CHAPTER XI--DUE EAST
The greatest of parks has its bright sides, many-faceted as theKohinoor, croquet grounds for the old, benches for the parlorlesstenement young, shaded arbors for the love possessed, pagodas forpicknickers, May poles for the youngsters, roller-skating on the Mall,rowing on the lakes. Just as a jewel catches the light from only onedirection at a time, however, this emerald of the city has also itsshadows.
Already Why-Not Pape had realized this of his adopted range; knew that,despite the scattering of such policemen as could be spared frompavement-beats outside and the greater number of electric lights uponwhose surveillance the City Fathers appeared to place their chiefdependence, serious crimes occasionally occurred in Gotham's great,green heart. Even during his short stay he had noted in the daily newstales and tales of outlawry that would have called out posses inMontana--of women held up afoot or in taxis, of men relieved of theirvaluables at gun-point, of children kidnapped for ransom, of a region ofcaves occupied by bandits, of footloose pickpockets and mashers.
An inclusive thought of the possibilities of the region in the dead darkof a moonless night was what had started him after the bent, blackfigure scuttling into the fast-dropping gloom ahead. She had repulsedhim even more ungratefully than she had the dog--as scornfully as thoughthere were no Metropolitan Grand Opera House at Thirty-ninth Street andBroadway, as though her Parian pallor had not turned the hue of theardor with which, a few nights ago, his lips had pressed her hand. But,whether her denial of him was from whim or necessity, he could notpermit her to cross the park unguarded at that hour.
And surely there was enough else that was strange about this, theirthird encounter, to have overcome the prideful hesitation of the mostill-treated man. Hours back, in mid-afternoon, he had seen her in thewitch-like disguise of an old herb-hunter, trying to locate someparticular spot without arousing the suspicions either of passers-by orof the authorities. Her quest had kept her long past the mostfashionable dinner hour. Doubtless she had waited until dusk beforebeginning the actual digging with her trowel in order to decrease thechances of interfering in what must be a violation of the most sacredpark regulations.
The sagacity of the Belgian dog in bringing his bucket of bones to beburied where the burying was easy suggested that he had met up and madefriends with her before in a like past proceeding. Now that she washeaded in the general direction of her Fifth Avenue home, why didn't shego to one of the nearer exits, hail a taxi or take a street-car around?Granting some reason why she preferred to walk, why not by the foot-pathalong Traverse Road, only a few rods below? That would have brought herout of the park almost opposite the Sturgis home.
But she was not keeping to any of the paths; seemed rather to avoid themas she hurried due east across the meadow known as "The Green."
Casting off speculation as unprofitable for the nonce, Why-Not Pape keptafter her, trailing with care lest she realize that her biped protectorhad more doggedness than the rebuked canine. It wasn't an extremelyromantic way of "Seeing Nellie Home," but certainly had speed andmystery. Perhaps, at that, romance would end the evening, as it did inbooks, plays, pictures!
When about halfway across the park, the girl changed her coursesouthward toward the truck road. Pape, hoping that she meant to take thebeaten track the latter part of her strange retreat, increased his pacein order to cut in ahead of her. Not that he intended to force aninterview upon her in her present mood--he had too much considerationfor himself to invite another command which he must break. He wishedmerely to conceal the bulk of himself in the first convenient shadow,there to wait until she had passed, then again to follow at a distancediscreet, but sufficiently close to enable him to be of service in caseof need.
By running the last hundred yards, he realized this scheme; reached thetraverse first; lowered himself over the stone abutment; dropped to theflagging at the bottom of the cut. The road he knew to be one of fourwhich cross-line Central Park as unostentatiously as possible toaccommodate the heavy vehicular traffic from East Side to West and backagain. Much as he resented every reminder of the fallacy of Polkadot'spet illusion and his own--that this was a bit of home--he appreciatedthat Father Knickerbocker, even for the sake of giving his rich and poorthis vast melting pot, could not have asked "business" to drive aroundan oblong extending from Fifty-ninth to One-hundred-tenth Streets. Itwas something to rejoice over that, while utility was served, theroadways were sunk so deep that the scenic effect of the whole wasscarcely marred.
