Lonesome Town Part 13

But again she upset his calculations.

Instead of following the asphalted footpath that hemmed the cobbles on one side of the cut, she picked her place and scaled the south wall.

Although the section confronting him was higher, Pape lost no time in following her example and gained the top to see her dodging past one of the scattered lights. Darkness had settled. Appreciating how easily he might lose her in that unfamiliar section of munic.i.p.al tumble-land, he decreased the gap between them.

A veritable b.u.t.te loomed in her path, but this she took like a mountaineer. To Pape she appeared to be executing some sort of an obstacle race with herself. In his self-appointed capacity of rear-guard there was nothing for him but to follow. Being something of a climber himself, he reached the top just behind her, despite her advantage of a trail which he had not been able to find. Rounding one of the bowlder-formed crags that gave picturesqueness to the baby mountain, he pulled up short.

Jane was standing some few yards ahead, her bent back toward him, a quaint, distinct silhouette in the reflected light from Fifty-ninth Street. As she did not once glance over-shoulder, she evidently considered his pursuit thrown off. She may have paused to steady the pulses disturbed by her lively climb; perhaps was enjoying the electrical display which so fascinated him.

Indeed it was worth a long-time look, that fairyland of The Plaza, as seen through the framing fringe of trees, with its statues and fountains agleam; the hotel-house of fifty-thousand candles, all lit; the lines of Fifth Avenue's golden globes stretching indefinitely beyond; on all sides, far and near, the banked sky-line of bright-blinking, essentially real palaces of modernity which yet were so much more inconceivable than Munchausen's wildest dream. And that foreground figure of an old woman on the crag-it might have been posed as a fanciful conception of the Past pausing to realize the Present-straining to peer into the Future.

Into this picture, changing and marring it, intruded a man. Up over the far side of the abutment and straight toward the girl, as though expected, he came. His appearance was the most distinct shock of the evening to Pape.

"A rendezvous!" he told himself with sinking heart. "She had to get rid of me-she had to hurry-in order to keep a rendezvous."

Her irregular course, her disregard of traveled paths, her a.s.sault of this rock heap-everything in the adventure except how she came to be rooting among the poplars now seemed explained. Mentally he flayed himself for his stupid a.s.sumptions and sense of personal responsibility for her safety. He turned to descend the way he had come-no need for her to know what a following fool he had made of himself.

A certain quality of alarm in what he at first had thought her greeting of the man stopped him. Then forward he sprang, like a fragment blasted from the rock. He closed the gap between and laid on the collar and elbow of the lounger who had accosted her a violent grip.

"What shall I do with him-drop him over or run him in?"

More calmly than might have been expected, he turned to the little old lady of his pursuit, the while holding the fellow precariously near what might be called, by phantasy of the night-lights, a "precipice."

"You-again?" Whether from dread or relief, Jane shuddered. "Are you everywhere?"

"Why not?"

His captive ceased squirming to whimper. "Leave me go, officer. I wasn't meaning no harm to the old girl. Just thought I could help her down onta a safer footing. Likely you had a mother onct yourself. For her sake, have a heart."

"He knows I'm not old. He has troubled me before. If you'll hold him a moment to make sure that he doesn't follow, I-I'd be much obliged."

Jane, seeing her opportunity, took it; was off with the agility of a Yellowstone doe; gained a trail and disappeared down the side of the b.u.t.te.

Pape did more than obey her admonition to hold and make sure. That the meeting was rendezvous rather than coincidence persisted in his fears.

Odd, otherwise, that she should come straight to the spot where the man was waiting, as if for her. Even in her complaint that he had troubled her before she admitted previous meetings. Perhaps his own second appearance of the evening was forcing both to play parts: had made a sudden change of plan seem advisable to her; would irritate the man into an attempt to deal out punishment for the interference. Would the two meet afterward at some second-choice point? Pape decided to "look in"; by way of a start, dragged his captive under an electric light which cast a sickly glow over the flattened dome of the b.u.t.te.

