinity,slipped into the lane. She gained the deserted shed some fifty yardsalong the lane, entered through the broken door that hung, half open, onsagging hinges, and, dropping on her knees, reached in under the decayedand rotting flooring. She pushed aside impatiently the package ofjewels, at whose magnificence she had gazed awe-struck and bewilderedthe night before, and drew out the bundle that comprised her ownclothing. Her hand sought the pocket eagerly. Yes, it was here--at leastthe flashlight was, and so were the skeleton keys. That was what hadhappened! She had been near utter collapse last night, and she hadforgotten, and--Rhoda Gray, unconscious even that she still held theclothing in her hands, rose mechanically to her feet. There was a suddenweariness in her eyes as she stared unseeingly about her. Yes, theflashlight and the keys were here--but the revolver was not! Her brainharked back in lightning flashes over the events of the preceding night.She must have lost it somewhere, then. Where? She had had it in theautomobile, that she knew positively; but after that she did notremember, unless--yes, it must have been that! When she had jumped fromthe car and flung herself down at the roadside! It must have fallen outof her pocket then.
Her heart seemed to stand still. Suppose they had found it! They wouldcertainly recognize it as belonging to Gypsy Nan! They were not fools.The deduction would be obvious--the identity of the White Moll wouldbe solved. Was that why no one had apparently come near her? Were theyplaying at cat-and-mouse, watching her before they struck, so that shewould lead them to those jewels under the flooring here that were wortha king's ransom? They certainly believed that the White Moll had them.The Adventurer's note, so ironically true, that he had intended as analibi for himself, and which he had exchanged for the package in oldLuertz's place, would have left no doubt in their minds but that thestones were in her possession. Was that it? Were they--She held herbreath. It seemed as though suddenly her limbs were refusing to supporther weight. In the soft earth outside she had heard no step, but she sawnow a shadow fall athwart the half-open door-way. There was no time tomove, even had she been capable of action. It seemed as though evenher soul had turned to stone, and, with the White Moll's clothes in herhands, she stood there staring at the doorway, and something that wasgreater than fear, because it mingled horror, ugly and forbidding,fell upon her. It was still just light enough to see. The shadow movedforward and came inside. She wanted to scream, to rush madly in retreatto the farthest corner of the shed; but she could not move. It wasDanglar who was standing there. He seemed to sway a little on his feet,and the dark, sinister face seemed blotched, and he seemed to smile asthough possessed of some unholy and perverted sense of humor.
She was helpless, at his mercy, unarmed, saved for her wits. Her wits!Were wits any longer of avail? She could believe nothing else now exceptthat he had been watching her--before he struck.
"What are you doing here, and what are those clothes you've got in yourhands?" he rasped out.
She could only fence for time in the meager hope that some loopholewould present itself. She forced an assumed defiance into her tones andmanner, that was in keeping with the sort of armed truce, which, fromher first meeting with Danglar, she had inaugurated as a barrier betweenthem.
"You have asked me two questions," she said tartly. "Which one do youwant me to answer first?"
"Look here," he snapped, "you cut that out! There's one or two thingsneed explaining--see? What are those clothes?"
Her wits! Perhaps he did not know as much as she was afraid he did! Sheseemed to have become abnormally contained, her mind abnormally acuteand active. It was not likely that the woman, his wife, whom he believedshe was, had worn her own clothes in his presence since the day, sometwo years ago, when she had adopted the disguise of Gypsy Nan; and she,Rhoda Gray, remembered that on the night Gypsy Nan, re-assuming her truepersonality, had gone to the hospital, the woman's clothes, like theseshe held now, had been of dark material. It was not likely that a manwould be able to differentiate between those clothes and the clothes ofthe White Moll, especially as the latter hung folded in her hands now,and even though he had seen them on her at the Silver Sphinx last night.
"What clothes do you suppose they are but my own?--though I haven't hada chance to wear them much lately!" she countered crisply.
He scowled at her speculatively.
"What are you doing with them out here in this hole, then?" he demanded.
"I had to wear them last night, hadn't I?" she retorted. "I'd havelooked well coming out of Gypsy Nan's garret dressed as myself ifany one had seen me!" She scowled at him in turn. She was beginning tobelieve that he had not even an inkling of her identity. Her safest playwas to stake everything on that belief. "Say, what's the matter withyou?" she inquired disdainfully. "I came out here and changed lastnight; and I changed into these rags I'm wearing now when I got backagain; and I left my own clothes here because I was expecting to getword that I could put them on again soon for keeps--though I might haveknown from past experience that something would queer the fine promisesyou made at Matty's last night! And the reason I'm out here now isbecause I left some things in the pocket, amongst them"--she stared athim mockingly--"my marriage certificate."
