Doors of the Night Part 5

"Kick it in, Whitie!" he growled. "I haven't got the key. I lost my coat."

"Nothin' doin'!" said Whitie Jack complacently. "I got de goods, ain't I? Wot d'youse think!"

From his pocket Whitie Jack produced a bunch of what were evidently skeleton keys; and, trying first one and then another, finally opened the door. His flashlight played through into the interior, and indicated a chair that stood before a table.

"Youse go over dere an' sit down, an' get yer coat an' shirt off, an'

leave de rest to me," he directed.

Billy Kane, lurching again, stumbled into the chair, as Whitie Jack, closing and locking the door, located an incandescent that hung from the ceiling, and switched on the light.

"Say, where do youse keep yer stuff?" demanded Whitie Jack. "A shirt'll do-anything to tear up an' make a bandage wid, see?"

Billy Kane did not answer. He did not know! Instead, he let his head sag limply forward, and fall on his crossed arms upon the table.

"Aw, buck up, Bundy!" pleaded Whitie Jack anxiously. "Youse'll be all right in a minute. Dat's de boy! Buck up! It's all right! Leave it to me! I'll find something!"

Still Billy Kane did not answer. His face hidden in his arms, he was making a surrept.i.tious, but none the less critical, survey of his surroundings. It was a large room, evidently comprising the entire bas.e.m.e.nt of the building; and the single incandescent that it boasted seemed only to enhance, with its meager light, the sort of forbidding sordidness, as it were, that pervaded the place. There were no windows.

The walls had been boarded in with cheap lumber that had warped and bulged in spots, and the walls had been painted once-but so long ago that they had lost any distinctive color, and had faded into a murky, streaky yellow. The room was dirty and ill-kempt. A few old pieces of carpet were strewn about the floor, and for decoration prints from various magazines and Sunday supplements were tacked here and there around the walls. There was a bed in one corner; a wardrobe made by hanging a piece of old cretonne diagonally across another corner; a sink at one side of the room; and, at the far end, a bureau, whose looking-gla.s.s seemed to be abnormally large. Billy Kane studied the looking-gla.s.s for a moment curiously. It seemed to reflect back some object that he could not quite identify, something that glittered a little in the light. And then Billy Kane smiled a sort of grim appreciation. Whitie Jack had left his keys hanging in the lock of the door-the mirror held in faithful focus the only entrance to the place that the Rat's lair apparently possessed!

And now the reflection of the door in the mirror was blotted out, and the figure of Whitie Jack took its place. The man had crossed the room from an apparently abortive search behind the cretonne hanging, and was rummaging now in the drawers of the bureau. And then, with a grunt of satisfaction, and with what looked like a shirt and some underclothing flung over his arm, Whitie Jack made his way to the sink, filled a basin with water, and returned to the table.

Billy Kane raised his head heavily-and with well-simulated painful effort aided in the removal of his coat, vest and shirt.

"Dat's de stuff, Bundy!" said Whitie Jack approvingly.

It was a flesh wound, angry and nasty enough in appearance when the clotted blood was washed away, but still only a flesh wound. Whitie Jack surveyed it judicially.

"'Tain't so worse, Bundy!" he announced rea.s.suringly. "Youse'll be all to de good in a day or so." He began to rip and tear the underclothing into strips. "Youse'll need de shirt to wear, an' dis stuff'll do for de bandages," he explained. "See?"

"Yes," said Billy Kane.

The man dressed the wound with amazing deftness, stepped back to observe his own work admiringly, and then, picking up the folded shirt, shook it out, and began to unb.u.t.ton it.

"Now den, Bundy," he said, "get dis on, an'--" He stopped. From where it had been hidden in the folds of the shirt, a little black object dropped to the floor. Whitie Jack stooped, picked it up, glanced at it, and tossed it on the table. "An' dat ain't so dusty a place to hide it, neither!" grinned Whitie Jack. "Now den, up wid yer arms, an' on wid de shirt."

Billy Kane made no comment. The object Whitie Jack had picked up was a black mask. He raised his arms, and with deliberate difficulty struggled into the shirt.

"How d'youse feel now?" inquired Whitie Jack.

"Better," said Billy Kane. "You're an artist with the swab rags, Whitie."

"Sure!" said Whitie Jack. "Well, I guess dat's all. Youse go to bed now, an' keep quiet. I'll tip de fleet off dat youse are back on de job."

Billy Kane shook his head sharply.

"I don't want anybody b.u.t.ting in around here to-night!" he said roughly.

"No, sure, youse don't!" agreed Whitie Jack, with an oath for emphasis.

"Don't youse worry, I'll wise 'em up to dat. Dere won't be n.o.body around here till youse says so-youse know dat, don't youse? I ain't never heard of any guy huntin' trouble wid de Rat yet-an' I guess dat ain't no con steer!"

