by Leroy Scott
CHAPTER XI
A misting rain was being swirled about by a temperish wind as Larrycame out into the little street. Down toward the river the one gaslightglowed faintly like an expiring nebula; all the little shops wereclosed; home lights gleamed behind the curtained windows which the stormhad closed; so that the street was now a little canyon of uncertainshadows.
Larry had not needed to think to know that Gavegan would be making hisvindictive approach from the westerly regions where lay Headquarters.So, keeping in the deeper shadows close to the building, Larry took theeastern course of the street, remembering in a flash a skiff he had seentethered to a scow moored to the pier which stretched like a pointerfinger from the little Square. As yet he had no plan beyond thenecessity of the present moment, which was flight. Could he but makethat skiff unseen and cast off, he would have time, in the briefsanctuary which the black river would afford him, to formulate thewisest procedure his predicament permitted him.
As he came near that smothered glow-worm of a street-lamp it assumed forhim the betraying glare of a huge spot-light. But it had to be passed togain the skiff; and with collar turned up and hat-brim pulled down andhead hunched low, he entered the dim sphere of betrayal, walked underits penny's-worth of flame, and glided toward the shadows beyond, hiseyes straining with the preternatural keenness of the hunted at everystoop and doorway before him.
He was just passing out of the sphere of mist-light--the lamp being nowat his back helped him--when he saw three vague figures lurking half adozen paces ahead of him. His brain registered these vague figures withthe instantaneity of a snapshot camera at full noon. They were mereshadows; but the farther of the three seemed to be Barney Palmer--hewas not sure; but of the identity of the other two there was no doubt:"Little Mick" and "Lefty Ed," both members high in the councils ofthe Ginger Bucks, and either of whose services as a killer could bepurchased for a hundred dollars or a paper of cocaine, depending uponwhich at the moment there was felt the greater need.
In the very instant that he saw, Larry doubled about and ran at fullspeed back up the street. Two shots rang out; Larry could nottell whether they were fired by Little Mick or Lefty Ed or BarneyPalmer--that is, if the third man really were Barney. Again two shotswere fired, then came the sound of pursuing feet. Luckily not one of thebullets had touched Larry; for the New York professional gunman isthe premier bad shot of all the world, and cannot count upon hismarksmanship, unless he can get his weapon solidly anchored against hisman, or can sneak around to the rear and pot his unsuspecting victim inthe back.
As Larry neared the pawnshop with the intention of making his escapethrough the western stretch of the street, he saw that Old Isaac hasswitched on the lights; and he also saw Officer Gavegan bearing down inhis direction. They sighted each other in the same instant, and Gaveganlet out a roar and started for him.
Caught between two opposing forces, Larry again had no time to plan.Rather, there was nothing he could plan, for only one way was opento him. He dashed into the pawnshop and into the back room. At theDuchess's desk Hunt was scribbling at furious speed.
"I'm caught, Hunt--Gavegan's coming," he gasped, and ran up the stairs,Hunt following and stuffing his scribblings into a pocket. As Larrypassed the open studio door he saw Casey sitting up. "Down on the floorwith you, Casey! Hunt, work over him to bring him to--and stall Gaveganfor a while if you can."
With that Larry sprang to a ladder at the end of the little hall, ranup it, unhooked and pushed up the trap, scrambled through upon the roof,and pushed the trap back into place.
Fortune, or rather the well-wishing wits of friends below, gave Larry afew precious moments more than he had counted on. He was barely outon the rain-greased tin roof, with the trap down, when Gavegan camethumping up the stairs and into the studio. At sight of the recumbentCasey, head limply on Hunt's knees, and his loose face being laved by awet towel in Hunt's hands, Gavegan let out another roar:
"Hell's bells! What the hell's this mean?"
"I tried to nab Brainard," Casey mumbled feebly, "and he knocked me outcold--the same as he did you, Gavegan."
"Hell!" snorted Gavegan, his wrath increased by this reference. "Youthere"--to Hunt and the Duchess--"where'd Brainard go? He's in thishouse some place!"
"I don't know," said Hunt.
