XVI. THE SECRET PANEL
Rhoda Gray hurried onward, back toward the garret, her mind in riot anddismay. It was not only the beginning of the end; it was very near theend! What was she to do? The Silver Sphinx--at eleven! That was theend--after eleven--wasn't it? She could impersonate Gypsy Nan; she couldnot, if she would, impersonate the woman who was dead! And then, too,there were the stolen jewels at old Jake Luertz's! She could not turnto the police for help there, because then the Pug might fall into theirhands, and--and the Pug was--was the Adventurer.
And then a sort of fatalistic calm fell upon her. If the masquerade wasover, if the end had come, there remained only one thing for her todo. There were no risks too desperate to take now. It was she who muststrike, and strike first. Those jewels in old Luertz's bedroom becamesuddenly vital to her. They were tangible evidence. With those jewelsin her possession she should be able to force Danglar to his knees.She could get them--before Pinkie Bonn and the Pug--if she hurried.Afterward she would know where to find Danglar--at the Silver Sphinx.Nothing would happen to Cloran, because, through her failure tocooperate, the plan would be abortive; but, veiled, as the White Moll,she could pick up Danglar's trail again there. Yes, it would be theend--one way or the other--between eleven o'clock and daylight!
She quickened her steps. Old Luertz was to be inveigled away from hishome about ten o'clock. At a guess, she made it only a little after ninenow. She would need the skeleton keys in order to get into old Luertz'splace, and, yes, she would need a flashlight, too. Well, she would havetime enough to get them, and time enough, then, to run to the desertedshed in the lane behind the garret and change her clothes.
Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, went on as speedily as she dared withoutinviting undue attention to herself, reached the garret, secured thearticles she sought, hurried out again, and went down the lane in therear to the deserted shed. She remained longer here than in the attic,perhaps ten minutes, working mostly in the darkness, risking theflashlight only when it was imperative; and then, the metamorphosiscomplete, a veiled figure, in her own person, as Rhoda Gray, the WhiteMoll, she was out on the street again, and hastening back in the samegeneral direction from which she had just come.
She knew old Jake Luertz's place, and she knew the man himself veryintimately by reputation. There were few such men and such places thatshe could have escaped knowing in the years of self-appointed servicethat she had given to the worst, and perhaps therefore the most needy,element in New York. The man ostensibly conducted a little secondhandstore; in reality he probably "shoved" more stolen goods for hisclientele, which at one time or another undoubtedly embraced nearlyevery crook in the underworld, than any other "fence" in New York. Sheknew him for an oily, cunning old fox who lived alone in the two roomsover his miserable store--unless, of late, his young henchman, the Crab,had taken to living with him; though, as far as that was concerned, itmattered little to-night, since the Crab, for the moment, thanks to thegang, was eliminated from consideration.
She reached the secondhand store--and walked on past it. There was alight upstairs in the front window. Old Luertz therefore had not yetgone out in response to the gang's fake message. She knew old Luertz'sreputation far too well for that; the man would never go out and leave agas jet burning--which he would have to pay for!
There was nothing to do but wait. Rhoda Gray sought the shelter of adoorway across the street. She was nervously impatient now. Theminutes dragged along. Why didn't 'the man hurry and go out? "About teno'clock," Danglar had said--but that was very indefinite. Pinkie Bonnand the Pug might be as late as that; but, equally, they might beearlier!
It seemed an interminable time. And then, her eyes strained across thestreet upon that upper window, she drew still farther back into theprotecting shadows of the doorway. The light had gone out.
A moment more passed. The street door of the house opposite to her--adoor separate from that of the secondhand store-opened, and a bent,gray-bearded man, stepped out, peered around, locked the door behindhim, and scuffled down the street.
Rhoda Gray scanned the dingy and ill-lighted little street. It wasvirtually deserted. She crossed the road, and stepped into the doorwayfrom which the old "fence" had just emerged. It was dark here, well outof the direct radius of the nearest street lamp, and, with luck, therewas no reason why she should be observed--if she did not take too longin opening the door! She had never actually used a skeleton key in herlife before, and...
She inserted one of her collection of keys in the lock. It would notwork. She tried another, and still another-with mounting anxiety andperplexity. Suppose that--yes! The door was open now! With a quickglance over her shoulder, scanning the street in both directions to makesure that she was not observed, she stepped inside, closed the door, andlocked it again.