Danglar's face blackened.
"Curse you!" he burst out angrily. "When you get your tantrums on,you've got a tongue, haven't you! You'd have been wearing your clothesnow, if you'd have done as you were told. You're the one that queeredthings last night." His voice was rising; he was rocking even moreunsteadily upon his feet. "Why in hell weren't you at the SilverSphinx?"
Rhoda Gray squinted at him through Gypsy Nan's spectacles. She knewan hysterical impulse to laugh outright in the sure consciousness ofsupremacy over him now. The man had been drinking. He was by no meansdrunk; but, on the other hand, he was by no means sober--and she wascertain now that, though she did not know how he had found her here inthe shed, not the slightest suspicion of her had entered his mind.
"I was at the Silver Sphinx," she announced coolly.
"You lie!" he said hoarsely. "You weren't! I told you to be there ateleven, and you weren't. You lie! What are you lying to me for--eh? I'llfind out, you--you--"
Rhoda Gray dashed the clothes down on the floor at her feet, and facedthe man as though suddenly overcome in turn herself with passion,shaking both closed fists at him.
"Don't you talk to me like that, Pierre Danglar!" she shrilled. "I li
e,do I? Well, I'll prove to you I don't! You said you were going to havesupper with Cloran at about eleven o'clock, and perhaps I was a fewminutes after that, but maybe you think it's easy to get all this GypsyNan stuff off me face and all, and rig up in my own clothes that Ihaven't seen for so long it's a wonder they hold together at all. I lie,do I? Well, just as I got to the Silver Sphinx, I saw a woman breakingher neck to get down the steps with you after her. She jumped into theautomobile it was doped out I was to take, and you jumped into the otherone, and both beat it down the street. I thought you'd gone crazy. I wasafraid that Cloran would come out and recognize me, so I turned and ran,too. The safest thing I could do was to get back into the Gypsy Nangame again, and that's what I did. And I've been lying low ever since,waiting to get word from some of you, and not a soul came near me.You're a nice lot, you are! And now you come sneaking here and call me aliar! How'd you get to this shed, anyway?"
Danglar pushed his hand in a heavy, confused way across his eyes.
"My God!" he said heavily. "So that's it, is it?" His voice becamesuddenly conciliating in its tones. "Look here, Bertha, old girl, don'tget sore. I didn't understand, see? And there was a whole lot thatlooked queer. We even lost the jewels at old Luertz's last night. Do youknow who that woman was? It was the White Moll! She led us a chase allover Long Island, and--"
"The White Moll!" ejaculated Rhoda Gray. And then her laugh, short andjeering, rang out. The tables were turned. She had him on the defensivenow. "You needn't tell me I She got away again, of course! Why don't youhire a detective to help you? You make me weary! So, it was the WhiteMoll, was it? Well, I'm listening--only I'd like to know first how yougot here to this shed."
"There's nothing in that!" he answered impatiently. "There's somethingmore important to talk about. I was coming over to the garret, and justas I reached the corner I saw you go into the lane. I followed you;that's all there is to that."
"Oh!" she sniffed. She stared at him for a moment. There was somethingin which there was the uttermost of irony now, it seemed, in thismeeting between them. Last night she had striven to meet him alone, andshe had meant to devote to-night to the same purpose; and she was herewith him now, and in a place than which, in her wildest hopes, shecould have imagined one no better suited to the reckoning she would havedemanded and forced. And she was helpless, powerless to make use of it.She was unarmed. Her revolver was gone. Without that to protect her, atan intimation that she was the White Moll she would never leave the shedalive. The spot would be quite as ideal under those circumstancesfor him, as it would have been under other circumstances for her. Sheshrugged her shoulders. Danglar's continued silence evidently invitedfurther comment on her part. "Oh!" she sniffed again. "And I suppose,then, that you have been chasing the White Moll ever since last night ateleven, and that's why you didn't get around sooner to allay my fears,even though you knew I must be half mad with anxiety at the way thingsbroke last night. She'll have us down and out for keeps if you haven'tgot brains enough to beat her. How much longer is this thing going on?"
Danglar's little black eyes narrowed. She caught a sudden glint oftriumph in them. It was Danglar now who laughed.
"Not much longer!" His voice was arrogant with malicious satisfaction."The luck had to turn, hadn't it? Well, it's turned! I've got the WhiteMoll at last!"
