Phantom Wires: A Novel

by Arthur Stringer

  CHAPTER XIII

  "THE FOLLY OF GRANDEUR"

  There flashed through Frances Durkin's mind, in the momentary silencethat fell over that strange company, the consciousness that thetriangle was completed; that there, in one room, through afortuitousness that seemed to her more factitious than actual, stoodthe three contending and opposing forces. The thought came and wentlike a flash, for it was not a time for meditation, but for hurried anddesperate action. The sense of something vast and ominous seemed tohang over the darkness, where, for a second or two, the silence ofabsolute surprise reigned.

  The last-comer, too, seemed to feel this sense of something impending,for a moment later his voice rang out, clear and unhesitating, with atouch of challenge in it.

  "Miss Allen, are you here? And is anything wrong?"

  "Stand where you are!" the voice of the woman answered, through thedarkness, firm and clear. "Yes. I am here. But there is anotherperson in this room. He is a man who means harm, I believe, to both ofus!"

  "Ah!" said the voice near the door.

  The woman was speaking again, her voice high and nervous, from thecontinued suspense of that darkness and silence combined, a dualmystery from which any bolt might strike.

  "Above all things," she warned him, "you must watch that door!"

  Her straining ears heard a quiet click-click; she had learned of oldthe meaning of that pregnant sound. It was the trigger of a revolverbeing cocked.

  "All right--I'm ready," said the man at the door, grimly. Then helaughed, perhaps a little uneasily. "But why are we all in darknessthis way?"

  "The wires have been cut--that is a part of his plan!"

  Keenan took a step into the room and addressed the black emptinessbefore him.

  "Will the gentleman speak up and explain?"

  No answer came out of the darkness. Frank knew, by this time, thatKeenan would make no move to desert her.

  "Have you a lamp, or a light of any kind, Miss Allen?" was the nextcurt, businesslike question.

  "Oh, be careful, sir!" she warned him, now in blind and unreasoningterror.

  "Have you a light?" repeated Keenan authoritatively.

  "I have only an alcohol lamp; it gives scarcely any light--it is forboiling a teapot!"

  "Then light it, please!"

  "Oh, I dare not!" she cried, for now she was possessed of theunreasoning fear that one step in any direction would bring her incontact with death itself.

  "Light it, please!" commanded Keenan. "Nothing will happen. I have inmy hand here, where I stand, a thirty-eight calibre revolver, loadedand cocked. If there is one movement from the gentleman you speak of,I will empty it into him!"

  Both Keenan and Frank started, and peered through the blackness. For acareless and half-derisive, half-contemptuous laugh sounded through theroom. Pobloff, obviously, had never moved from where he stood.

  Frank slowly groped to the wall of her room, and felt with blind andexploring hands until she came to her bureau. Then sounded the clinkof nickel as the lamp was withdrawn from its case and the dry rattle ofGerman safety-matches. Then the listeners heard the quick scrape andflash of the match against the side of the little paper box, and thepuff of the wavering blue flame as the match-end came in contact withthe alcohol.

  After all, it was good to have a light! Incongruously it flashedthrough her mind, as wayward thoughts and ideas would at such moments,how relieved primitive man amid his primitive night must have been atthe blessed gift of the first fire.

  The wavering blue flame widened and heightened. In a moment the inkyroom was pallidly suffused with its trembling half-light. Outside,through the night, sounded muffled street noises, and the boom and hissand spurt of fireworks.

  The two peering faces turned slowly, until their range of vision hadswept the entire room. Then they paused, for motionless against thewest wall, between the closet door and the corner, stood Pobloff. Hisarms were folded, and he was laughing a little.

  Frank drew nearer Keenan, instinctively, wondering what the nextmovement would be.

  It was Pobloff's voice that first broke the silence.

  "This woman lies," he said, in his suavely scoffing baritone. "Thiswoman----"

  "Why don't you say something--why don't you do something!" cried Frank,hysterically, turning to Keenan.

  "Ring the bell!" commanded Keenan.

  "It's useless--the wires are cut," she panted. She could see that,above and beyond all his craftiness, his latent Irish fighting-bloodwas aroused.

  "Then, by God, I'll put him out myself. If there's any fight betweenhim and me "--he turned on Pobloff--"we won't drag a woman into it!"

  The tall, gaunt Russian against the wall was no longer laughing.

  "Pardon me," he said, advancing a step. "This woman has in herpossession a packet of papers--of personal and private papers, whichconcern neither you nor her!"

  "But what if it _does_ concern me?" demanded Keenan.

  "The gentleman is talking nonsense," said Pobloff, unperturbed. Yet heleaned forward and studied him more closely, through the half-light,studied him as the deliberating terrier might study the captured ratthat had dared to bite back at him. "This woman, I repeat, has certainpapers about her!"

  "And what of that?" cried Keenan blindly. Frank saw, to her joy, thathe was misled.

  "Simply this: that if the lady I speak of hands those papers to me,here, the matter is closed, for all time!"

  "And if she doesn't?"

