MRS1 The Under Dogs

by Hulbert Footner

  "After all, he's only a man like yourself."

  "Sure," said Abell, with a boyish swagger. "I'm not afraid of him!"—but it rang hollow.

  The little whispering group in our corner became quieter and quieter. Big Bill frequently wiped his face. Even that human oak tree was nervous. It was clear though, that we could have depended on this one to the death, had we need of him. The glance that he bent on my mistress was slavish in its devotion.

  Black Kate and Sam, who, you may be sure, missed not the slightest change of complexion in our party, grew correspondingly more sure of themselves. Yet Kate was a little worried too, by my mistress's unconcerned air. It was clear from her expression that she suspected Jessie might have a trick up her sleeve.

  He did not come in ten minutes, nor in twenty. Very likely he purposely delayed his coming to heighten the effect.

  Then we lost Pap. Suddenly the poor wretch, with a groan, went staggering over to Kate, spreading his hands out. He could not speak at first. A revolting figure of broken humanity. One turned one's head away from the sight. An animal-like growl of rage broke from Bill and Fingy.

  Sam gave a loud brutal laugh. He could be very brave against poor Pap. "Get back!" he cried. "We don't want you, old general debility!"

  Pap found his voice. "I ain't took no sides," he quavered. "I ain't said a word no way or the other. I don't want no trouble with nobody. I'm neutral."

  "There's no neutrals in the organisation," said Black Kate.

  Pap's voice scaled up. "I ain't said a word! not a word!"

  "You didn't speak when you had the chance," said Kate. "Get back to your friends."

  Pap turned around. All our men, of course, were scowling ferociously. The pitiful old wretch, with a face of despair, staggered towards the door. Fingy made a move in his direction, but Jessie laid a hand on his arm. We heard Pap stumble down the stairs.

  Sam looked at Kate inquiringly.

  "He can't get out," she said coolly. "He don't know the trick of the sliding door."

  A general discussion arose as to what should be done with me. All the men on our side thought that I ought to be kept out of sight at least until the major question was decided. They thought I would confuse the issue. Black Kate affected to believe that there was no place where I could be safely confined, except down cellar. Jessie refused to allow me to be put down cellar. So I stayed where I was. On our side Jessie's word was law.

  The suspense became unendurable. During the last few minutes nobody said a word. We were all concentrated on the business of controlling our shaking nerves. Only my wonderful mistress maintained her air of unconcern. She lighted a cigarette. That simple act administered a jolt to Black Kate's assurance.

  When the front door bell sounded through the house, one could almost have sworn that one heard the beating of the eight hearts in that room. Black Kate was very pale when she went out. Nobody else changed his position. My mistress dropped her cigarette on the floor, and trod out the light.

  Black Kate re-entered the room. Our eyes were fixed on the door in mingled curiosity and terror. There was nobody behind her. There was a pause long enough for our heart-strings to squeeze up in apprehension. Then a masked man entered the room.

  The mask was no more than a narrow black strip across the upper part of his face. A mere stage trick, but most infernally effective. It brought mystery into the room with him. I could hear the strong men in front of me catch their breaths in terror. Little Tim Helder took off his hat; a significant gesture in him. Something went out of the backbones of all those men. Had we been depending on them, we would have been lost. I stole a look at my mistress's face. Outwardly, it expressed a blank, but I could see that she was smiling inside. A woman of iron!

  As for the rest, the man who came in was tall and heavily-built; a middle-aged man one would suppose from his girth, though his black hair was still unstreaked by gray. He wore his hat throughout, and kept turning a thick black cigar between his teeth. The lower part of his face expressed a coarse strength, but the mask dominated all. Apart from that mask, an ordinary gross figure, one of thousands in the streets of New York. But the mask dehumanised him, and rendered him a figure of terror. I was teased by something familiar in his aspect, but my wits were too confused to track it down.

  He instantly spotted me. Two blue sparks shot out at me from the apertures in the mask. "Who is that woman?" he demanded.