At once he went on guard against the "fightingest" face he ever had glimpsed, set atop the bull-neck of a figure that approximately matched his own in height and weight, if not range iron. The fellow's features were a.s.sorted for brutishness, nose flattened as from some past smash, lips thick, eyes small, ears cauliflower, hair close-clipped. That a woman of Jane Lauderdale's type should have anything in common with so typical a "pug" was incogitable.

For a moment, the pale eyes in turn studied him through their narrowed, close-set shutters, evidently "marking" for later identification. Then, in an unexpected, forceful shove the inevitable bout began. Had Pape not already braced himself against just such a move, he must have toppled off the rocks. As happened, he let go his hold and swung his body into balance.

"h.e.l.l's ashes, you're no cop!"

The aggressor's exclamation was punctuated by two professionally ready fists. The right one led with a surety that was in itself a warning.

Only by an instinctive duck of his head did Pape limit its damage to a sting.

A decade or two has pa.s.sed since Montana, while still carrying "hardware" for hard cases, learned that differences of opinion may be settled by the use of more natural weapons; that punishment may be exacted without calling in the coroner. Even had this metropolitan fistic opening missed in point of impact, Why-Not Pape would have offered satisfaction without thought of recourse to the gun nestling under his left arm-pit.

Nature had been the Westerner's trainer, a silver-tip grizzly his one-best boxing instructor. With an awkwardly efficient movement, he advanced upon his more stealthy challenger. His arms carried close that he might get all possible leverage behind his punches, he waited until well within reach, then issued a series of short-arm jabs.

The other, evidently trained to the squared circle, depended upon his far-reaching right, which again he landed before his bear-like opponent could cover. Beyond an involuntary grunt, however, its effect was nil.

The Pape jaw seemed of hewn oak. In another breath the bear-cuffs began to fall, swift, strong, confusing.

The New Yorker tried a run-around, for the b.u.t.te top had not the ring area to which apparently he was accustomed in his "leather pushing." A punishing left, delivered from an impossible angle, cut him off. He had no choice but to walk up to the medicine bottle whose stopper was out.

He feinted, but Pape seemed not to understand what was meant by such tactics-only hit the harder. He attempted a "one-two"-with his left to jar Pape's head into position for a crushing right-and met a method of blocking which appeared to be new to him-not so much blocking, in fact, as getting a punch home first. One proved enough; carried the "ice" to the Gothamite; stretched him for a couple of counts of ten. The silver-tip's pupil had won.

Pape did not wait for a second round. He was satisfied that his knock-out would hold sufficiently long for any of Jane Lauderdale's purposes or his own. Down in the direction which the girl had taken over the rocks he scrambled, but could see no sign of her. She had not, then, stayed to witness the fight, although the whole encounter had taken but a moment. Whether or not he had saved her an unpleasant scene, he had lost her. Was it always to be thus-touch and go? He wouldn't have it.

He'd beat her at her own game.

Directly as he could calculate and at his top speed, he set out for the a.r.s.enal gate; there took a stand on about the spot from which he had intercepted Jasper at the somewhat less exciting start of this same chase several evenings ago. Surely she now would make straight for home, whatever may have been her reason for visiting the b.u.t.te!

His eyes, searching for a poke-bonneted figure in black, soon were rewarded. Through the pedestrian gate near which he stood in deep shadow she came. Watching her chance with the traffic, she darted across the greased trail of the avenue and, once on the opposite sidewalk, turned south. Pape continued to pursue along his side of the street, determined to finish his task of safeguarding her until the front door of her aunt's house should shut her-only briefly, he hoped-from his sight.

But what spirit of perversity was ruling her? Toward the steps of the Sturgis brownstone she did not turn; did not give them so much as a glance. Briskly as before she continued down the avenue until at the Sixty-third Street corner she again turned east.

Was the house to be gained by some rear entrance from the lower street-one made advisable by the disguise she wore? From its mid-block position, this supposition did not seem tenable. Pape decided to take no chances, except with the traffic. Crossing the street with a rush, he gained a point a hundred or so feet behind her, then timed his steps with hers. Due east they walked, at a good pace, but without undue hurry. She seemed fully rea.s.sured. Although she inclined her young face and bent her young back to the old part, she did not glance back as though nervous over possible pursuit. The block was lined mostly with homes-of the near-rich, he judged from the look of them. Of the few people who pa.s.sed none gave more than a casual glance at the actively shuffling "old lady."

