Doors of the Night Part 23

She motioned again-this time to the envelopes.

"You sealed the letter up again, in one of those envelopes and put it away. And that brings us to to-night. I would like to have you show that letter to"-she indicated Billy Kane with a curt nod of her head-"this man here."

For an instant Dayler did not move, then he stiffened back in his chair, his eyes narrowed.

"I begin to see!" His jaws snapped hard together. "So that's what you are after! You propose to steal that paper from me, and then blackmail me with it afterwards. It is the letter that you want!"

"And perhaps you will get it for us?" she suggested softly.

There was a grim sort of finality in Dayler's short, unpleasant laugh.

"_No!_" he said.

"Well then"-she still spoke softly-"suppose I were to tell you that the Men Who Never Sleep have been advised that Dayler and John Forbes are one, and that they are travelling down from the Canadian West now, and that to-morrow you will be arrested-_and that the letter is already gone._"

"Gone!" It came in a startled cry. Dayler half rose from his chair, but dropped back again quite coolly, a sarcastic smile suddenly on his lips.

"Clever!" he said ironically. "Quite a pretty little ruse to get me to indicate the whereabouts of that paper! Perhaps you will try something else now!"

"Bundy"-she turned calmly to Billy Kane-"open the door of that little cupboard on the left of the mantel."

Billy Kane stepped across the room in a sort of mechanical obedience, and opened the leaded gla.s.s door-just as Dayler, his self-a.s.surance shaken now, jumped from his chair, and rushed to the mantel.

"Perhaps"-her voice came calmly again from the table-"Mr. Dayler prefers to look for himself, after all, Bundy!"

The man seemed to be fighting desperately for a grip upon himself, and again his jaws snapped hard together.

"No!" he cried. "It's another trick to get the combination of that safe, to get me to open it! Do you think I'm a fool to let that paper go now, even at the cost of my life, after you have so kindly warned me that I am to be arrested to-morrow? You would have done better not to have talked quite so much!"

"Open the safe, Bundy!" she instructed evenly. "Watch him, Mr. Dayler, and satisfy yourself."

The dial whirled deftly, swiftly, under Billy Kane's fingers. The steel door swung open.

"_Gone!_ My G.o.d, it is gone!" Dayler's cry now was broken, almost inarticulate. His head half buried in the cupboard, he was staring into the empty safe. And then he reeled back to the table, and stood there clawing at its edge, gray to the lips, looking from one to the other.

"I have not quite finished my story," she said quietly. "It is quite true that Keats is dead; but he did not die two or three days ago, he has been dead well over a month. Nor did he die from natural causes. He was murdered. There is a gigantic Crime Ring in this country, whose headquarters are here in New York, that is as implacable and heinous as it is far-spread and powerful. Keats, far under the influence of liquor in a low dive one night and in maudlin self-admiration at the idea of making rest.i.tution to you, became drunkenly confidential, and his 'confidant,' as it happened, was an old broken-down yegg of about his own age, too old for active work at his sordid trade, a pensioner, a hanger-on, as it were, of this Crime Ring, who made himself as valuable as he could in any way that he could. He reported the story. Keats was promptly murdered-not so much for the sake of the paper, for that could easily have been taken from him without resorting to murder, but that there should be no Keats, with his change of heart, ready to take the witness stand in your behalf, and therefore render the paper of no value to them at all. The Crime Ring did not, however, act with the same haste as far as you were concerned. That is not their way! They watched you, they became thoroughly conversant, intimately acquainted with you, and your house, and your mode of living. It was necessary that they should do so before the next move could be decided upon. It was essential that you should know that the doc.u.ment was still in existence, and it was equally essential that you should know Keats was dead and would therefore never be able to help you with his testimony. The actual delivery of the doc.u.ment into your hands was the really clever and finished play to make, for it not only accomplished those ends naturally, simply, and without possibility of alarming you, but your temporary possession of the letter would also psychologically enhance its value in your eyes and make the shock of its subsequent loss all the greater-and you all the more _generous_! But unless they could be sure of recovering it-if for instance you had a safe-deposit vault where you would likely place it-that plan would not do at all, and some other must be devised. They satisfied themselves on that score, however; and the discovery of that wall safe, and, incidentally, its combination, made it as certain as anything is humanly certain that they would know where to find the letter again when they wanted it. And, finally, there was the police, the men of the Royal Northwest Mounted, to be put upon your trail. It was only when you stood facing arrest for murder, and only when that paper was all that stood between you and the hangman's noose, that it was worth-well, perhaps you will say what it is worth? That is the situation to-night, Mr. Dayler."

The man was rocking on his feet, still clawing at the edge of the table for support. He seemed to have lost all self-control.

"Blackmail!" he said, through dry, twitching lips.

"And without any come-back!" She shrugged her shoulders. "You are rated at a quarter of a million. What will you give for that paper?"