"Yes, you do! Leave that boob side-kick of mine sleep it off, and helpme find Brainard or you'll feel my boot!"
The big painter stood up facing the big detective and his left handgripped the latter's wrist and his right closed upon the detective'sthroat just as it had closed upon the lean throat of Old Jimmie on theday of Larry's return--only now there was nothing playful in the nooseof that big hand. He shook Gavegan as he might have shaken a pillow,with a thumb thrusting painfully in beneath Gavegan's ear.
"I've done nothing, and that bully stuff doesn't go with me!" hefairly spat into Gavegan's face. "You talk to me like a gentleman andapologize, or I'll throw you out of the window and let your head bounceoff one of its brother cobblestones below!"
Gavegan choked out an apology, whereat Hunt flung him from him. Thedetective, glowering at the other, pulled aside curtains, peered intocorners; then made furious and fruitless search of the rooms below,bringing up at last at Maggie's door, which the Duchess had slippedahead of him and locked. When he demanded the key, the Duchess told himof Maggie's departure and her carrying the key with her. It was asolid door, with strong lock and hinges; and two minutes of Gavegan'sbattering shoulders were required to make it yield entrance. Not till hefound the room empty did Gavegan think of the trap and the roof.
Larry made good use of these few extra minutes granted him. Whateverhe was to do he realized he must do it quickly. Not for long would theforces arrayed against him be small in number; Gavegan, though beaten atthe outset, would send out an alarm that would arouse the police of thecity--and in their own degree the gangsters would do the same. Duringhis weeks of freedom Larry had unconsciously studied the layout of theneighborhood, his old instincts at work. The subconscious knowledge thusgained was of instant value. He hurried along the slippery roofs, takingcare not to trip over the dividing walls, and came to the rear edge ofa roof where he had marked a fire-escape with an unusually broad upperlanding. He could discern the faint outlines of this; and hanging to thegutter he dropped to the fire-escape, and a moment later he was downin the back yard; and yet two moments later he was over two fences andgoing through a rabbit's burrow of a passageway that went beneath ahouse into the street behind his own.
He did not pause to reconnoiter. Time was of the essence of his safety,risks had to be taken. He plunged out of his hole--around the firstcorner--around the next--and thus wove in and out, working westward,till at last, on turning a corner into a lighted street, he saw possiblerelief in two stray taxicabs before a little East Side restaurant, oneof which was just leaving.
"Taxi!" he called breathlessly.
The chauffeur of the moving car swung back beside the curb and openedthe door. But even as he started to enter he saw Little Mick and LeftyEd turn into the street behind him. However, the brightness of thisstreet ill-accorded with the anonymity with which their art is mostsafely and profitably practiced, so Larry got in without a bulletflicking at him.
"Forty-Second Street and Broadway," he called to the chauffeur as heclosed the door.
The car started off. Looking back through the little window he saw LeftyEd enter the other taxicab, and saw Little Mick standing on the curb.He understood. Little Mick was to send out the alarm, while Lefty was tofollow the trail.
Let Lefty follow. At least Larry now had a few minutes to consider someplan which should look beyond the safety of the immediate moment. Hewas well-dressed, albeit somewhat wet and soiled; he had money in hispockets. What should he do?
Yes, what should he do? The more he considered it the more ineluctabledid his situation become. By now Gavegan had sent out his alarm; withina few moments every policeman on duty would have instructions to watchfor him. He might es
cape for the time, at least, these allies of hisone-time pals by going to a hotel and taking a room there; but to walkinto a hotel would be to walk into arrest. On the other hand, he mightevade the police if he sought refuge in one of his old haunts, orperhaps with old Bronson; but then his angered pals knew of thesehaunts, and to enter one of them would be to offer himself freely totheir vengeance.
There were other cities--but then how was he to get to them? He sawManhattan for what it was to a man who was a fugitive from justice andinjustice: an island, a trap, with only a few outlets and inlets forits millions: two railway stations--a few ferries--a few bridges--a fewtunnels: and at every one of them policemen watching for him. He couldnot leave New York. And yet how in God's name was he to stay here?
