The Definite Object Part 48

"I guess you'd be less of a fool if you was to get out now an'

wait--outside!" Spider suggested.

Ravenslee shook his head.

"I'll wait here," said he, "there are times when I can be as big a fool as the next, Spider, and this is one of them."

"That's so!" nodded the Spider, and chewing viciously, he turned and was gone, to be hailed a few minutes later in uproarious greeting by many discordant voices which died slowly to a droning hum above which came sounds more distant, shouts and cheers from the auditorium.

Left alone, Ravenslee looked about him, and then espied a newspaper that lay upon the desk. Idly taking it up, his gaze was attracted by these words, printed in large black letters:

NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL RUN TO EARTH JACOB HEINE THE GUN-MAN ARRESTED IN JERSEY CITY

Below in small type he read this:

Jacob Heine, believed to be the perpetrator of several mysterious shooting affrays, and member of a dangerous West Side gang, was arrested to-day.

The light being dim, Ravenslee drew closer to the lamp, and standing thus against the light, his face was in shadow--also his long figure was silhouetted upon the opposite wall, plain to be seen by any one opening the door. Suddenly, as he stood with head bent above the paper, this door opened suddenly, and M'Ginnis entered; he also held a paper, and now he spoke without troubling to lift his scowling gaze from the printed column he was scanning:

"That you, Lefty? Here's a h.e.l.l of a mix-up--that dog-gone fool Heine's got himself pinched--and in Jersey City too! I told him t' stay around here till things was quiet! It's goin' t' be a h.e.l.l of a job t' fix things for him over there--'t ain't like N' York. But we got t' fix things for him or chance him squealing on th' rest of us, but what beats me is--"

M'Ginnis's teeth clicked together, and the paper tore suddenly between his hands as, glancing up at last, he beheld two keen, grey eyes that watched him and a mouth, grim and close-lipped, that curled in the smile Spider didn't like.

For a long, tense moment they stood motionless, eye to eye, then, reaching behind him, M'Ginnis locked the door, and drawing out the key, thrust it into his pocket.

"So--I got ye at last--have I?" said he slowly.

"And I've got you," said Ravenslee pleasantly; "we seem to have got each other, don't we?"

"See here, you," said M'Ginnis, his ma.s.sive shoulders squared, his big chin viciously outthrust, "you're goin' t' leave Mulligan's, see?"

"Am I?" said Ravenslee, lounging upon a corner of the battered desk.

"You sure are," nodded M'Ginnis. "h.e.l.l's Kitchen ain't big enough for you an' me, I guess; you're goin' because I say so, an' you're goin'

t'night!"

"You surprise me!" said Ravenslee sleepily.

"You're goin' t' quit h.e.l.l's Kitchen for good and--you ain't comin'

back!"

"You amaze me!" and Ravenslee yawned behind his hand.

"An' now you're goin' t' listen why an' wherefore--if you can keep awake a minute!"

"I'll try, Mr. Flowers, I'll try."

M'Ginnis thrust clenched hands into his pockets and surveyed Ravenslee with scornful eyes--his lounging figure and stooping shoulders, his long, white hands and general listless air.

"G.o.d!" he exclaimed, "that she should trouble t' look twice at such a nancy-boy!" and he spat, loud and contemptuously.

"Almost think you're trying to be rude, Mr. Flowers."

"Aw--I couldn't be, to a--thing like you! An' see here--me name's M'Ginnis!"

"But then," sighed Ravenslee, "I prefer to call you Flowers--a fair name for a foul thing--"

M'Ginnis made a swift step forward and halted, hard-breathing and menacing.

"How much?" he demanded.

"Fair name for a very foul thing, Mr. Flowers," repeated Ravenslee, glancing up at him from under slumberous, drooping lids--"anyway, Flowers you will remain!"

As they stared again, eye to eye, M'Ginnis edged nearer and nearer, head thrust forward, until Ravenslee could see the cords that writhed and swelled in his big throat, and he hitched forward a languid shoulder.

"Don't come any nearer, Flowers," said he, "and don't stick out your jaw like that--don't do it; I might be tempted to try to--er--hit it!"

"What--you?" said M'Ginnis, and laughed hoa.r.s.ely, while Ravenslee yawned again.