  "Then she will do so later!"

  A grunt of sheer rage broke from Keenan's lips. But he checked it,suddenly, and wheeled on the woman.

  "Give him the package," he ordered. She hesitated, for at the momentthe thought of Keenan's trust had passed from her mind.

  "Do as I say," he repeated curtly.

  Frank, remembering, drew the yellow manila envelope from her bosom, andwith out-stretched arm handed it to Pobloff.

  The Russian took it in silence. Then with a few quick strides headvanced to the alcohol lamp. As he did so both Keenan and Franknoticed for the first time the blunt little gun-metal revolver he heldin his right hand.

  "Again you will pardon me," said Pobloff, with his ever-scoffingcourtliness. "A mere glance will be necessary, to make sure that weare not--mistaken!"

  He tore open the envelope with one long forefinger, and stooped to drawforth the contents.

  It was then that Keenan sprang at him. Frank at the moment, wasmarveling at the unbroken continuity of evidence linking her with heruncomprehending opponent.

  The sudden leap and cry of Keenan sent a tingle of apprehension up anddown her body. She asked herself, vaguely, if all the rest of her lifewas to be made up of this brawling and fighting in unlighted chambersof horror; if, now that they were in the more turgid currents for whichthey had longed, there were to come no moments of peace amid all theirtumult and struggling.

  Then she drew in her breath with a little gasp, for she saw Pobloff,with a quick writhe of his thin body, free his imprisoned right arm,and strike with the metal butt of his revolver.

  He struck twice, three times, and the sound of the metal on theunprotected head was sickening to the listening woman. She staggeredto the closet door as the man fell to the floor, stunned.

  "Jim! Oh, Jim, quick!--he's killing him!--I tell you he's killing him!"

  Durkin said "'Ssssh!" under his breath, and waited.

  For in the dim half-light they could see that the Russian had rippedopen Keenan's coat and vest, and from a double-buttoned pocket on theinside of the inner garment was drawing out a yellow manila envelope,the fellow to that which had already been thrust into his hands. Itwas then that Durkin sprang forward.

  Pobloff saw him advance. He had only time to reverse his hold on thelittle gun-metal revolver and fire two shots.

  The first shot went wide, tearing deep into the plastered wall. Thesecond cut through the flap of his assailant's coat-pocket, just overthe left hip, scattering little flecks of
woollen cloth about. Butthere was no time for a third shot.

  It seemed brutal to Frank, but she allowed herself time for neitherthought nor scruples. All she remembered was that it wasnecessary--though once again she asked herself if all her life, fromthat day on, was to be made up of brawling and fighting.

  For Durkin had brought down on the half-turned head the up-poisedbedroom chair with all his force. Pobloff, with a little inarticulatecry that was almost a grunt, buckled and pitched forward.

  "That settles _you_!" the stooping man said, heartlessly, as he watchedhim relax and half roll on his side.

  Frank watched him, too, but with no sense of triumph or success, withno emotion but slowly awakening disgust, against which she found ituseless to struggle. She watched him with a sense of detachment andaloofness, as if looking down on him from a great height, while he toreupon the manila envelope and gave vent to a little cry of satisfaction.They at last possessed the Penfield securities. Then she went over andreplenished the waning flame in the alcohol lamp.

  "We've got to get away from here now," said Durkin quickly. "And thesooner the better!"

  She looked about her, a little helplessly. Then she glanced at Keenan."See, he's coming to!"

  "Are you ready?" Durkin demanded sharply.

  "Yes," she answered, in her dead and resigned voice, as she took up herhat and coat. "But where are we going?"

  "I'll tell you on the way down. Only you must get what you want, andhurry!"

  "But is it safe now?" she demurred, "and for _you_?"

  He thought for a moment, with his hand on the doorknob. Then he turnedback.

  "You'd better keep this, then, until I find what we have to face,outside here!"

  He passed into her hand the manila envelope, and stepped out into thehall.

  A moment later she had secreted the packet, along with Pobloff'srevolver, which she picked up from the floor. Then she ran to thedoor, and locked it. She would fight like a hornet, now, she inwardlyvowed, for what she held.

  Then she caught her breath, behind the locked door, for the sounds thatcrept in from the hallway told her that her fear had not beengroundless.

  She heard Durkin's little choked cry of pain and surprise, for he hadbeen seized, she knew, and pinned back against the door. It wasPobloff's men, she told herself. They had him by the throat, she knewby the sound of the guttural oaths which they were trying to chokeback. She could hear the kick and scrape of feet, the movement of hiswrithing and twisting body against the door, as on a sounding-board.She surmised that they had his arms held, otherwise he would surelyhave used his revolver. She was conscious of a sort of wild joy at thethought that he could not, for they were going through him, from thequieted sounds, pocket by pocket, and she knew he would have shot themif he could.

  "There's nothing here!" said a voice in French. Frank, listening soclose to them, could hear the three men breathe and pant.

  "Then the woman has it!" answered the other voice, likewise in French.