She felt the color leave her face. It seemed as though something hadclosed with an icy clutch upon her heart. She had heard aright, hadn'tshe?--that he had said he had got the White Moll at last. And there wasno mistaking the mans s sinister delight in making that announcement.Had she been premature, terribly premature, in assuring herself that heridentity was still safe as far as he was concerned? Did it mean that,after all, he had been playing at cat-and-mouse with her, as she had atfirst feared?
"You--you've got the White Moll?" She forced the words from her lips,striving to keep her voice steady and in control, and to infuse into itan ironical incredulity.
"Sure!" he said complacently. "The showdown comes to-night. In anotherhour or so we'll have her where we want her, and--"
"Oh!" She laughed almost hysterically in relief. "I thought so! Youhaven't got her yet. You're only going to get her--in another hour orso! You make me tired! It's always in 'another hour or so' with you--andit never comes off!"
Danglar scowled at her under the taunt.
"It'll come off this time!" he snarled in savage menace. "You hold thattongue of yours! Yes, it'll come off! And when it does"--a sweep of furysent the red into his working face--"I'll keep the promise I made heronce--that she'd wish she had never been born! D'ye hear, Bertha?"
"I hear," she said indifferently. "But would you mind telling me how youare going to do it? I might believe you then--perhaps!"
"Damn you, Bertha!" he exploded. "Sometimes I'd like to wring thatpretty neck of yours; and sometimes!"--he moved suddenly toward her--"Iwould sell my soul for you, and--"
She retreated from him coolly.
"Never mind about that! This isn't a love scene!" she purredcaustically. "And as for the other, save it for the White Moll. Whatmakes you think you've got her at last?"
"I don't think--I know." He stood gnawing at his lips, eying heruncertainly, half angrily, half hungrily. And then he shrugged hisshoulders. "Listen!" he said. "I've got some one else, too! And I knownow where the leak that's queered every one of our games and put theWhite Moll wise to every one of our plans beforehand has come from. Iguess you'll believe me now, won't you? We've got that dude pal ofhers fastened up tighter than the night he fastened me with his cursedhandcuffs! Do you know who that same dude pal is?" He laughed in anugly, immoderate way. "You don't, of course, so I'll tell you. It's thePug!" Rhoda Gray did not answer. It was growing dark here in the shednow--perhaps that was why the man's form blended suddenly into thedoorway and wall, and blurred before her. She tried to think, but thereseemed to have fallen upon her a numbed and agonized stupefaction. Therewas no confusing this issue. Danglar had found out that the Adventurerwas the Pug. And it meant--oh, what did it mean? They would kill him. Ofcourse, they would kill him! The Adventurer, discovered, would be saferat the mercy of a pack of starved pumas, and...
"I thought that would hold you!" said Danglar with brutal serenity."That's why I didn't get around till now. I didn't get back from thatchase until daylight--the she-fiend stole our car--and then I went tobed to get a little sleep. About three o'clock this afternoon PinkieBonn woke me up. He was half batty with excitement. He said he was overin the tenement in the Pug's room. The Pug wasn't in, and Pinkie waswaiting for him, and then all of a sudden he heard a woman screaminglike mad from somewhere. He went to the door and looked out, and sawa man dash out of a room across the hall, and burst in the door of thenext room. There was a woman in there with her clothes on fire. She'dupset a coal-oil stove, or something. The man Pinkie had seen beats thefire out, and everybody in the tenement begins to collect around thedoor. And then Pinkie goes pop-eyed. The man's face was the face of theWhite Moll's dude pal--but he had on the Pug's clothes. Pinkie's a wiseguy. He slips away to me without getting himself in the limelight orspilling any beans. And I didn't ask him if he'd been punching theneedle again overtime, either. It fitted like a glove with what happenedat old Luertz's last night. You don't know about that. Pinkie and thisdouble-crossing snitch went there--and only found a note from the WhiteMoll. He'd tipped her off before, of course, and the note made a nicelittle play so's he'd be safe himself with us. Well, that's about all.We had to get him--where we wanted him--and we got him. We waited untilhe showed up again as the Pug, and then we put over a frame-up deal onhim that got him to go over to that old iron plant in Harlem, you know,behind Jake Malley's saloon, where we had it fixed to hand Cloran hislast night--and the Pug's there now. He's nicely gagged, and tied, andquite safe. The plant's been shut down for the last two months, andthere's only the watchman there, and he's 'squared.' We gave the Pug twohours of solitary confinement to think it over and come across. We justasked him for the White Moll's address
, so's we could get her and thesparklers she swiped at Old Luertz's place last night."