He thought of Maggie. So she wanted the life of dazzling, excitement, ofbrilliant adventure, did she? He wondered how she would like a little ofthe real thing--such as this?
As he neared Forty-Second Street he still was without definite planwhich would guarantee him safety, and there was Lefty hanging ondoggedly. An idea came which would at least extend his respite and givehim more time for thought. He opened the door of his cab and thrust aten-dollar note into the instinctively ready hand of his driver.
"Keep the change--and give me a swing once around Central Park, slowingdown on those hilly turns on the west side."
"I gotcha."
The car entered the park at the Plaza and sped up the shining, almostempty drive. Larry kept watch, now on the trailing Lefty, now on thebest chance for execution of his idea--all the way up the east side andaround the turn at the north end. As the car, now south-bound, swung upthe hill near One Hundred and Fifth Street, at whose crest there isa sharp curve with thick-growing, overhanging trees, Larry opened theright door and said:
"Show me a little speed, driver, as soon as you pass this curve!"
"I gotcha," replied the chauffeur.
The slowing car hugged the inside of the sharp turn, Larry holding thedoor open and waiting his moment. The instant the taxi made the curveLefty's car was cut from view; and that instant Larry sprang from therunning-board, slamming the door behind him, landed on soft earth andscuttled in among the trees. Crouching in the shadows he saw his carspeed away as per his orders, and the moment after he saw Lefty's car,evidently taken by surprise by this obvious attempt at escape, leapforward in hot pursuit.
Larry slipped farther in among the trees and sat down, his back againsta tree. This was better. For the time he was safe.
He drew a long breath. Then for a moment what he had just been throughthis last hour came back to him in an almost amusing light: as somethinggrotesquely impossible--much like those helter-skelter, utterly unrealchases which, with slight variations of personalities and costumes, werethe chief plots for the motion-picture drama in its crude childhood. Butthough there seemed a likeness, there was a tremendous difference. Forthis was real! Every one was in earnest!
Again he thought of Maggie. What would she think, what would be herattitude, if she knew the truth about him?--the truth about those shehad gone with and the life she had gone into? Would she be inclinedtoward HIM, would she help him?...
Again he thought of what he should do. Now that he commanded a composurewhich had not been his during the stress of his flight, he examinedevery aspect with greater care. But the conclusions of composure werethe same as those of excitement. He could not gain entrance to oneof the great hotels and remain in his room, unidentified among itsthousands of strangers; he could not find asylum in one of his oldhaunts; he dared not try to leave Manhattan. He was a prisoner, whoseonly privilege was a larger but most uncertain liberty.
And that liberty was becoming penetratingly uncomfortable. An hour hadpassed, the ground on which he sat was wet and cold, and the misty airwas assuming a distressing kinship with departed winter and was makingshivering assaults upon his bones. At the best, he realized, he couldnot hope to remain secure in this cultivated wilderness beyond daylight.With the coming of morning he would certainly be the prey of either hispals or the police. And if they did not beat him from his hiding, plainmortal hunger would drive him out into the open streets. If he was todo anything at all, he must do it while he still had the moderateprotection of the night.
And then for the first time there came to him remembrance of Hunt'srapid injunction, given him in the hurly-burly of escape when nothoughts could impress the upper surface of his mind save those of theimmediate moment. "If you're trapped, call Plaza nine-double-o-one andsay 'Benvenuto Cellini.'"
Larry had no idea what that swift instruction might be about. And thechance seemed a slender, fantastical one, even if he could safely get toa public telephone. But it seemed his only chance.
He arose, and, keeping as much as he could to the wilder regions of thepark, and making the utmost use of shadows when he had to cross apath or a drive, he stole southward. He remembered a drug-store atEighty-Fourth Street and Columbus Avenue, peculiarly suited to hispurpose, for it had a side entrance on Eighty-Fourth Street and was in aneighborhood where policemen were infrequent.
Fortune favored him. At length he reached Eighty-Fourth Street andpeered over the wall. Central Park West was practically empty ofautomobiles, for the theaters had not yet discharged their crowds and nopoliceman was in sight. He vaulted the wall; a minute later he was ina booth in the drug-store, had dropped his nickel in the slot, and wasasking for Plaza nine-double-o-one.