  "Shut up! She'll get on!" And Frank could hear them tear and haul atDurkin as they dragged him down the hall--just where, she could notdistinguish.

  She ran over to Keenan and shook him roughly. He looked at her alittle stupidly, but did not seem able to respond to her entreaties.

  "Quick!" she whispered, "or it will be too late!"

  She flung her pitcher of water in his face and over his head, andpoured brandy from her little leather-covered pocket-flask down histhroat.

  That seemed to revive him, for he sat up on the carpeted floor,mumblingly, and glowered at her. Then he remembered; and as she bathedhis bruised head with a wet towel he caught at her hand foolishly.

  "Have we lost them?" he asked huskily, childishly.

  "No, they are here! See, intact, and safe. But you must take themback. Neither of us can go through that hall with them!"

  "Why not?"

  "We're watched--we're prisoners here!"

  "Then what'll we do?" he asked weakly, for he was not yet himself.

  "You must take them, and get out of this room. There is only one way!"

  "What is it?"

  "You see this rope. It's meant for a fire-escape. You must letyourself down by it. You'll find yourself in a court, filled withempty barrels. That leads into a bake-shop--you can see the ovenlights and smell the bread. Give the man ten _lira_, and he's sure tolet you pass. Can you do it? Do you understand?"

  "Yes," he said, still a little bewildered. "But where will I meet you?"

  She pondered a moment.

  "In Trieste, a week from tomorrow. But can you manage the rope?"

  He laughed a little. "I ought to! I've been through a poolroom raidor two, over home!"

  "In Trieste then, a week from morrow!"

  She handed him her brandy-flask.

  "You may need it," she explained. He was on his feet by this time,struggling to pull himself together.

  "But you can't face that alone," he remonstrated, with a thumb-jerktoward the hall. "I won't see you touched by those damned rats!"

  "'Ssssh!" she warned him. "They can't do anything to me now, exceptsearch me for those papers!"

  "But even that!"

  "I'll wait until I see you're safely down, then I'll run for thestairs. They've shut off all the lights outside, in this wing, but ifthey in any way attempt to ill-treat me, before I get to the maincorridor, I'll scream for help!"

  "But even to search you"--began Keenan again.

  "Yes, I know!" she answered evenly. "It's not pleasant. But I'll faceit"--she turned her eyes full upon him--"for you!"

  They listened for a moment together at the opened window. The redlights were still burning here and there about the city in the streetsbelow, and the carnival-like cries and noises still filled the air.

  And she watched him anxiously as he and his packet of documents wentdown the dangling hemp rope, reached the stone paving of the littlecourt, and disappeared in the square of light framed by the bake-shopwindow.

  Then she turned back into the room, startled by a weak and waveringgroan from Pobloff. She went to him, and tried to lift him up on thebed, but he was too heavy for her overtaxed strength. She wondered, asshe slipped a pillow under his head, why she should be afraid of him inthat comatose and helpless state--why even his white and passive facelooked so vindictive and sinister in the dim light of the room.

  But as he moved a little she started back, and caught up what thingsshe could fling into her Gladstone bag, and put out the light, andgroped her way across the room once more.

  Then she flung open the door and stepped out into the hall, with afeeling that her heart was in her mouth, choking her.

  She ceased running as she came to the bend in the hall, for she heardthe sound of voices, and the light grew stronger. She would havedodged back, but it was too late.

  Then she saw that it was Durkin, beside three jabbering andgesticulating Guardie di Pubblica Sicurezza.

  "Oh, there you are!" said his equable and tranquil voice, as he removedhis hat.

  She did not speak, accepting silence as safer.

  "I brought these gentlemen, for someone told me there was a drunkenEnglishman in the halls, annoying you, and I was afraid we might missour train!"

  She looked at the _gendarmes_ and then on to the excited servants attheir heels, in bewilderment. She was to escape, then, in safety!

  "Explain to these gentlemen just what it was," she heard the warninglysuave voice of her husband saying to her, "while I hurry down and orderthe carriage!"

  She was nervous and excited and incoherent, yet as they followed at herside down the broad marble staircase she made them understand dimlythat their protection was now unnecessary. No, she had not beeninsulted; not directly. But she had been affronted. It wasnothing--only the shock of seeing a drunken quarrel; it had alarmed andupset her. She paused, caught at the balustrade, then wavered alittle; and three solicitous arms in dark cloth and metal buttons werethrus
t out to support her. She thanked them, in her soft contralto,gratefully. The drive through the open air, she assured them, wouldrestore her completely.

  But all the while she was thinking how needlessly and blindly andfoolishly she had surrendered and lost a fortune. Her path of escapehad been an open one.

  * * * * * *

  "Won't they find out, and everything be known, before we can get to thestation?" she asked, as the fresh night air fanned her throbbing faceand brow.

  "Of course they will!" said Durkin. "But we're not going to thestation. We're going to the waterfront, and from there out to oursteamer!"

  "For where?" she asked.

  "I scarcely know--but anywhere away from Genoa!"