Dangerous Ground Part 43

"I'll finish _with_ the drink but I'll _begin_ with this." And he poised the naked dagger above Mamma's head with a gesture full of significance.

"But the other," said Papa, with nervous eagerness; "what shall we do with him?"

"The other," replied Franz, slowly putting away his knife, "we will leave here."

"What!" screamed Mamma.

"But--" objected Papa.

"Are ye a pack o' fools after all?" snarled Franz. "A dead cop'll make us more trouble than a livin' one. Ye kin kill ten ordinary mortals an'

be safer than if ye kill one cop. Kill ten men, they detail a squad to hunt ye up mebby. Kill one peeler, an' you've got the whole police force agin ye. No, sir; we bring him out o' that closet, and leave him ter take his chances. Before morning, we'll be where he can't track us; and somebody'll let him loose by to-morrow. He'll have plenty o' time to meditate, and mebby it'll do him good."

There was a look of dissatisfaction in Mamma's eyes; and Papa's a.s.sent was feeble. But already this strong-willed ruffian had gained an ascendency over them, and his prompt.i.tude in taking Nance so completely off their hands, a.s.sured them that it would not be well to cross him.

Nevertheless, as they made their preparations for a midnight flitting, Papa and Mamma, unseen by Franz, exchanged more than one significant glance.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

FLAMES.

It was past midnight when the m.u.f.fled figures of Papa and Mamma Francoise emerged stealthily from the tenement house, and took their way toward the river. Now and then they looked anxiously back, and constantly kept watch to the right and left.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither?"--page 230.]

A little way behind them, two other figures followed; the man half supporting, half dragging, a reeling, stupefied girl, and urging her along by alternate coaxing and threats.

Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither?

Keeping the same path, and always the same brief s.p.a.ce between them, the four moved onward until they were almost at the river. Then, in obedience to a low whistle, Papa and Mamma turned, pa.s.sed the other two, and retraced their steps swiftly and silently.

When they had gone by, Franz Francoise turned and looked after them until their figures had vanished in the darkness.

Then he seized the arm of his companion, and hurried her around the nearest corner and on through the gloom; on till the river was full in sight.

Meanwhile Van Vernet, having been brought out from his closet-prison, lay upon the floor of the inner room at the lately-deserted Francoise abode, still bound, and gagged almost to suffocation, while, to make his isolation yet more impressive, Mamma had tied a dirty rag tightly about his eyes.

Left in doubt as to the fate that awaited him--unable to move, to see, or to use his voice,--Van Vernet lay as helplessly ensnared as if he were the veriest dullard and bungler, instead of the shrewdest and most daring member of the force.

They had transferred him from the closet to his present position in profound silence. He knew that they were moving about stealthily--he could guess, from the fact that but one door had been opened, and from the short distance they had borne him, that he was in the inner instead of the outer room--he had heard them moving about in the next room, and had caught the murmur of their voices as they engaged in what seemed a sharp dispute, carried on in guarded tones--then slower movements, sharp whispers, and finally retreating footsteps, and the careful opening and closing of a door.

After this, only silence.

Surrounded by the silence and darkness, Van Vernet could only think.

What were their intentions? Where had they gone? Would they come back?

Bound and helpless as he was, and menaced by what form of danger he knew not, his heart still beat regularly, his head was cool, his brain clear.

"They dare not kill me," he thought, "for they can't bury me handily, and are too far from the river. They'd have to leave my body here and decamp, and they're too shrewd thus to fasten the crime upon themselves.

I wish I knew their plans."

By and by, as the silence continued, he began to struggle; not with his bonds, for he knew that to be useless, but in an effort to propel himself about the room.

Slowly, with cautious feeling of his way, by bringing his head or feet first into contact with the new s.p.a.ce to be explored, he made the circuit of the room; rolling from side to side across the dusty floor, bringing himself up sharply against the walls on either side, in the hope of finding anything--a hook, a nail, a projecting bit of wood--against which he might rub his head, hoping thus to remove the bandage from his eyes, perhaps the gag from his mouth.

But his efforts were without reward. The room was bare. Not a box, not a bit of wood, not a projecting hook or nail; only a few scattering rags which, as he rolled among them, baptized him with a cloud of dust and reminded him, by their offensive odor, of the foul cellar in Papa Francoise's deserted K--street abode.

There was nothing in the room to help him. It was useless to try to liberate himself. And he lay supine once more, cursing the Fate that had led him into such a trap; and cursing more than all the officious, presumptuous meddler, the jail-bird and ruffian, who had thus entrapped _him_, Van Vernet.

"If I escape," he a.s.sured himself, "and I _will_ escape, I'll hunt that man down! I'll put him behind the bars again if, to do it, I have to renounce the prospect of a double fortune! But I won't renounce it,"

thought this hopeful prisoner. "When I find them again, and I will find them, I'll first capture this convict son, and then use him to extort the truth from those old pirates--the truth concerning their connection with Alan Warburton, aristocrat. And when I have that truth, the high and mighty Warburton will learn what it costs him to send a black servant to dictate to Van Vernet!"

Easily conceived, this pretty scheme for the future, but its execution depends upon the liberation of Van Vernet and, just now, that seems an improbable thing.

Moments pa.s.s away. They seem like hours to the helpless prisoner; they have fitted themselves into one long hour before the silence is broken.

Then he hears, for all his shut-up faculties seemed to have merged themselves into hearing, a slight, a very slight sound in the outer room. The door has opened, some one is entering. More m.u.f.fled sounds, and Vernet knows that some one is creeping toward the inner room.

Slowly, with the least possible noise, that door also opens. He hears low whispering, and then realizes that two persons approach him. Are they foes or friends? Oh, for the use of his eyes--for the power to speak!

Presently hands touch him. Ah, they are about to liberate him; but why so silent?

They are dexterous, swift-moving hands; but his fetters remain, while the swift hands work on.

They are robbing him. First his watch; his pocket-book next; then shirt studs, sleeve b.u.t.tons, even his handkerchief.

And still no word is spoken.

He writhes in impotent anger. His brain seems seized with a sudden madness. These swift, despoiling hands, the darkness, the horrible silence, appall him--fill him with a sort of supernatural terror.

The hands have ceased their search, and he knows that the two robbers have risen. He feels the near presence of one; the footsteps of the other go from him, toward the street.

A sc.r.a.ping sound; a soft rustle. They are gathering up the rags from the floor. The closet again: this time it is opened, entered. A moment's stillness; then a sharp sound, which he knows to be the striking of a match. Another long silent moment. _What_ are they doing?

Ah! the footsteps retreat. They go toward the outer room; creeping, creeping stealthily.

Now they have crossed the outer room. They go out, and the door is softly closed.

What does this mystery mean? Have they returned to rob him, and then to leave him? Will they come back yet again?

A moment pa.s.ses; another, and another. Then a sickening odor penetrates to his nostrils, like the burning of some foul-smelling thing.

Crackle, crackle, crackle!

Ah! he comprehends now! The fiends have fired the closet! They have left him there to perish in the flames--the hungry flames that will wipe out all traces of their guilt!