The Heart of Unaga Part 25

On one of the many floors was a large sort of office and lounging-room.

It had been extended, as necessity demanded, by the simple process of taking down part.i.tion walls. It was low-ceiled and dingy. Its walls were mostly panelled with dull, shabby graining over many coats of paint. The floor was bare and unscrubbed, and littered with frowsy-looking wooden cuspidors filled with cinders. There were many small tables scattered about, and the rest of the s.p.a.ce seemed to be filled up with Windsor chairs, which jostled one another to an extent that made pa.s.sage a matter of patient effort. At one end of the room was a long counter with an iron grid protecting those behind it. And, in this region there were several telephone boxes with unusually heavy and sound-proof doors.

For the rest it was peopled by the hard-faced, powerful-looking clerks behind the iron grid of the counter, and a gathering of men sitting about at the small tables, or lounging with their feet on the anthracite stove which stood out in the centre of the great apartment.

It was a mixed enough gathering. There were well-dressed men, and men who were obviously of the sea. There were the flashily dressed crooks, whose work was the haunt of sidewalk, and trains, and the surface cars.

There were out and out toughs, careless of all appearance, and with their evil hall-marked on harsh faces and in their watchful eyes. Then there were others whom no one but the police of the city could have placed. There were Chinamen and Lascars. There were square-headed Germans, and the Dagos from Italy and other Latin countries. There were n.i.g.g.e.rs, too, which was a tribute to the generosity of Mallard's hospitality.

Those at the tables were mostly drinking and gambling. Poker seemed to be the favoured pastime, but "shooting c.r.a.ps" was not without its devotees. There were one or two groups in close confabulation over their drinks. While round the stove was a scattering of loungers.

A dark good-looking man, with an ample brown beard, was amongst the latter. He was reclining with little more than his back resting on the seat of an armed Windsor chair. His feet, well shod, were thrust up on the stove in approved fashion. He was smoking a cheap cigar which retained its highly coloured band, and contemplating the brazen pages of an early edition of a leading evening paper.

A man beside him, an Englishman, to judge by the make of his clothes and his manner of speech, had a news sheet lying in his lap. But he was not reading. His fair face and blue eyes were turned with unfailing interest on the dull sides of the glowing stove. Occasionally he spoke to his bearded neighbour, who also seemed to be something of a companion.

"I can't find anything that's likely to be of any use to me," he said.

His speech was curiously refined and seemed utterly out of place in the office of Mallard's. "I quit London because--It seems to me cities are all the same. They're all full to overflowing, and the only jobs going are the jobs no one wants. Why in h.e.l.l do we congregate in cities?"

The man beside him replied without looking up from his paper.

"Because we've a ten cent sense with a fi' dollar scare." He laughed harshly. "How long have you been out? Six months? Six months, an' you've learned to guess hard when you see Saney b.u.mming around, or a uniform in the crowd. You've learned to wish you 'hadn't,' so you dream things all night. You're yearning to get back to things as they were before you guessed you'd fancy them diff'rent, and you find that way the door's shut tight, and a feller with a darn sharp sword is sitting around waiting on you. Take a chance, man. Get out in the open. It's big, and it's good. It's a h.e.l.l of a sight in front of a city, anyway. If they get you--well, what of it? You've asked for it. And anyway they're going to get you some time. You can't get away with the play all the time."

"Yes. I s'pose that's right. It's a big country, and--" The man's fair brows drew together. The regret was plain enough in his eyes. There was more weakness than crime in them.

The bearded man tapped the page of the news sheet he was reading with an emphatic forefinger that was none too clean.

"What in h.e.l.l?" he exclaimed. "These fellers beat me. Here, look at that, and read the stuff some darn hoodlum has doped out."

He pa.s.sed the paper to the Englishman. That at which the other pointed was the photograph of a man. The letterpress was underneath it.

"Get a good look at the picture. Then read," the other exclaimed, while his dark eyes searched the Englishman's face.

He waited, watchful, alert. He saw the other's eyes scan the letterpress. Then he saw them revert again to the picture.