  His voice was extraordinary. It was completely divested of all human tone whatsoever. It was like a voice issuing out of a void. Another stage trick, perhaps, but it added enormously to the man's impressiveness. My knees shook under me. Yet I had a sense of having heard that voice before.

  Black Kate answered him. The imperious woman was humble enough before him. "Her name is supposed to be Canada Annie Watkin," she said. "Jessie Seipp used her to-night without my knowledge as a sort of look-out on the Sterry job. As long as she'd been let into the secret, I thought I better bring her down here, and ask instructions."

  He said nothing. He had the impassiveness of a Chinese idol. From one man to another, his glance turned, the blue sparks shooting through the holes in the mask. It was curious, though you could see his eyes were blue, and though the whole of his lower face was exposed, you could not figure to yourself what the man looked like. It is the area immediately surrounding the eyes that gives a face its character.

  Black Kate asked humbly, "What must I do with Canada Annie?"

  "Orders will be given you," said the impassive voice.

  So much for me.

  I saw the gray, decayed figure of Pap hanging about just outside the door. Curiosity was stronger than fear. He had to come back. An outcast from both factions, he awaited the outcome tremblingly.

  The man turned the icy blue points of his eyes on my mistress's face. He met his match there. She adopted a dull, stupid look, and held his gaze unflinchingly. It was a sort of duel. I think he must have been surprised. The secret of his power was that he wasted no words. Any ordinary man would have made some blustering speech such as: "What's the matter here?" or "What do you want, girl?" He merely looked. He let the others talk. They all fidgeted. Black Kate could not keep her mouth shut.

  "That's her!" she burst out. "She's the cause of all the trouble. From the moment she entered the house! Trying to vamp the men and all. Setting them fighting. And now this conspiracy. The Russian jewels have turned her head. Wants to make terms before she hands them over. She thinks she can tell us where to get off, the young fool!"

  Bill Combs interrupted her. "You can't get the truth about a young girl from her, boss! You know her. She hates a woman who's younger and better-looking than herself. Let me tell you about this vamping business. A lot of us men cooped up here in this house, and a fresh and handsome girl coming amongst us; of course it made trouble. That weren't her fault. It was the men made the trouble, not the girl. She's been on the square with all of us. Ask them! Ask them! What's biting Kate is, her man tried to——"

  Here Black Kate began to shriek accusations in the effort to drown him out. Others joined in, and a furious wrangle resulted. It was a weird scene. All that noise, and the two principals, the only two who mattered, facing each other composed and silent. Finally the man held up his hand, and they all fell silent, as if the wind had suddenly been let out of them.

  "I'm not interested," he said in his remote voice. "Only in the work." He addressed Jessie. "Did you carry out your orders to-night?"

  "Yes,"

  "Where's the stuff?"

  One of the men had the tiara. Which one I did not know.

  "Before I hand it over, I got something to say," said Jessie in the heavy, dogged style she had adopted.

  Without changing his voice in the least, he said:

  "I do not discuss terms with you. I issue orders. If the orders are not obeyed..." He concluded with a forcible gesture.

  "Just the same, I'm going to say my say," said Jessie doggedly. "We ask to be treated as human beings, that's all
, and for a fair division of the profits."

  He coolly ignored her. "Where's the stuff?" he repeated, turning to the men.

  Fingy Silo's eyes bolted, betraying him as the possessor of the loot.

  "Hand it over," said the masked man.

  Fingy drew back in a horrid state of indecision.

  "If you give it to him we're done," warned Jessie.

  "Hand it over," repeated the masked man in his quiet, awful voice.

  "What's the matter with you all?" cried Jessie. "Will you let him bluff you? Are you full-grown men, and taken in by a bit of hocus-pocus like this? There are four of you. Tear the mask off his face. You'll only find a man like yourselves behind it. A fat man, too soft to put up a good fight!"

  A slow smile wreathed the lips of the masked man. He stood before them perfectly motionless, the two blue sparks shooting out of the holes in his mask. He gave them plenty of time to act on Jessie's suggestion. But the four cringed before him abjectly.