During his wait close against the shadowed side of the wall, Pape'sthoughts sped along at something the recent pace of his feet. The lookon Jane Lauderdale's face when he had surprised her at her digging justnow was that same look of fear which had haunted him since she hadopened her restored, but emptied heirloom box. The strangeness of herbehavior afterward, the cruelty of her suspicion of him, her denial ofhim to-night--all only emphasized that pitiable, terrorized look.
Had her object then and now the sameness of her look? Was she seekingover the expanse of the park that mysterious, stolen something whichformerly had been contained in a snuff-box? If so, what clew could shehave found that it might be cached beneath the poplars?
Buried treasure! The _motif_ had inspired thrillers since thrills hadbeen commercialized. But treasure buried in Manhattan's heart? Soimprobable was the thought that, except for one thing, he might haveadjudged the eccentric-acting Miss Lauderdale to be mildly mad--the onething being that he knew she was sane.
He did not, therefore, waste time doubting the entire defensibility ofhis self-selected lady. She had good reason for covering her personalityby the garb and gait of a crone before essaying her hunt; for feigningto gather herbs while the daylight lasted; even for refusing torecognize him after that first startled monosyllable which had been theextent of her half of their interview. In bonnet and black she had everychance of being considered inside the law in the Irish, mother-lovingeyes of most of the "sparrow cops," although literally well outside.Dressed as the upper-crust young beauty he first had met three nightsago, she would have attracted--and deservedly--her "gallery" in no time.
Come to consider, her crooked course home was also logically straight.Her disguise would have aroused suspicion in a taxi and made herconspicuous in a streetcar. Since she knew her park, the cross-cut homewas preferable.
As the mystery of Jane and Jane's tactics decreased, however, thecorrelative mysteries increased--of the selective robbery, thelied-about 'phone wires, the park as a cemetery for something literally"lost" and the direction, or mis-direction of the chief mourner'ssearch.
A culminative interrogation point to add to his collection was her nextlead. She entered the Traverse quite as his trailing sense had foretoldat a spot where the wall was easily negotiable. There he waited,assuming that the rest of her route home would be direct and planning,now that he had been assured of her presence in town, that later in theevening he would telephone the most direct and forceful plea of which hewas capable for an immediate interview.
But again she upset his calculations.
Instead of following the asphalted footpath that hemmed the cobbles onone side of the cut, she picked her place and scaled the south wall.Although the section confronting him was higher, Pape lost no time infollowing her example and gained the top to see her dodging past one ofthe scattered lights. Darkness had settled. Appreciating how easily hemight lose her in that unfamiliar section of municipal tumble-land, hedecreased the gap between them.
A veritable butte loomed in her path, but this she took like amountaineer. To Pape she appeared to be executing some sort of anobstacle race with herself. In his self-appointed capacity of rear-guardthere was nothing for him but to follow. Being something of a climberhimself, he reached the top just behind her, despite her advantage of atrail which he had not been able to find. Rounding one of thebowlder-formed crags that gave picturesqueness to the baby mountain, hepulled up short.
Jane was standing some few yards ahead, her bent back toward him, aq
uaint, distinct silhouette in the reflected light from Fifty-ninthStreet. As she did not once glance over-shoulder, she evidentlyconsidered his pursuit thrown off. She may have paused to steady thepulses disturbed by her lively climb; perhaps was enjoying theelectrical display which so fascinated him.
Indeed it was worth a long-time look, that fairyland of The Plaza, asseen through the framing fringe of trees, with its statues and fountainsagleam; the hotel-house of fifty-thousand candles, all lit; the lines ofFifth Avenue's golden globes stretching indefinitely beyond; on allsides, far and near, the banked sky-line of bright-blinking, essentiallyreal palaces of modernity which yet were so much more inconceivable thanMunchausen's wildest dream. And that foreground figure of an old womanon the crag--it might have been posed as a fanciful conception of thePast pausing to realize the Present--straining to peer into the Future.
Into this picture, changing and marring it, intruded a man. Up over thefar side of the abutment and straight toward the girl, as thoughexpected, he came. His appearance was the most distinct shock of theevening to Pape.
"A rendezvous!" he told himself with sinking heart. "She had to get ridof me--she had to hurry--in order to keep a rendezvous."
Her irregular course, her disregard of traveled paths, her assault ofthis rock heap--everything in the adventure except how she came to berooting among the poplars now seemed explained. Mentally he flayedhimself for his stupid assumptions and sense of personal responsibilityfor her safety. He turned to descend the way he had come--no need forher to know what a following fool he had made of himself.