Her flashlight stabbed through the darkness. Narrow stairs immediatelyin front of her led upward; at her right was a connecting door to thesecondhand shop. Without an instant's hesitation she ran up the stairs.There was no need to observe caution since the place was temporarilyuntenanted; there was need only of haste. She opened the door at thehead of the stairs, and, with a quick, eager nod of satisfaction, as theflashlight swept the interior, stepped over the threshold. It was theroom she sought--old Luertz's bedroom.
And now the flashlight played inquisitively about her. The bed occupieda position by the window; across one corner of the room was a cretonnehanging, that evidently did service as a wardrobe; across another cornerwas a large and dilapidated washstand; there were a few chairs, and athreadbare carpet; and, opposite the bed, another door, closed, whichobviously led into the front room.
Rhoda Gray stepped to this door, opened it, and peered in. She was notconcerned that it was evidently used for kitchen, dining-room andthe stowage of everything that overflowed from the bedroom; she wasconcerned only with the fact that it offered no avenue through whichany added risk or danger might reach her. She closed the door as shehad found it, and gave her attention now to the walls of old Luertz'sbedroom.
She smiled a little whimsically. The Crab had used a somewhat dignifiedterm when he had referred to "panels." True, the walls were of stainedwood, but the wood was of the cheapest variety of matched boards, andthe stain was of but a single coat, and a very meager one at that! Thesmile faded. There were a good many knots; and there were four cornersto the room, and therefore eight boards, each one of which would answerto the description of being the "sixth panel."
She went to the corner nearest her, and dropped down on her knees. Aswell start with this one! She had not dared press Danglar, or Danglar'sdeformed brother, for more definite directions, had she? She counted theboards quickly from the corner to her right; and then, the flashlightplaying steadily, she began to press first one knot after another, inthe board before her, working from the bottom up. There were many knots;she went over each one with infinite care. There was no result.
She turned then to the sixth board from the corner to her left. Theresult was the same. She stood up, her brows puckered, a sense ofanxious impatience creeping upon her. She had been quite a while overeven these two boards, and it might be any one of the remaining six!
Her eyes traversed the room, following the ray of the flashlight. If sheonly knew which one, it would--Was it an inspiration? Her eyes had fixedon the cretonne hanging across one of the far corners from the door, andshe moved toward it now quickly. The hanging might very well serve foran other purpose than that of merely a wardrobe! It seemed suddenlyto be the most likely of the four corners because it was ingeniouslyconcealed.
She parted the hanging. A heterogeneous collection of clothing hungfrom pegs and nails. Eagerly, hastily now, she brushed these aside, and,close to the wall, dropped down on her knees again. The minutes passed.Twice she went over the sixth board from the corner to her right. Shefelt so sure now that it was this corner. And then, still eagerly, sheturned to the corresponding board at her left.
It was warm and close here. The clothing hanging from the pegs and
nailsenveloped her, and, with the cretonne hanging itself, shut out the air,what little of it there was, that circulated through the room.
Over the board, from the tiniest knot to the largest, her fingerspressed carefully. Had she missed one anywhere? She must have missedone! She was sure the panel in question was here behind this hanging.Well, she would try again, and...
What was that?
In an instant the flashlight in her hand was out, and she was listeningtensely. Yes, there was a footstep--two of them--not only on the stairs,but already just outside the door. It seemed as though a deadly fear,cold and numbing, settled upon her and robbed her of even the power ofmovement. She was caught! If it was Pinkie Bonn and the Pug, and if thiscorner hid the secret panel as she still believed it did, this wasthe first place to which they would come, and they would find her hereamongst the clothing--which had evidently been the cause of deadeningany sound on those stairs out there until it was too late.
She held her breath, her hands tight upon her bosom. There was no timeto reach the sanctuary of the other room--the footsteps were alreadycrossing the threshold from the head of the stairs. And then a voicereached her--the Pug's. It was the Pug and Pinkie Bonn.
"Strike a light, Pinkie! Dere's no use messin' around wid a flash. Deold geezer'll be back on de hop de minute he finds out he's been bunked,an' de quicker we work de better."