  "Then I'll show you!" cried Jessie, making a move forward.

  One could hear the gasp of horror that escaped them. Bill Combs flung his arms around Jessie.

  "No, no, my girl!" he muttered aghast. "No, no!"

  "Hand over the stuff!" the masked man said to Fingy. It was evident that he sneered.

  And Fingy, hanging his head, placed the tiara in his hands. It had been returned to its little green baize bag. The masked man looked inside to make sure that the contents were intact, and pulled it shut again, without betraying the least concern.

  "It's no use," Fingy muttered shamefacedly to Jessie. "You can't stand out against him."

  Bill released Jessie. She tapped a fresh cigarette on the back of her hand, while the men looked at her, astonished at her effrontery. She was just as well pleased, of course, not to have the scene prolonged.

  "It's nothing to me," she said, "if you enjoy being hocussed."

  And so the great conspiracy petered out.

  The masked man turned to leave the room without another word. It was extraordinary what a capacity he had for keeping his mouth shut.

  "What am I to do now?" Kate cried helplessly.

  He paused. "Go back to your beds," he said as if faintly surprised. "Nothing is changed. The orders will be issued as usual, and if they are not obeyed, the penalty is the same. If anybody still thinks he can buck the organisation, let him try, that's all."

  "What will I do with the girl?" asked Black Kate.

  He hesitated just for the twinkling of an eye. I suppose it occurred to him what a wonderful servant Jessie would make, if he could but bend her will to his.

  Bill Combs spoke up. "Boss," he said, "I've learned my lesson. And I'm prepared to serve the organisation faithful if you'll let me. Boss, this girl, she didn't mean no harm. She's new here. She didn't know what she was doing. She's learned her lesson now, if you'll overlook it."

  In view of Jessie's open defiance this was rather ridiculous. But one couldn't help but feel for the big fellow, whose devotion blinded him to the truth.

  "Boss, she's one in a thousand for our work," he stumbled on. "And ... and ..." he glanced around. "A-ah! I don't care what you all think—I can't let any harm come to her. And if you're too many for me, if she goes, well, I got to go too."

  My heart warmed towards that great brute of a man, whose heart was so deeply stirred.

  The masked man said in his detached voice: "For the present, the girl is placed in the custody of Bill Combs. She is not to be allowed to leave the house."

  "Thanks, boss, thanks," said Bill humbly. "I will answer for her."

  Observe how cunningly the man evaded his dilemma. If he had pronounced Jessie's doom on the spot, Bill would certainly have run amok. There is not the least doubt but that he would have had Jessie removed from the house next day.

  He left the room in an impressive silence. None of the men dared move. One could see through the meretricious means by which he held them subject. Nevertheless, I for one, was not strong enough to stand out against him. Kate, key in hand, hurried after to let him out. He did not linger in the hall for any whispered consultation with her. That would have destroyed the awful inscrutability with which he surrounded himself. We heard her let him out, close the door after him, and turn the key.

  Waiting for the expected denouément, my heart beat with great slow thumps like a hammer in my breast.

  Black Kate started back for the dining-room. Before she reached the door, we heard a scramble on the front steps of the house, a pounding on the door, and the boss's voice with all the inscrutability gone out of it, just a plain terrified voice: "Open! Open!" But immediately came the unmistakable sounds of his being dragged down the steps.

  Kate, with a gasp, darted into the front room to look out of the window. She instantly came running back to us. Her face was blanched to the colour of ashes. In the dining-room door she stumbled and sank to her knees, clutching her breast, and sobbing horribly for breath. Bad heart.

  "The police..." she gasped. "They've taken him!"

  There was an instant's silence in the room, then utter confusion. Black Kate got to her feet, and leaned against the wall.

  "It was her ... it was her!" she gasped, pointing at my mistress.

  My mistress seized my wrist and backed with me to the fireplace. From the bosom of her dress she whipped out the little gun that Bill had given her. I didn't know then if she had ever had the opportunity to load it. I know now that it was loaded.