A certain quality of alarm in what he at first had thought her greetingof the man stopped him. Then forward he sprang, like a fragment blastedfrom the rock. He closed the gap between and laid on the collar andelbow of the lounger who had accosted her a violent grip.
"What shall I do with him--drop him over or run him in?"
More calmly than might have been expected, he turned to the little oldlady of his pursuit, the while holding the fellow precariously near whatmight be called, by phantasy of the night-lights, a "precipice."
"You--again?" Whether from dread or relief, Jane shuddered. "Are youeverywhere?"
"Why not?"
His captive ceased squirming to whimper. "Leave me go, officer. I wasn'tmeaning no harm to the old girl. Just thought I could help her down ontaa safer footing. Likely you had a mother onct yourself. For her sake,have a heart."
"He knows I'm not old. He has troubled me before. If you'll hold him amoment to make sure that he doesn't follow, I--I'd be much obliged."
Jane, seeing her opportunity, took it; was off with the agility of aYellowstone doe; gained a trail and disappeared down the side of thebutte.
Pape did more than obey her admonition to hold and make sure. That themeeting was rendezvous rather than coincidence persisted in his fears.Odd, otherwise, that she should come straight to the spot where the manwas waiting, as if for her. Even in her complaint that he had troubledher before she admitted previous meetings. Perhaps his own secondappearance of the evening was forcing both to play parts: had made asudden change of plan seem advisable to her; would irritate the man intoan attempt to deal out punishment for the interference. Would the twomeet afterward at some second-choice point? Pape decided to "look in";by way of a start, dragged his captive under an electric light whichcast a sickly glow over the flattened dome of the butte.
At once he went on guard against the "fightingest" face he ever hadglimpsed, set atop the bull-neck of a figure that approximately matchedhis own in height and weight, if not range iron. The fellow's featureswere assorted for brutishness, nose flattened as from some past smash,lips thick, eyes small, ears cauliflower, hair close-clipped. That awoman of Jane Lauderdale's type should have anything in common with sotypical a "pug" was incogitable.
For a moment, the pale eyes in turn studied him through their narrowed,close-set shutters, evidently "marking" for later identification. Then,in an unexpected, forceful shove the inevitable bout began. Had Pape notalready braced himself against just such a move, he must have toppledoff the rocks. As happened, he let go his hold and swung his body intobalance.
"Hell's ashes, you're no cop!"
The aggressor's exclamation was punctuated by two professionally readyfists. The right one led with a surety that was in itself a warning.Only by an instinctive duck of his head did Pape limit its damage to asting.
A decade or two has passed since Montana, while still carrying"hardware" for hard cases, learned that differences of opinion may besettled by the use of more natural weapons; that punishment may beexacted without calling in the coroner. Even had this metropolitanfistic opening missed in point of impact, Why-Not Pape would haveoffered satisfaction without thought of recourse to the gun nestlingunder his left arm-pit.
Nature had been the Westerner's trainer, a silver-tip grizzly hisone-best boxing instructor. With an awkwardly efficient movement, headvanced upon his more stealthy challenger. His arms carried close thathe might get all possible leverage behind his punches, he waited untilwell within reach, then issued a series of short-arm jabs.
The other, evidently trained to the squared circle, depended upon hisfar-reaching right, which again he landed before his bear-like opponentcould cover. Beyond an involuntary grunt, however, its effect was nil.The Pape jaw seemed of hewn oak. In another breath the bear-cuffs beganto fall, swift, strong, confusing.
The New Yorker tried a run-around, for the butte top had not the ringarea to which apparently he was accustomed in his "leather pushing." Apunishing left, delivered from an impossible angle, cut him off. He hadno choice but to walk up to the medicine bottle whose stopper was out.He feinted, but Pape seemed not to understand what was meant by suchtactics--only hit the harder. He attempted a "one-two"--with his left tojar Pape's head into position for a crushing right--and met a method ofblocking which appeared to be new to him--not so much blocking, in fact,as getting a punch home first. One proved enough; carried the "ice" tothe Gothamite; stretched him for a couple of counts of ten. Thesilver-tip's pupil had won.