A match crackled into flame. An air-choked gas jet, with a protestinghiss, was lighted. And then Rhoda Gray's drawn face relaxed a little,and a strange, mirthless smile came hovering over her lips. What was sheafraid of? The Pug was the Adventurer, wasn't he? This was one of theoccasions when he could not escape the entanglements of the gang, andmust work for the gang instead of appropriating all the loot for his ownpersonal and nefarious ends; but he was the Adventurer. The White Mollneed not fear him, even though he appeared, linked with Pinkie Bonn, inthe role of the Pug! So there was only Pinkie Bonn to fear.
Rhoda Gray took her revolver from her pocket. She was well armed--andin more than a material sense. The Adventurer did not know that she wasaware of the Pug's identity. Her smile, still mirthless, deepened.She might even turn the tables upon them, and still secure the stolenstones. She had turned the tables upon Pinkie Bonn last night; to-night,if she used her wits, she could do it again!
And then, suddenly, she stifled an exclamation, as the Pug's voicereached her again:
"Wot are youse gapin' about? Dere ain't anything else worth pinchin'around here except wot's in de old gent's safety vault. Get a move on!We ain't got all night! It's de corner behind de washstand. Give us ahand to move de furniture!"
It wasn't here behind the cretonne hanging! Rhoda Gray bit her lips ina crestfallen little way. Well, her supposition had been natural enough,hadn't it? And she would have tried every corner before she was throughif she had had the opportunity.
She moved now slightly, without a sound, parting the clothing away fromin front of her, and moving the cretonne hanging by the fraction of aninch where it touched the side wall of the room. And now she could seethe Pug, with his dirty and discolored celluloid eye-patch, and hisingeniously contorted face; and she could see Pinkie Bonn's pasty-white,drug-stamped countenance.
It was not a large room. The two men in the opposite corner along thewall from her were scarcely more than ten feet away. They swung thewashstand out from the wall, and the Pug, going in behind it, beganto work on one of the wall boards. Pinkie Bonn, an unlighted cigarettedangling from his lip, leaned over the washstand watching his companion.
A minute passed--another. It was still in the room, except only forthe distant sounds of the world outside--a clatter of wheels upon thepavement, the muffled roar of the elevated, the clang of a trolley bell.And then the Pug began to mutter to himself. Rhoda Gray smiled a littlegrimly. She was not the only one, it would appear, who experienceddifficulty with old Jake Luertz's crafty hiding place!
"Say, dis is de limit!" the Pug growled out suddenly. "Dere's moredamned knots in dis board dan I ever save in any piece of wood in melife before, an'--" He drew back abruptly from the wall, twisting hishead sharply around. "D'ye hear dat, Pinkie!" he whispered tensely."Quick! Put out de light! Quick! Dere's some one down at de front door!"
Rhoda Gray felt the blood ebb from her face. She had heard nothing savethe rattle and bump of a wagon along the street below; but she had hadreason to appreciate on a certain occasion before that the Pug, aliasthe Adventurer, was possessed of a sense of hearing that was abnormallyacute. If it was some one else--who was it? What would it mean to her?What complication here in this room would result? What...
The light was out. Pinkie Bonn had stepped silently across the room tothe gas jet near the door. Her eyes, strained, she could just make outthe Adventurer's form kneeling by the wall, and then--was she mad!Was the faint night-light of the city filtering in through the windowmocking her? The Adventurer, hidden from his companion by the washstand,was working swiftly and without a sound--or else it was a phantasm ofshadows that tricked her! A door in the wall opened; the Adventurerthrust in his hand, drew out a package, and, leaning around, slipped itquickly into the bottom of the washstand, where, with its little doors,there was a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turnedagain then, seemed to take something from his pocket and place it in theopening in the wall, and then the panel closed.
It had taken scarcely more than a second.
Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm!She had misjudged the Adventurer--quite misjudged him! The Adventurer,even with one of the gang present--to furnish an unimpeachable alibifor him!--was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undividedenrichment!
Pinkie Bonn's voice came in a guarded whisper from the doorway.
"I don't hear nothin'!" said Pinkie Bonn anxiously.