Billy Kane was standing up now. It seemed strange, almost incredibly strange that this man, one who evidently knew the so-called Rat intimately and well, had accepted him, Billy Kane, without the slightest suspicion that there could exist any question regarding his ident.i.ty. He had been watching and on his guard all the time that Whitie Jack had been dressing his wound, but though Whitie Jack had seen him under the full glare of a flashlight, and again in this lighted room here, their heads close together as the other had bent over him, Whitie Jack was obviously possessed of no doubts that he, Billy Kane, was anyone other than the Rat! Well, it might be strange, but at least it was undeniably true; so true that now that vista, which he had glimpsed with Whitie Jack's first words of mistaken recognition, was spreading out again before him, but more concretely now, opening a staggering possibility; so true that he dared not jeopardize anything by appearing too inquisitive about Marco's, for instance-much as Marco's was still in his mind! Marco's! No, he was not through with Marco's, for more reasons than one. There was some queer deviltry that Laverto was hatching there-at a quarter to eleven-and he meant to see it through. But, after all, even if he broached the subject again to Whitie Jack, who was patently only a tool in the affair, what more could Whitie Jack tell him, except the name of the man who had hired him to blow open an old safe whose contents were worthless-and that man's name he, Billy Kane, already knew. No, he was not through with Marco's! But he would gain nothing, save perhaps to excite suspicion, by speaking of it again to Whitie Jack.

"Youse get to bed, an' get some sleep!" prompted Whitie Jack. "Youse can leave de mob to me."

"Thanks, Whitie," said Billy Kane. He moved across the room, and flung himself down on the bed. "I'm not going to forget this. You've handed me the glad paw to-night-and I'm not going to forget it."

"Aw, dat's all right!" said Whitie Jack earnestly. "I knows youse ain't!

An', say, youse can take it from me on de level dat I'd rather have had dis chance dan have a thousand long green bucks in me mitt dis minute.

Say, I knows it, don't I, dat de Rat never forgets; an' I knows dere's about a million guys around here dat would give deir eye teeth for de chance dat came my way to-night!"

It was strange again-but the servility in the man's tones that was coupled with elation was genuine beyond doubt. The Rat was unquestionably a character of prominence and power in the sordid realm wherein he appeared, by some at least, by this Whitie Jack for example, to be held in awe. That being so, it was obviously the Rat's prerogative to command-Whitie Jack.

"All right, Whitie-that goes!" said Billy Kane tersely. "And now, beat it! But before you go leave me your gun. I got cleaned out when I lost my coat, and if anything comes of that little game of mine to-night I might need your iron. Yes, and leave those keys, too-I've no other way to lock the door."

"Sure!" said Whitie Jack promptly. He took his revolver from his pocket, laid it on the table, and walked to the door. "Are youse sure dere's nothin' else youse wants, Bundy?"

"No, that's all," said Billy Kane.

"Well den, so long, Bundy!" said Whitie Jack. "I'll see youse in de mornin'!"

"So long, Whitie!" said Billy Kane.

V-THE SECOND-HAND DEALER

The door closed behind Whitie Jack, the man's footsteps echoed back as he climbed to the street, echoed faintly again from the pavement, and then died away.

Billy Kane got up from the bed, went to the door, locked it, and then walked down the length of the room-and standing in front of the mirror stared into the gla.s.s in a grimly impersonal way. It was himself-Billy Kane. His face was in no whit changed, except perhaps that there was a slight pallor there due to loss of blood, and that the lines were sharper and harder, as though he were, as indeed he was, under a tense and heavy strain; but, with his collarless shirt, his trousers covered with mud and dirt, his whole appearance had taken on an aspect that was at once sinister and forbidding.

He laughed shortly, and turning abruptly from the mirror, crossed the room again, and pushed aside the cretonne hanging. There were some clothes on the wall pegs here. He gathered them up, and took them nearer to the light for an inspection. They were old, somewhat greasy, and wholly disreputable. He laughed shortly again, as he changed into them.