Pape did not wait for a second round. He was satisfied that hisknock-out would hold sufficiently long for any of Jane Lauderdale'spurposes or his own. Down in the direction which the girl had taken overthe rocks he scrambled, but could see no sign of her. She had not, then,stayed to witness the fight, although the whole encounter had taken buta moment. Whether or not he had saved her an unpleasant scene, he hadlost her. Was it always to be thus--touch and go? He wouldn't have it.He'd beat her at her own game.
Directly as he could calculate and at his top speed, he set out for theArsenal gate; there took a stand on about the spot from which he hadintercepted Jasper at the somewhat less exciting start of this samechase several evenings ago. Surely she now would make straight for home,whatever may have been her reason for visiting the butte!
His eyes, searching for a poke-bonneted figure in black, soon wererewarded. Through the pedestrian gate near which he stood in deep shadowshe came. Watching her chance with the traffic, she darted across thegreased trail of the avenue and, once on the opposite sidewalk, turnedsouth. Pape continued to pursue along his side of the street, determinedto finish his task of safeguarding her until the front door of heraunt's house should shut her--only briefly, he hoped--from his sight.
But what spirit of perversity was ruling her? Toward the steps of theSturgis brownstone she did not turn; did not give them so much as aglance. Briskly as before she continued down the avenue until at theSixty-third Street corner she again turned east.
Was the house to be gained by some rear entrance from the lowerstreet--one made advisable by the disguise she wore? From its mid-blockposition, this supposition did not seem tenable. Pape decided to take nochances, except with the traffic. Crossing the street with a rush, hegained a point a hundred or so feet behind her, then timed his stepswith hers. Due east they walked, at a good pace, but without unduehurry. She seemed fully reassured. Although she inclined her young faceand bent her you
ng back to the old part, she did not glance back asthough nervous over possible pursuit. The block was lined mostly withhomes--of the near-rich, he judged from the look of them. Of the fewpeople who passed none gave more than a casual glance at the activelyshuffling "old lady."
They crossed what the street sign told Pape was Madison Avenue; passedseveral apartment houses and more residences. Across Park and Lexington,still due east, the tone of the section fell off. From Third Avenueonward it went continually "down." Pape kept one eye on the figure hewas following and the other on his surroundings, figuratively speaking.Both were interesting. This was his first excursion into the far EastSide and he was surprised by the mid-width of Manhattan Isle.
They came to a block lofted with tenements on one side and shadowed byhuge, cylindric gas tanks on the other. Children swarmed the sidewalkthick as ants over a home-hillock and screamed like Indians on rampage.Washings left out for overnight drying were strung from one fire-escapeto another of the scaly brick fronts. As though laving thecross-street's dirty feet, the East River shimmered dimly in the lightsfrom shore and from passing steam craft. Beyond loomed that isle ofpunishment dreams come true--the Blackwell's which politicians wouldrename "Welfare."
Thoughts murky as the water at the foot of the hill came to Peter Pape.Could Jane Lauderdale be seeking the river for surcease from somedisappointment or fear more direful than he had supposed? Why should shebe, with youth, beauty and devotion all her own? And yet, why not?Others as young, fair and fondly desired had been depressed to suchextent. His heart swelled with protective pity for her. His pulses beatfrom more than the speed with which he closed the distance between themto about twenty feet, that he might be ready for emergency.
They had come to a building which broke the tenement line, a relicresidence of by-gone days. With a sudden turn, the little old ladyundertook the steps. So close was Pape that he pulled the Fedora overhis eyes lest she recognize him. But he need not have feared. She didnot look back. Her attention was focused ahead upon some one who sat onthe small Colonial-type stoop--some one who had been waiting for her.
"Home, dear, at last!" Pape overheard the greeting in a deep, richvoice. "I couldn't imagine what was keeping you. I almost riskedstarting out in search of you. Did you----"
He heard no more. But he saw more than he wished. The some one arose, atall, strong, masculine outline against the flickering gas light frominside the hall; clasped an arm about her shoulders; lowered a fine-cutprofile, crowned by a mass of lightish hair, to her kiss. The pairentered the house together and closed the door.
Sans preface, the volunteer escort reached the crux of his conclusions.He had seen his "Nellie" home, yes. And the anticipated romance had comeat evening's end--romance with another man!
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