"Hello, sir!" responded the very correct voice of a man.
"Benvenuto Cellini," said Larry.
"Hold the wire, sir," said the voice.
Larry held the wire, wondering. After a moment the same correct voiceasked where Larry was speaking from. Larry gave the exact information.
"Stay right in the booth, and keep on talking; say anything you like;the wire here will be kept open," continued the voice. "We'll not keepyou waiting long, sir."
The voice ceased. Larry began to chat about topics of the day, aboutinvented friends and engagements, well knowing that his stream of talkwas not being heard unless Central was "listening in"; and knowing alsothat, to any one looking into the glass door of his booth, he was givinga most unsuspicious appearance of a busy man. And while he talked, hiswonder grew. What was about to happen? What was this Benvenuto Cellinibusiness all about?
He had been talking for fifteen minutes or more when the glass door ofthe booth was opened from without and a man's voice remarked:
"When you are through, sir, we will be going."
The voice was the same he had heard over the wire. Larry hung up andfollowed the man out the side door, noting only that he had a lean,respectful face. At the curb stood a limousine, the door of which wasopened by the man for Larry. Larry stepped in.
"Are you followed, sir?" inquired the man.
"I don't know."
"We'd better make certain. If you are, we'll lose them, sir. We'll stopsomewhere and change our license plates again."
Instead of getting into the unlighted body with him, as Larry hadexpected, the man closed the door, mounted to the seat beside thechauffeur, and the car shot west and turned up Riverside Drive.
One may break the speed laws in New York if one has the speed, and ifone has the ability to get away with it. This car had both. Never beforehad Larry driven so rapidly within New York City limits; he knewthis, that any trailing taxicab would be lost behind. AtTwo-Hundred-and-Forty-Fifth Street the car swung into Van Cortland Park,and switched off all lights. Two minutes later they halted in a darkstretch of one of the by-roads of the Park.
"We'll be stopping only a minute, sir, to put on our right numberplates," the man opened the door to explain.
Within the minute they were away again, now proceeding moreleisurely, in the easy manner of a private car going about its privatebusiness--though the interior of the car was discreetly dark andLarry huddled discreetly into a corner. Thus they drove over the GrandBoulevards and recrossed the Harlem River and presently drew up in frontof a great apartment house in P
ark Avenue.
The man opened the door. "Walk right in, sir, as though you belong here.The doorman and the elevatorman are prepared."
They might be prepared, but Larry certainly was not; and he shot up theelevator to the top floor with mounting bewilderment. The man unlockedthe door of an apartment, ushered Larry in, took his wet hat, thenushered the dazed Larry through the corner of a dim-lit drawing-room andthrough another door.
"You are to wait here, sir," said the man, and quietly withdrew.
Larry looked about him. He took in but a few details, but he knew enoughabout the better fittings of life to realize that he was in the presenceof both money and the best of taste. He noted the log fire in the broadfireplace, comfortable chairs, the imported rugs on the gleaming floor,the shelves of books which climbed to the ceiling, a quaint writing-deskin one corner which seemed to belong to another country and anothercentury, but which was perfectly at home in this room.
On the desk he saw standing a leather-framed photograph which seemedfamiliar. He crossed and picked it up. Indeed it was familiar! It wasa photograph of Hunt: of Hunt, not in the shabby, shapeless garmentshe wore down at the Duchess's, but Hunt accoutered as might be a manaccustomed to such a room as this--though in this picture there was thesame strong chin, the same belligerent good-natured eyes.
Now how and where did that impecunious, rough-neck painter fit into--
But the dazed question Larry was asking was interrupted by a voice fromthe door--the thick voice of a man:
"Who the hell 'r' you?"
Larry whirled about. In the doorway stood a tall, bellicose younggentleman of perhaps twenty-four or five, in evening dress, flushed offace, holding unsteadily to the door-jamb.
"I beg your pardon," said Larry.
"'N' what the hell you doin' here?" continued the belligerent younggentleman.
"I'd be obliged to you if you could tell me," said Larry.