"An' now, Mr. b.u.t.t-in, if you're still awake--listen here. I guess it's about time you stopped foolin' around Hermy Chesterton--an' you're goin'

t' quit--see!" Ravenslee's eyes flashed suddenly, then drooped as M'Ginnis continued: "So you're goin' t' sit down right here, an' you're goin' t' write a nice little note of farewell, an' you're goin' t' tell her as you love her an' leave her because I say so--see? Ah!" he cried, suddenly hoa.r.s.e and anger-choked, "d' ye think I'll let Hermy look at a thing like you--do ye?--do ye?" and he waited. Ravenslee sat utterly still, and when at last he spoke his voice sounded even more gentle than before.

"My good Flowers, there is just one thing you shall not do, and that is, speak her name in my hearing. You're not fit to, and, Mr. Flowers, I'll not permit it."

"Is that so?" snarled M'Ginnis, "well, then, listen some more. I know as you're always hangin' around her flat, and if Hermy don't care about losing her good name--"

Even as Ravenslee's long arm shot out, M'Ginnis side-stepped the blow, and Ravenslee found himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver.

"Ah--I thought so!" he breathed, and shrank away.

"Kind of alters things, don't it?" enquired M'Ginnis, hoa.r.s.e and jeering. "Well, if you don't want it to go off, sit down an' write Hermy as pretty a little note as you can--no, shut that window first."

Silent and speechless, Ravenslee crossed to the window and drew down the sash, in doing which he noticed a dark something that crouched beneath the sill.

"An' now," said M'Ginnis, leaning against a corner of the desk, "sit down here, nice an' close, an' write that letter--there's pen an' ink an' paper--an' quick about it or by--"

M'Ginnis sprang up and turned as the gla.s.s of the window splintered to fragments, and, almost with the crash, Ravenslee leapt--a fierce twist, a vicious wrench, and the deadly weapon had changed hands.

"Lucky it didn't go off," said Ravenslee, smiling grimly at the revolver he held, "others might have heard, and, Mr. Flowers, I want to be alone with you just a little longer. Of course, I might shoot you for the murderous beast you are, or I might walk you over to the nearest police depot for the crook I think you are--but--oh, well, of late I've been yearning to get my hands on you and so"--Ravenslee turned and pitched the revolver through the broken window. But, almost as the weapon left his hand, M'Ginnis was upon him, and, reeling from the blow, Ravenslee staggered blindly across the room, till stayed by the wall, and sank there, crouched and groaning, his face hidden in his hands.

With a cry hoa.r.s.e and fierce, M'Ginnis followed and stooped, eager to make an end--stooped to be met by two fierce hands, sure hands and strong, that grasped his silken neckerchief as this crouching figure rose suddenly erect. So for a wild, panting moment they grappled, swaying grimly to and fro, while ever the silken neckerchief was twisted tight and tighter. Choking now, M'Ginnis felt fingers on his naked throat, iron fingers that clutched cruelly, and in this painful grip was whirled, choking, against the wall and thence borne down and down. And now M'Ginnis, lying helpless across his opponent's knee, stared up into a face pale but grimly joyous, lips that curled back from gnashing white teeth--eyes that glared merciless. So Ravenslee bent M'Ginnis back across his knee and choked him there awhile, then suddenly relaxed his hold and let M'Ginnis sink, gasping, to the floor.

"A little--rough, Mr. Flowers," he panted, "a trifle--rough with you--I fear--but I want you--to know that you--shall not utter--her name--in my presence. Now the key--I prefer door to window--the key, Mr.

Flowers--ah, here it is!" So saying, Ravenslee stood upright, and wiping blood and sweat from him with his sleeve, turned to the door. "One other thing, Mr. Flowers; have the goodness to take off your neckerchief next time, or I--may strangle you outright."

Halfway down the pa.s.sage Ravenslee turned to see Murder close on his heels. Once he smote and twice, but nothing might stay that bull-like rush and, locked in a desperate clinch, he was borne back and back, their trampling lost in the universal din about them, as reeling, staggering, they crashed out through wrecked and splintered door and, still locked together, were swallowed in the night beyond.

Thus the Spider, crouching in the dark beneath the broken window with Spike beside him, was presently aware of the sickening sounds of furious struggling close at hand, and of a hoa.r.s.e, panting voice that cursed in fierce triumph--a voice that ended all at once in a ghastly strangling choke; and recognising this voice, the Spider hunched his great shoulders and bore Spike to a remote spot where stood a solitary lamp-post. Here he waited, calm-eyed and chewing placidly, one arm about the fretful Spike.

Presently Ravenslee joined them; the shabby hat was gone, and there was a smear of blood upon his cheek, also he laboured in his breathing, but his eyes were joyous.