CHAPTER XIV.
A PRETTY PLOT.
In order to comprehend the cause of the alarm which stimulated to suddenaction both the wise man and the fool, Van Vernet and Silly Charlie, letus turn back a little and enter the dark house at the foot of the alley.
It is an hour before midnight. The place is dark and silent; no lightgleams through the tightly boarded windows, there is no sign of lifeabout the dwelling. But within, as on a previous occasion, there islight, life, and a measure of activity. The light is furnished by asolitary tallow candle, and the life supplied by the same little old manwho, on a former occasion, was thrown into a state of unreasonableterror at sight of a certain newspaper advertisement.
It is the same room, its appointments unchanged; the same squalor anddirt, the same bottle upon the same shelf, the same heap of rags in thecorner, the same fragments of iron and copper on the floor. The samedeal table and scrap of carpet are there, but not arranged as on aformer occasion, for now the table is pushed back against the wall, thepiece of carpet is flung in a wrinkled heap away from the place which itcovered, exposing to view a dark gap in the floor, with a danglingtrap-door opening downward. Beside this opening squats the little oldman, his eyes as ferret-like and restless as usual, but his featuresmore complacent and less apprehensive than when last we saw him.
By his side is the sputtering tallow candle, and in his hand a longhooked stick, with which he is lowering sundry bags and bundles down thetrap, lifting the candle from time to time to peer into the opening,then resuming his work and muttering meanwhile.
"What's _this_?" he soliloquizes, lifting a huge bundle and scrutinizingit carefully. "Ah-h! a gentleman's fine overcoat; _that_ must have anice, safe corner. Ah-h! there you go," lowering the bundle down theaperture and poking it into position with his stick. "It's amazin' whatvaluables my people finds about the streets," he chuckles facetiously."'Ere's a--a little silver tea-pot; some rich woman must a-throwed thatout. I will put it on the shelf."
Evidently the shelf mentioned is in the cellar below, for this parcel,like the first, is lowered and carefully placed by means of the stick.Other bundles of various sizes follow, and then the old man rests fromhis labor.
"What a nice little hole that is," he mutters. "Full of rags--nothin'else. Suppose a cop comes in here and looks down, what 'ud he see? Justrags. S'pose he went down, ha! ha! he'd go waist-deep in a bed of oldrags, and he wouldn't like the smell overmuch; such a _nice_ smell--forcops. He couldn't _see_ anything, couldn't _feel_ anything but rags,just rags."
A low tap at the street-door causes the old man to drop his stick andhis soliloquy at once. He starts nervously, listens intently for amoment, and then rises cautiously. A long, low whistle evidentlyreassures him, for with suddenly acquired self-possession he begins tomove about.
Swiftly and noiselessly he closes the trap, spreads down the bit ofcarpet, and replaces the table. Then he shuffles toward the entrance,pulls out the pin from the hole in the door, and peeps out. Nothing isvisible but the darkness, and this, somehow; seems to reassure him, forwith a snort of impatience he calls out:
"Who knocks?"
"It's Siebel," replies a voice from without. "Open up, old Top."
Instantly the door is unbarred and swung open, admitting a burlyruffian, who fairly staggers under the weight of a monstrous sack whichhe carries upon his shoulders.
At sight of this bulky burden the old man smiles and rubs his palmstogether.
"Ah! Josef," he says, reaching out to relieve the new-comer, "a niceload that; a very nice load!"
But the man addressed as Josef retains his hold upon his burden, and,resting himself against it, looks distrustfully at his host.
"It's been a fine evening, Josef," insinuates the old man, his eyesstill fixed upon the bag.
"Fair enough," replies Josef gruffly, as he unties the bag and pushesit toward the old man. "Take a look at the stuff, Papa Francoise, andmake a bid. I'm dead thirsty."
Eagerly seizing the bag, Papa Francoise drags it toward the table,closely followed by Josef, and begins a hasty examination of itscontents, saying:
"Rags is rags, you know, Josef Siebel. It's not much use to look into'em; there's nothing here but rags, of course."
"No, course not," with a satirical laugh.
"That's right, Josef; I won't buy nothing but rags,--_never_. I don'twant no ill-gotten gains brought to me."
Josef Siebel utters another short, derisive laugh, and discreetly turnshis gaze toward the smoky ceiling while Papa begins his investigations.From out the capacious bag he draws a rich shawl, hurriedly examines it,and thrusts it back again.