They crossed what the street sign told Pape was Madison Avenue; pa.s.sed several apartment houses and more residences. Across Park and Lexington, still due east, the tone of the section fell off. From Third Avenue onward it went continually "down." Pape kept one eye on the figure he was following and the other on his surroundings, figuratively speaking.

Both were interesting. This was his first excursion into the far East Side and he was surprised by the mid-width of Manhattan Isle.

They came to a block lofted with tenements on one side and shadowed by huge, cylindric gas tanks on the other. Children swarmed the sidewalk thick as ants over a home-hillock and screamed like Indians on rampage.

Washings left out for overnight drying were strung from one fire-escape to another of the scaly brick fronts. As though laving the cross-street's dirty feet, the East River shimmered dimly in the lights from sh.o.r.e and from pa.s.sing steam craft. Beyond loomed that isle of punishment dreams come true-the Blackwell's which politicians would rename "Welfare."

Thoughts murky as the water at the foot of the hill came to Peter Pape.

Could Jane Lauderdale be seeking the river for surcease from some disappointment or fear more direful than he had supposed? Why should she be, with youth, beauty and devotion all her own? And yet, why not?

Others as young, fair and fondly desired had been depressed to such extent. His heart swelled with protective pity for her. His pulses beat from more than the speed with which he closed the distance between them to about twenty feet, that he might be ready for emergency.

They had come to a building which broke the tenement line, a relic residence of by-gone days. With a sudden turn, the little old lady undertook the steps. So close was Pape that he pulled the Fedora over his eyes lest she recognize him. But he need not have feared. She did not look back. Her attention was focused ahead upon some one who sat on the small Colonial-type stoop-some one who had been waiting for her.

"Home, dear, at last!" Pape overheard the greeting in a deep, rich voice. "I couldn't imagine what was keeping you. I almost risked starting out in search of you. Did you--"

He heard no more. But he saw more than he wished. The some one arose, a tall, strong, masculine outline against the flickering gas light from inside the hall; clasped an arm about her shoulders; lowered a fine-cut profile, crowned by a ma.s.s of lightish hair, to her kiss. The pair entered the house together and closed the door.

Sans preface, the volunteer escort reached the crux of his conclusions.

He had seen his "Nellie" home, yes. And the antic.i.p.ated romance had come at evening's end-romance with another man!

CHAPTER XII-WHAT A WELCOME!

At exactly ten of the clock next morning Peter Stansbury Pape, Esquire, garbed in the form prescribed by the chart on the wall of his Astor suite, was admitted for the second time to the Sturgis brownstone. He had awakened with the idea. His mind, which last night had felt sh.e.l.l-shocked out of its normal functions by that "home-at-last-dear"

bomb, must have worked it out while he slept. The telephone, Jasper of the jowls and a certain exuberant "young lady of to-day"-all seemed to approve it. Even Aunt Helene, who received him, wore a manner that went with her _ante-meridian_ negligee, pliable and gracious as its material of rose-hued Georgette.

She was so glad to see him again, although he was a very naughty person to have permitted her to believe him a detective the other night. Yes, her niece had explained all about him after he had gone. Still, she supposed that he meant well-her pet charity was to believe the best of every one. And she was so relieved that all of them had lived through the excitement that she could have forgiven a worse crime than his effort to help under false pretense. She had narrowly saved herself a complete nervous collapse by a few days absence from the scene of the robbery-that robbery of nothing at all except a keepsake of such inappreciable value that its loser would not name its name. Her niece, Miss Lauderdale, always had been a rather secretive, sentimental girl, and had since regretted, she felt sure, the worry she had caused them.

"We never permit ourselves to forget that she is an orphan, poor dear,"

added the matron. "Irene tries to make everything up to her. Really, she is fonder of her cousin than she could be of any one short of a twin.

And I am very glad to have it so. Jane has such a good influence over Irene. She is much older, you know."