As the Rat, he might venture out, though he would do well to take care not to be recognized, since Whitie Jack would have spread the report that he was wounded and in bed; but he could at least go out without inviting instant pursuit as the "murderer" of David Ellsworth. He was safe now for the moment, safe until morning anyhow-and he could even use those hours, if he would, in an attempt to put as many miles as possible between himself and New York! His hands clenched, and into the pallor of his face the red came burning hot. But he wasn't going to do that! That "staggering possibility" was clear before his mind's eye now. He wasn't going to do that; he was going, instead-to play the Rat-to play the cards that fate, if one believed in fate, had thrust into his hands-to take the chance, the one chance, _if the Rat did not come back too soon_, of clearing his own name, and of bringing to justice the h.e.l.l-hounds, who had struck down that gentle gray-haired man who had been his friend. His hands clenched harder, until, as they had done once before that night, the nails bit into the palms. He, Billy Kane-the murderer of his father's friend, the murderer of the man who had trusted him and loved him! It was getting him now with all its brutal and remorseless force! Broadcast over the country, by morning his name would have become the synonym of all that was vile and hideous, and Billy Kane would be known as one of the most revolting characters in the annals of crime-a foul and filthy thing who typified the dregs and lees of human degradation-a thing from whom the friends of old would turn in horror and in shame, and--

Slowly his hands unclenched. The surge of fury that had been almost ungovernable pa.s.sed, and he knew again that cold, unnatural, deadly calm. If he lived, the guilty man, or men, would pay! If he were taking a chance now, a desperate chance, he was taking a chance that no _man_ could do otherwise than take. It was the chance to live-for one might better otherwise be dead! A chance! He had picked up Whitie Jack's revolver, and was twisting it in his fingers, and now he thrust it suddenly into his pocket. A chance! He was taking no chance, indeed, save with the stake that was already flung upon the table-his life. It was the one way! As the Rat, doubtless well known to the authorities, he could move under the very noses of the police at will without suspicion arising that he was Billy Kane; and as the Rat, if Whitie Jack was to be relied upon as a criterion, he would have the run of the underworld, and in the underworld were many secrets, and amongst those secrets was perhaps the one he sought-the clue to Jackson's a.s.sociates in the murder of David Ellsworth. He was not blinded to the difficulties of this picking up of the thread of another man's life; nor blinded to what was perhaps the greatest difficulty of all, the necessity of being able to recognize those with whom he _should be_ acquainted, but even that was not insurmountable. He could see a way, he believed, to accomplish even that.

But all this was for to-morrow-and the to-morrows after that! To-night he was going out again-to Marco's. That was why he had changed his clothes just now. A graver thing, the thought of merging his ident.i.ty with the Rat's, had impinged, obtruded itself, as it were, upon his mind. But he had not forgotten Marco's.

He picked up his discarded vest, transferred the package of banknotes and his watch to the pockets of the one he now wore, and as he did so, he looked at the time. Laverto had said a quarter to eleven. It was almost that now. Billy Kane's eyes strayed over the table, and fell upon the black mask. The mask, too, went into his pocket. It might prove a most valuable discovery, that mask-under certain circ.u.mstances even the _Rat's_ ident.i.ty was not lightly to be disclosed.

He collected the muddy garments he had taken off, and tucked them under the mattress on the bed. It was not likely that anyone would come here, much less attempt to enter, in his absence; but he was fully aware that now, and from now on, his life depended upon his caution in every detail. He extinguished the light, put on his hat, walked to the door, unlocked it-and stood for a moment hesitant. Was he a fool to take this added risk, when already his own back was against the wall, when already he was in desperate case himself? He shook his head in a sort of exasperated remonstrance with himself for even his momentary hesitation, then opening the door, he locked it behind him, and crept cautiously up the stairs to the street.

Whitie Jack had been only a tool used for the stage-setting of some deviltry that was to follow-at a quarter of eleven. That was obvious.

He, Billy Kane, had intended that the police should be informed and should deal with Laverto, and that he in person should give evidence against Laverto; but he could no longer inform the police, no longer give evidence. He was wanted now himself for _murder_, and so upon him fell the moral obligation to prevent or render abortive, if he could, a crime that he knew was pending. And besides-his face hardened suddenly, as he moved swiftly along, evading the direct rays of the street lights, and keeping in the shadows-he had a personal account to settle with Antonio Laverto. If it had not been for the man's d.a.m.nable imposition having succeeded to the extent that it had, he, Billy Kane, would not have left the Ellsworth house to-night, and David Ellsworth would not now--

Billy Kane's hand, in his pocket, tightened over the b.u.t.t of Whitie Jack's revolver. Unconsciously he quickened his stride.

Always hugging the shadows, his hat drawn far down over his face, giving the pa.s.sers-by he met as wide a berth as possible, Billy Kane covered the short distance that separated the Rat's den from Marco's. He slipped into the lane un.o.bserved, and for the second time that night crouched against the door with the broken lock. But now, mindful of the door's tendency to squeak, he pushed it open cautiously an inch at a time. And then, with the door slightly open, he stood motionless, a puzzled and amazed expression on his face. Just exactly what he had expected to find here, he was not prepared to say-but certainly not this! A faint light came through from the door of the back room into the hallway, and from the room there came a woman's voice that mingled a sort of pitiful defiance with a sob.