Dayler did not answer at once. He reached out behind him, felt for the arm of his chair, and sat down heavily. He spoke at last, brushing his hand nervously across his forehead.

"I-I'll give-ten thousand dollars," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"You do not place a very complimentary value on your life," she said evenly.

"Twenty." His hand still nervously brushed at his forehead.

"Twenty-five."

Her laugh rippled through the room. It was low and coolly disdainful, but it seemed to Billy Kane, standing by the mantel, tight-lipped, watching the scene, that it held, too, a queer, underlying, tremulous note.

Dayler wet his lips.

"Thirty-five."

"That paper is the only thing that will save you," she explained monotonously. "Is money any good to you-unless you live?"

It was Dayler who laughed now, but it was hysterically. His hands would not remain still. He had let his head alone now, and, instead, kept laying his hands on the table in front of him, by turns opening and clenching them, and they left damp prints on the top of the table.

"Fifty-I-I'll make it fifty thousand dollars," he whispered.

She shook her head.

"My G.o.d!" It was a helpless cry. Dayler stretched out his arms imploringly. "You don't understand! It's not easy for me to get even that amount. I'm not worth what you think I am. I-I've gone the limit."

Her voice was still monotonous.

"Are you _sure_?" she asked.

"Give me-give me time, and-and I might make it a little more." There was no doubt of the agonized sincerity in the man's voice. "Perhaps-sixty."

"No!" she said. She was on her feet now, her voice breaking a little. "I want more than that-what it will perhaps be harder for you to give than sixty thousand dollars. I want your forgiveness for what I have just made you suffer-for this scene here. I had reasons, reasons that I believed justified me." She glanced at Billy Kane. "I do not think you would understand, and I am afraid you would not see the justification in them even if I tried to explain, and so"-she had drawn the manila envelope from the bodice of her dress, and was holding it out to him-"I can only ask you to forgive me."

He took the envelope wonderingly, rising slowly to his feet. He was like a man dazed. Stupefaction, incredulity, a mighty relief, mingled their expressions in his face. He turned the envelope over and over; and then, opening it, extracted a folded piece of paper from within. And then for the second time his laugh rang through the room, but now it was a laugh like the laugh of a man that was insane, high-pitched, sustained.

"Go on!" he cried wildly. "Go on with your h.e.l.lish tricks! What's next?"

Billy Kane had involuntarily stepped closer to the table. He drew in his breath sharply now, in an amazed, startled way. Dayler was holding a _blank_ piece of paper in his hands!

And she, too, was leaning tensely forward. He glanced at her. She turned her head toward him; and out of a face that was as white as death, her dark eyes burned full of fury and bitter condemnation, as they fixed upon him.

"I see it now!" Her lips were quivering with pa.s.sion. She steadied her voice with an obvious effort. "I gave you credit for too much! I caught you at your work just a second too late. I thought you were taking an envelope out of the safe, whereas you were attempting to put one _in_!

The one you took out was already in your pocket. You were checkmating your miserable accomplices unquestionably-but it was for your own ends!

You were playing the traitor to them and to me at the same time. You meant, with your cold-blooded cunning, to use that paper against Mr.

Dayler for your own private gain. You lied to me! It wasn't an empty safe to which you meant to introduce the Cadger and Gannet; there was a little more finesse, it clouded the issue a little more to put a dummy envelope there. And it was so easy! Just one of those envelopes taken from the drawer there, and a piece of paper slipped inside!" She paused an instant, surveying him with merciless eyes. "I hardly suppose that you would be fool enough not to have already put it in a safer place than your pocket, but if you still have it there-_hand it over!_"

Billy Kane did not move. Somehow he was not paying undivided attention to her. It was the Man with the Crutch who seemed to be standing there in her place, grinning at him-only he could not see the man's face. And then, with a mental jerk, he pulled himself together. He could not tell her that he had almost caught someone else in the act of stealing the paper, but that the "some one else" had got away. It would sound ridiculous! She would laugh in his face! He could not tell her that, like a thunderbolt falling upon him, there had just come the realization that the Man with the Crutch had stolen the paper after all. He could not explain the Man with the Crutch, Peters' murder, a hundred other things, so that she would believe him, without telling her that he was Billy Kane. And he could not tell her that he was Billy Kane! The old, hard, ironical, mirthless smile came to his lips. He was-the Rat!

"Maybe you'd like to search me!" he snarled insolently.

She turned to Dayler. The man had sunk into his chair again and was smiling now, but in a horribly apathetic sort of way.

"Mr. Dayler," she said quietly, "it does not matter in the least if he has got rid of it for the moment. I promise you that paper will be in your possession again by to-morrow morning." She swung on Billy Kane, and pointed to the door. "I think you heard what I said, Bundy"-her voice was ominously low now, strained with menace-"I will give you until to-morrow morning to produce that paper. The alternative is the electric chair."

She was still pointing to the door.