Still Rhoda Gray did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be held inthrall by both terror and a sickening dismay. It did not seem real,her surroundings here, this man, and the voice that was gloatinglypronouncing the death sentence upon the man who had come unbidden intoher life, and into her heart, the man she loved. Yes, she understood!Danglar's words had been plain enough. The Adventurer had beentrapped--not through Danglar's cunning, or lack of cunning on theAdventurer's own part, but through force of circumstances that hadcaused him to fling all thought of self-consideration to the winds inan effort to save another's life. Her hands, hidden in the folds of herskirt, clenched until they hurt. And it was another self, it seemed,subconsciously enacting the role of Gypsy Nan, alias Danglar's wife, whospoke at last.
"You are a fool! You are all fools!" she cried tempestuously. "What doyou expect to gain by that? Do you imagine you can make the Pug comeacross with any information by a threat to kill him if he doesn't? Youtried that once. You had him cold, or at least you thought you had, andso did he, that night in old Nicky Viner's room, and he laughed at youeven when he expected you to fire the next second. He's not likely tohave changed any since then, is he?"
"No," said Danglar, with a vicious chuckle; "and that's why I'm nottrying the same game twice. That's why we've got him over in the oldiron plant now."
There was something she did not like in Danglar's voice, something ofominous assurance, something that startled her.
"What do you mean?" she demanded sharply.
"It's a lonely place," said Danglar complacently. "There's no one aroundbut the watchman, and he's an old friend of Shluker's; and it's so roomyover there that no one could expect him to be everywhere at once. See?That let's him out. He's been well greased, and he won't know anything.Don't you worry, old girl! That's what I came here for--to tell you thateverything is all right, after all. The Pug will talk. Maybe he wouldn'tif he just had his choice between that and the quick, painless end thata bullet would bring; but there are some things that a man can't stand.Get me? We'll try a few of those on the Pug, and, believe me, beforewe're through, there won't be any secrets wrapped up in his bosom."
Rhoda Gray stood motionless. Thank God it had grown dark--dark enough tohide the whiteness that she knew had crept over her face, and the horrorthat had crept into her eyes. "You mean"--her voice was very low--"youmean you're going to torture him into talking?"
"Sure!" said Danglar. "What do you think!"
"And after that?"
"We bump him off, of course," said Danglar callously. "He knows allabout us, don't he? And I guess we'll square up on what's coming to him!He's put the crimp into us for the last time!" Danglar's voice pitchedsuddenly hoarse in fury. "That's a hell of a question to ask! What doyou think we'd do with a yellow cur that's double-crossed us like that?"
Plead for the Adventurer's life? It was useless; it was worse thanuseless--it would only arouse suspicion toward herself. From thestandpoint of any one of the gang, the Adventurer's life was forfeit.Her mind was swift, cruelly swift, in its workings now. There came theprompting to disclose her own identity to tell Danglar that he need notgo to the Adventurer to discover the whereabouts of the White Moll, thatshe was here now before him; there came the prompting to offer herselfin lieu of the man she loved. But that, too, was useless, and worse thanuseless; they would still do away with the Adventurer because he hadbeen the Pug, and the only chance he now had, as represented by whatevershe might be able to do, would be gone, since she would but havedelivered herself into their hands.
She drew back suddenly. Danglar had stepped toward her. She was unableto avoid him, and his arm encircled her waist. She shivered as thepressure of his arm tightened.
"It's all right, old girl!" he said exuberantly. "You've been throughhell, you have; but it's all right at last. You leave it to me! Yourhusband's got a kiss to make up for every drop of that grease you've hadto put on the prettiest face in New York."
It seemed as though she must scream out. It was hideous. She could notforce herself to endure it another instant even for safety's safe. Shepushed him away. It was unbearable--at any risk, cost what it might.Mind, soul and body recoiled from the embrace.
"Leave me alone!" she panted. "You've been drinking. Leave me alone!"
He drew back, and laughed.
"Not very much," he said. "The celebration hasn't started yet, andyou'll be in on that. I guess your nerves have been getting shakylately, haven't they? Well, you can figure on the swellest rest-cure youever heard of, Bertha. Take it from me! We're going down to keep the Pugcompany presently. You blow around to Matty's about midnight and get theelection returns. We'll finish the job after that by getting Cloranout of the road some way before morning, and that will let you out forkeeps--there won't be any one left to recognize the woman who was withDeemer the night he shuffled out." He backed to the doorway. "Get me?Come over to Matty's and see the rajah's sparklers about midnight. We'llhave 'em then--and the she-fiend, too. So long, Bertha!"
She scarcely heard him; she answered mechanically.
"Good-night," she said.
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