  It seemed to me as if they were all milling around the room like trapped rats. The only one I can remember clearly is Bill Combs. Bill turned a face on us black and terrible with rage, and raised his clenched fists above his head.

  "By God, girl, I was on the square with you!" he cried hoarsely. "I was ready to go to my death with you. And this is what I get for it. You're nothing but a spy! You've sold us out! Well, God damn you, I'll kill you before they take me!"

  "Easy, Bill!" said my mistress, keeping her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. "It's true I had him taken, and I want her," pointing to Black Kate. "The rest of you are free. The back way is open. Beat it!"

  It is doubtful if they got it the first time.

  "Beat it!" she cried, raising her voice. "I am still your friend, I promised you that I would set you free to-night. And if in the future you need a friend, come to me. I will help you to a fair start!"

  At this moment we heard a peremptory knocking on the front door. They turned and scuttled down the basement stairs.

  "Sam! don't leave me!" cried Black Kate.

  He turned snarling: "To hell with you, old woman!" and disappeared.

  Still racked with pain, Kate attempted to follow. My mistress covered her with the gun.

  "Not you," she said sternly. "A bullet if you move!"

  Black Kate sank groaning on a chair.

  Bill Combs still lingered, goggling with amazement. "Who are you?" he demanded hoarsely.

  "Rosika Storey," said my mistress.

  "Oh, my God!" stammered Bill. "And I thought ... I thought ... Now I see it!"

  A strange cry broke from Black Kate.

  "Beat it! Beat it!" said my mistress urgently to Bill. "I cannot save you after they are in."

  He turned and ran down the stairs with remarkable celerity for his size.

  I heard other steps on the stairs, and an uncouth figure appeared in the doorway. I recognised Melanie Soupert, gaunt, dishevelled, weak from her imprisonment. The steel bracelet still dangled on her sore wrist, but the chain had been cut off short. She looked like a figure risen from the grave. But her sunken eyes glowed with something of the old spirit.

  "What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "I couldn't stay up there like a trapped rat."

  "It's all right," said my mistress, holding out her hand to her. "Our friends are at the door!"

  Melanie did not notice me at first. She half collapsed within my mistress's embrace. "Oh, Jess! Oh, Jess! Oh, Jess!" she murmured.

  Black Kate looked on at thi
s speechlessly. The woman was half out of her senses with pain. She looked like a wounded wild animal.

  Meanwhile, the knocking on the door was redoubled. The door key still hung from Kate's nerveless hand. I took it, and ran out. I opened the front door, and Inspector Rumsey and four men came tumbling in. I pointed silently to the dining-room door. I followed them in.

  For a second the inspector looked blankly at my mistress, then his face lighted up. "It's you!" he cried in great relief. "Is everything all right?"

  "Right as rain!" she said smiling. She looked down affectionately at the dark head on her shoulder. "This is Melanie Soupert. I have her safe!"

  The inspector snatched off his cap. "By God, Madame," he cried heartily, "you're the greatest woman of your time!"

  Melanie quickly raised her head, and looking in my mistress's face with something like alarm, tried to withdraw herself from her embrace. "Who are you?" she whispered.

  I was just behind her. "Melanie, don't you remember me?" I asked.

  She turned her head. Her big dark eyes widened.

  "Bella!" she said in amazement. "Bella Brickley!" She looked back at my mistress with eyes bigger than ever. "Then you must be..." she stammered. "You must be..."

  "Your friend," whispered my mistress.

  "That is Madame Rosika Storey, the master-mind of us all!" cried Inspector Rumsey magniloquently.

  Melanie tried in earnest then to detach herself from my mistress's supporting arm. "You mustn't ... you mustn't!" she whispered, with hanging head. "Not the likes of me!"

  Mme. Storey clung to her, smiling, and Melanie subsided.

  "You did it all for me?" she whispered.

  "Did you think I was going to let you go?" asked my mistress.

  Melanie began to weep out of sheer weakness and relief and gratitude.

  To the inspector Mme. Storey said, pointing to Black Kate, "That is your prisoner. She appears to be ill. You had better have medical assistance for her. But watch her well."