CHAPTER XXII.
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG.
"It--it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenlyexclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there,tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's,out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they wastwo-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents,so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'dfeel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold theirkid's clothes an' things till they paid--which they couldn't!"
"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this suddenburst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already bequite familiar--details all sordid and commonplace, through which heseemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedyof poverty and ignorance and sin.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where wecan talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheaprestaurant, across the street.
"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I--I wouldn't ask, if I fell onthe sidewalk! Fifty cents--yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' toget enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'--"
"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He took her by thearm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingyhash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, prettymuch everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table.
"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just takea little bread and coffee, to keep you company."
The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarelyhad Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched herwith satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as heasked:
"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What'syour grief?"
The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then sheexclaimed suddenly:
"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?"
Gabriel shook his head.
"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have thestory."
"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously."Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nornothin'--but--"
"All right. Go on."
"That was last winter. When the kid happened--Ed, you know--Bill, he gotsore, an' beat it. Then I--I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin'else to do, Mister, so help me, an'--"
"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?"
"And after that, I gets sick. _You_ know. Almost right away. So I hasto go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the samehouse. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, theboy's dead. _An_' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' Ican't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knowswhere, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to getdown there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse _me_ if I'll gotill I pay that devil an' get them clothes!"
A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of themother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation.Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across thetable, touched her hand and asked:
"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down toScottsville?"
"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes.
He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and rolldown her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if theworld and all its treasures had been his.
"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, _will_ I? You bet I will! Thatis, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?"
He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address SocialistHeadquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V intoher trembling hand.
"Come on," said he. "_That's_ all settled!"
He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stoodtogether, undecided, on the sidewalk.
"Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly."There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P."
"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's afterten."
"Oh, _that_ don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshopover here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open tillmidnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth."
"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business,and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along."
Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. Theytraversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down anarrower, darker one.
"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "Allright," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at thecorner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching hisevery move.
The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed.
"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on thelanding: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precedehim.
In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened anotherdoor. The room, inside, was dark.
"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The lightmust ha' gone out here, some way or other."
Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once hadcome upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible forceseemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" someghostly voice seemed calling in his ear.
But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, hismind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pityhe so keenly felt.
And now he heard her voice again:
"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?"
Striking a match, he advanced into the room.
"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner.
Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in someunaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn,softly.
"What--what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about,somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a--?"
The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed.
"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this?This is a bed-room!"
Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him.
"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron--they've landed me, at last!" hechoked. "But--but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!"
The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, herained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at allhazards!
Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries thatseemed to rip the very atmosphere.
Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.]
At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the doorjerked open.
In its aperture, three men stood--the two who had been so long trailingGabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched.
Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without aword. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indianhunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? _They_ knewthe truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in theircruel, eager eyes.
The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon,pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hystericalsobs.
Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered.
"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'mon. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man throughthis door gets his head broken--and that goes, too!"
With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised hisnight-stic
k and hurled himself at Gabriel.
Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear.Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed theflimsy thing to wreckage and went down.
Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the twodetectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with anuppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard onGabriel's jaw.
He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bedcreaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind ofblows, the second detective flailed at him, striving to beat down hisguard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt.
"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a momenthe brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew--though final defeatwas inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive--he could sweep aclear space.
Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs,and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible,he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must!
Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck thepoliceman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screamsmade the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow.
Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went,he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vileconspirators.
And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samsonagainst the Philistines, he did great execution.
Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For,even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a lossbefore such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose,a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavynight-stick in her hand.
A moment she poised it, crouching as he--seeing her not--swung hisweapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front.
Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck.
Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gabriel. Everythingwhirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded inhis ears.
Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; andall grew still and black.
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