"Well, what d'you make out? Aren't they darn suckers? Look at that job line in b.u.m ink. Could you get that face from a Limburger cheese? And the dope? After handing you a valentine that 'ud scare a blind Choyeuse, and you couldn't rec'nize for a man without a spy gla.s.s, they set right in to tell you he's 'wanted' for things he did in the North-west two and a haf years ago. The p'lice have been chasing him for two and a haf years. They've never located him, and he's likely living in the heart of Sahara or some other darn place by now. And now--now some buzzy-headed 'cop' reckons he's got a line, and dopes out that stuff to warn him they're coming along, so he can get well away in time. Makes you laff."

There was irritation in the man's tone. There was something else besides.

The blue-eyed English crook was studying the picture closely.

"It sort of seems foolish," he said at last.

"Foolish? Gee!"

"Still, it is the face of a man, and a good-looking man," he went on.

"And there's something familiar about it, too; I seem to know the face."

Suddenly he looked round, and his pale, searching eyes looked hard at his companion. "Say, he's not unlike you. He's got the same forehead, and the same eyes and nose. If you'd got no beard, and your hair was brushed smooth----"

"Tchah!"

The bearded man reclaimed the paper with a laugh that carried no conviction.

"The courts 'ud hand me big money damages for a libel like that," he declared.

"Would they?"

The smiling eyes of the Englishman were challenging. The other shrugged as well as his att.i.tude would permit, and, emitting a cloud of smoke from his rank cigar, pretended to continue his reading.

At that moment a stir recurred amongst the "c.r.a.p-shooters" under one of the windows, and the Englishman looked round. His alert ears had caught the sound of Saney's name on the lips of one of the men who had ceased his play to peer out of the window.

He rose swiftly from his chair and joined the group. The man with the beard had made no movement. He, too, had heard Saney's name, and a keen, alert, sidelong glance followed his neighbour's movements.

The other was away some seconds. When he returned his breathing seemed to have quickened, and a light of uncertainty shone in his eyes.

"It's Saney," he said, without waiting for any question. "He's coming down the street. I should think he's coming here. He's crossed over as if he were."

"Alone?"

The bearded man's question was sharp.

"No. There's another fellow with him. He's in plain clothes. A youngish looking fellow, with a clean shaven face, and a pair of shoulders like an ox. Looks to me like a cavalryman in mufti. He certainly looks as if he ought to have a saddle under him. I----"

The other waited for no more. He was on his feet and across the room at the window in a twinkling. And the smiling eyes of the Englishman gazed after him. In the other's absence he picked up the paper which had fallen upon the floor, and looked again at the portrait of the man, and re-read the letterpress underneath it.

"Hervey Garstaing," he murmured, as though impressing the name upon his mind. Then he laid the paper quickly aside as the thrusting of chairs announced his companion's return.

The next few minutes were full of a tense interest for the man who had only just crossed the border line into the world of crime. The man with the brown beard pa.s.sed him by without a word. He thrust the chairs, which stood in his way, hastily aside. He seemed to have no regard for anything but his own rapid progress. He was making for the counter with its iron defences.

The smile in the Englishman's eyes deepened. His interest rose to a wave of excitement. He felt a.s.sured that "things" were about to happen.

A hard-faced clerk with the shoulders of a prizefighter, was waiting to receive the hurried approach of his client.

These men were always alert and ready at the first sign.

The bearded man's demand came sharply back across the room.

"Guess I need to 'phone--quick!" he said. "I'll take No. 1."

The face of the clerk remained expressionless, but the tone of his reply had doubt in it.

"No. 1?" he said.

"That's how I said."

"It'll cost you a hundred dollars."

"You needn't hand me the tariff," returned the bearded man with a laugh that jarred. "Here's the stuff. Only open it--quick."

The onlooker saw the applicant dive a hand into his hip pocket and draw out a roll of money. He heard the crumple of paper as he counted out a number of bills. Then, in a moment, his whole attention was diverted to the entrance door of the room. The swing door was thrust open and two men pushed their way in.