"Tryin' to stall, 'r' you," declared the young gentleman with a scowlingprofundity. "No go. Got to come out your corner 'n' fight. 'N' I'm goin'lick you."
The young man crossed unsteadily to Larry and took a fighting pose.
"Put 'em up!" he ordered.
This was certainly a night of strange adventure, thought Larry. His wildescape--his coming to this unknown place--and now this befuddled youngfellow intent upon battle with him.
"Let's fight to-morrow," Larry suggested soothingly.
"Put 'em up!" ordered the other. "If you don't know what you're doin'here, I'll show you what you're doin' here!"
But he was not to show Larry, for while he was uttering his last words,trying to steady himself in a crouch for the delivery of a blow, a voicesounded sharply from the doorway--a woman's voice:
"Dick!"
The young man slowly turned. But Larry had seen her first. He had nochance to take her in, that first moment, beyond noting that she wasslender and young and exquisitely gowned, for she swept straight acrossto them.
"Dick, you're drunk again!" she exclaimed.
"Wrong, sis," he corrected in an injured tone. "It's same drunk."
"Dick, you go to bed!"
"Now, sis--"
"You go to bed!"
The young man wavered before her commanding gaze. "Jus's you say--jus'syou say," he mumbled, and went unsteadily toward the door.
The young woman watched him out, and then turned her troubled face backto Larry. "I'm sorry Dick behaved to you as he did."
And then before Larry could make answer, her clouded look was gone. "Soyou're here at last, Mr. Brainard." She held her hand out, smilinga smile that by some magic seemed to envelop him within an immediatefriendship.
"I'm Miss Sherwood." He noted that the slender, tapering hand had almosta man's strength of grip. "You needn't tell me anything about yourself,"she added, "for I already know a lot--all I need to know: about you--andabout Maggie Carlisle. You see an hour ago a messenger brought me a longletter he'd written about you." And she nodded to the photograph Larrywas still holding.
"You--you know him?" Larry stammered.
She answered with a whimsical smile: "Yes. Isn't he a grand, foolishold dear? He's such a roistering, bragging personage that I've named himBenvenuto Cellini--though he's neither liar nor thief. He must have toldyou what I called him."
So that explained this password of "Benvenuto Cellini"! "No, he didn'texplain anything. There was no time."
"I don't know where he is," she continued; "please don't tell me. Idon't want to know until he wants me to know."
Larry had been making a swift appraisal of her. She was perhaps thirty,fair, with golden-brown hair held in place by a large comb of wroughtgold, with violet-blue eyes, wearing a low-cut gown of violet chiffonvelvet and dull gold shoes. Larry's instinct told him that here was apatrician, a thoroughbred: with poise, with a knowledge of the world,with whimsical humor, with a kindly understanding of people, with steelin her, and with a smiling readiness for almost any situation.
"I think no one will find you--at least for the present," her pleasantlymodulated voice continued. "There are so many things I want to talkover with you. Perhaps I can help about Maggie. I hope you don't mindmy talking about her." Larry could not imagine any one taking offenseat anything this brilliant apparition might possibly say. "But we'll putoff our talk until to-morrow. It's late, and you're wet and cold, andbesides, my aunt is having one of her bad spells and thinks she needsme. Judkins will see to you. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Larry.
She moved gracefully out--almost floated, Larry would have said. Thenext moment the man was with him who had been his escort here, and ledLarry into a spacious bedroom with bath attached. Ten minutes laterJudkins made his exit, carrying Larry's outer clothes; and anotherten minutes later, after a hot bath, and garbed in silk pajamas whichJudkins had produced, Larry was in the softest and freshest bed that hadever held him.
But sleep did not come to Larry for a long time. He lay wondering aboutthis golden-haired, poiseful Miss Sherwood. She was undoubtedly thewoman in the back of Hunt's life. And he wondered about Hunt--who hereally was--what had really driven him into this strange exile. And hewondered about Maggie--what she might be doing--what from this strangenew vantage-point he might do for her and with her. And he wondered howhis own complex situation was going to work itself out.
And still wondering, Larry at length fell asleep.