The Pug tiptoed across the room, and joined his companion. She could notsee them now, but apparently they stood together by the door listening.They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper toeach other; and then finally the Pug spoke in a less guarded voice.
"All right," he said. "I guess me nerves are gettin' de creeps. Shoot delight on again, an' let's get back on de job. An' youse can take a turndis time pushin' de knots, Pinkie; mabbe youse'll have better luck."
The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and nowPinkie Bonn knelt at the wall while the Pug leaned over the washstandwatching him. Pinkie Bonn was not immediately successful; the Pug'snerves, of which he had complained, appeared shortly to get the betterof him.
"Fer Gawd's sake, hurry up!" he urged irritably. "Or else lemme takeanother crack at it, Pinkie, an'..."
A low, triumphant exclamation came from Pinkie Bonn, as the small doorin the wall swung suddenly open.
"There she is, my bucko!" he grinned. "Some nifty vault, eh? The oldguy-" He stopped. He had thrust in his hand, and drawn it out again. Hisfingers gripped a sheet of notepaper--but he was seemingly unconsciousof that fact. He was leaning forward, staring into the aperture. "It'sempty!" he choked.
"Wot's dat?" cried the Pug, and sprang to his companion's side."Youse're crazy, Pinkie!" He thrust his head toward the opening--and thenturned and stared for a moment helplessly at Pinkie Bonn. "So help me!"he said heavily. "It's--it's empty." He shook his fist suddenly. "DeCrab's handed us one, dat's wot! But de Crab'll get his fer--"
"It wasn't the Crab!" Pinkie Bonn was stuttering his words. He stood,jaws dropped, his eyes glued now on the paper in his hand.
The Pug, his face working, the personification of baffled rage andintolerance, leered at Pinkie Bonn. "Well, who was it, den?" he snarled.
Pinkie Bonn licked his lips.
"The White Moll!" He licked his lips again.
"De White Moll!" echoed the Pug incredulously.
"Yes," said Pinkie Bonn. "Listen to what's on this paper that I fishedout of there I Listen! She's got all the nerve of the devil! 'Withthanks, and my most grateful appreciation--the White Moll.'"
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br /> The Pug snatched the paper from Pinkie Bonn's hand, as though to assurehimself that it was true. Rhoda Gray smiled faintly. It was good acting,very excellently done--seeing that the Pug had written the note andplaced it in the hiding place himself!
"My God!" mumbled Pinkie Bonn thickly. "I ain't afraid of most things,but I'm gettin' scared of her. She ain't human. Last night you know whathappened, and the night before, and--" He gulped suddenly. "Let's getout of here!" he said hurriedly. The Pug made no reply, except for amuttered growl of assent and a nod of his head.
The two men crossed the room. The light went out. Their footsteps echoedback as they descended the stairs, then died away.
And then Rhoda Gray moved for the first time. She brushed aside thecretonne hanging, ran to the washstand, possessed herself of the packageshe had seen the Pug place there, and then made her way, cautious now ofthe slightest sound, downstairs.
She tried the door that led into the secondhand shop from the hall,found it unlocked, and with a little gasp of relief slipped through, andclosed it gently behind her. She did not dare risk the front entrance.Pinkie Bonn and the Pug were not far enough away yet, and she did notdare wait until they were. Too bulky to take the risk of attemptingto conceal it about his person while with Pinkie Bonn, the Pug, it wasobvious, would come back alone for that package, and it was equallyobvious that he would not be long in doing so. There was old Luertz'sreturn that he would have to anticipate. It would not take wits nearlyso sharp as those possessed by the Pug to find an excuse for separatingpromptly from Pinkie Bonn!
Rhoda Gray groped her way down the shop, groped her way to a back door,unbolted it, working by the sense of touch, and let herself out into aback yard. Five minutes later she was blocks away, and hurrying rapidlyback toward the deserted shed in the lane behind Gypsy Nan's garret.
Her lips formed into a tight little curve as she went along. There wasstill work to do to-night--if this package really contained the stolenlegacy of gems left by Angel Jack. She had first of all to reach a placewhere she could examine the package with safety; then a place to hide itwhere it would be secure; and then--Danglar!