"The rag-picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef,"continues this virtuous old gentleman, drawing forth a silver soup-ladleand thrusting it back. "These are very good rags, Josef," and he drawsout a switch of blonde hair, and gazes upon it admiringly. Then hebrings out a handful of rags, examines them ostentatiously by the lightof the candle, smells them, and ties up the bag, seeing which Josefwithdraws his eyes from the cobwebs overhead and fixes them on the blackbottle upon the shelf.
Noting the direction of his gaze, Papa Francoise rests the bag againstthe table-leg, trots to the shelf, pours a scanty measure from the blackbottle into a tin cup, and presents it to Josef with what is meant foran air of gracious hospitality.
"You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend."
"Umph," mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a draught. Thensetting the cup hastily down; "Now, old Top, wot's your bid?"
"Well," replies Papa Francoise, trying to look as if he had not alreadysettled that question with his own mind; "well, Josef I'll giveyou--I'll give you a dollar and a half."
"The dickens you will!"
Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his shoulder.
"Stop, Josef!" cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the treasure. "Whatdo you want? That's a good price for rags."
"Bah!" snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, "wot d'ye takeme for, ye blasted old fence?"
But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag.
"Stop, Josef!" he cries eagerly; "let me see," pulling it down from hisshoulder and lifting it carefully. "Why, it's _heavier_ than I thought.Josef, I'll give you two dollars and a half,--_no more_."
The "no more" is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends themeaning behind the words, for he reseats himself sullenly, muttering:
"It ain't enough, ye cursed cantin' old skinflint, but fork it out; I'vegot to have money."
At this instant there comes a short, sharp, single knock upon thestreet-door, and Papa hastens to open it, admitting a squalid,blear-eyed girl, or woman, who enters with reluctant step, and sullendemeanor.
"Oh, it's _you_, Nance," says Papa, going back to the table andbeginning to count out some money, eyeing the girl keenly meanwhile."One dollar,--sit down, Nance,--two dollars, fifty; there! Now, Nance,"turning sharply toward the girl, "what have you got, eh?"
"The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another,Josef."--page 117.]
"Nothin'," replies Nance sullenly; "nothin' that will suit you. I ain'thad no luck."
"Nobody left nothin' lyin' round loose, I s'pose," says Siebel with acoarse laugh, as he pockets the price of his day's labor. "Wal, ye'vecome ter a poor place for sympathy, gal." And he rises slowly andshuffles toward the door.
But Papa makes a gesture to stay him.
"Hold on, Josef!" he cries; "wait Nance!"
He seizes the bag, hurries it away into an inner room, and returnspanting for breath. Drawing a stool toward the table, he perches himselfthereon and leers across at the two sneak thieves.
"So ye ain't had any luck, girl?" he says, in a wheedling tone, "andJosef, here, wants money. Do ye want more than ye've got Josef?"
"Ha ha! _Do_ I?" And Josef slaps his pockets suggestively.
"Now listen, both of you. Suppose, I could help you two to earn somemoney easy and honest, what then?"
"Easy an
d _honest_!" repeats Siebel, with a snort of derision; "Oh,Lord!"
But the girl leans forward with hungry eyes, saying eagerly: "How? tellus how."
"I'll tell you. Suppose, just suppose, a certain rich lady--_very_ rich,mind--being a little in my debt, should come here to-night to see me.And suppose she is very anxious not to be seen by any body--on accountof her high position, you know--"
"Oh, lip it livelier!" cries Siebel impatiently. "Stow yer swash."
"Well; suppose you and Nance, here, was to come in sudden and see thelady face to face, why, for fear she might be called on by--say byNance, she might pay a little, don't you see--"
But Siebel breaks in impatiently:
"Oh, skip the rubbish! Is there any body to bleed?"
"Is it a safe lay?" queries Nance.
"Yes, yes; it's safe, of course," cries Papa, thus compelled to comedown to plain facts.
"Then let's get down to business. Do you expect an angel's visit hereto-night?"
"Yes."
"Well, what's yer plan? Out with it: Nance and I are with ye, if yedivvy fair."
Beckoning them to come closer, Papa Francoise leans across the table,and sinking his voice to a harsh whisper, unfolds the plan by which,without danger to themselves, they are to become richer.
It is a pretty plan but--"_Man sows; a whirlwind reaps._"
Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Page 15