She gained the lane, stole along it, and disappeared into the shedthrough the broken door that hung, partially open, on sagging hinges.Here she sought a corner, and crouched down so that her body wouldsmother any reflection from her flashlight. And now, eagerly,feverishly, she began to undo the package; and then, a moment later, shegazed, stupefied and amazed, at what lay before her. Precious stones,scores of them, nestled on a bed of cotton; they were of all colors andof all sizes--but each one of them seemed to pulsate and throb, and fromsome wondrous, glorious depth of its own to fling back from the whiteray upon it a thousand rays in return, as though into it had beenbreathed a living and immortal fire.
And Rhoda Gray, crouched there, stared--until suddenly she grew afraid,and suddenly with a shudder she wrapped the package up again. These werethe stones for whose fabulous worth the woman whose personality she,Rhoda Gray, had usurped, had murdered a man; these were the stones whichwere indirectly the instrumentality--since but for them Gypsy Nan wouldnever have existed--that made her, Rhoda Gray, to-night, now, at thisvery moment, a hunted thing, homeless, friendless, fighting for her verylife against police and underworld alike!
She rose abruptly to her feet. She had no longer any need of aflashlight. There was even light of a sort in the place--she couldsee the stars through the jagged holes in the roof, and through one ofthese, too, the moonlight streamed in. The shed was all but crumblingin a heap. Underfoot, what had once been flooring, was now but rotting,broken boards. Under one of these, beside the clothing of Gypsy Nanwhich she had discarded but a little while before, she deposited thepackage; then stepped out into the lane, and from there to the streetagain.
And now she became suddenly conscious of a great and almost overpoweringphysical weariness. She did not quite understand at first, unless itwas to be attributed to the reaction from the last few hours--and then,smiling wanly to herself, she remembered. For two nights she had notslept. It seemed very strange. That was it, of course, though she wasnot in the least sleepy now--just tired, just near the breaking point.
But she must go on. To-night was the end, anyhow. To-night, failing tokeep her appointment as "Bertha," the crash must come; but before itcame, as the White Moll, armed with the knowledge of the crime that haddriven Danglar's wife into hiding, and which was Danglar's crime too,and with the evidence in the shape of those jewels in her possession,she and Danglar would meet somewhere--alone. Before the law got him,when he would be close-mouthed and struggling with all his cunning tokeep the evidence of other crimes from piling up against him and damningwhatever meager chances he might have to escape the penalty for Deemer'smurder, she meant--yes, even if she pretended to compound a felonywith him--to force or to inveigle from him, it mattered little which, aconfession of the authorship and details of the scheme to rob Skarbolovthat night when she, Rhoda Gray, in answer to a dying woman's pleading,had tried to forestall the plan, and had been caught, apparently, in thevery act of committing the robbery herself! With that confession in herpossession, with the identity of the unknown woman who had died in thehospital that night established, her own story would be believed.
And so, if she were weary, what did it matter? It was only untilmorning. Danglar was at the Silver Sphinx now with the man he meant thatshe should help him murder, only--only that plan would fail, becausethere would be no "Bertha" to lure the man to his death, and she, RhodaGray, had only to keep track of Danglar until somewhere, where he livedperhaps, she should have that final scene, that final reckoning with himalone.
It was a long way to the Silver Sphinx, which she knew, as every one inthe underworld, and every one in New York who was addicted to slummingknew, was a combination dance-hall and restaurant in the Chatham Squaredistrict. She tried to find a taxi, but with out avail. A clock in ajeweler's window which she passed showed her that it was ten minutesafter eleven. She had had no idea that it was so late. At eleven,Danglar had said. Danglar would be growing restive! She took theelevated. If she could risk the protection of her veil in the SilverSphinx, she could risk it equally in an elevated train!
But, in spite of the elevated, it was, she knew, well on towards halfpast eleven when she finally came down the street in front of the SilverSphinx. From under her veil, she glanced, half curiously, half in asort of grim irony, at the taxis lined up before the dancehall. The twoleading cars were not taxis at all, though they bore the ear-marks, withtheir registers, of being public vehicles for hire; they were large,roomy, powerful, and looked, with their hoods up, like privately ownedmotors. Well, it was of little account! She shrugged her shoulders,as--she mounted the steps of the dance-hall. Neither "Bertha" nor Cloranwould use those cars to-night!
The White Moll Page 16
