The Heart of Unaga Part 26

The man who came first was of medium height and square build. He had a disarming, florid face, and the bland, good-natured expression of a genial farmer. The other glanced swiftly over the room. He was the shorter of the two, and his clean shaven face and his undistinctive tweed clothing would have left him quite unremarkable but for his air of definite decision and purpose.

The first man the Englishman recognized as Saney, head of the Criminal Investigation Department of the province. The other was a stranger.

From the newcomers, the onlooker's attention was suddenly distracted by the slamming of a heavy door. It was the door of a telephone box, and he knew it was the door of "No. 1," the use of which had cost his friend one hundred dollars. He looked for the man with the beard. He had gone.

Saney's inspection of the room was rapid, and every individual foregathered came under his eye. Then he stepped up to the counter and spoke to the clerk.

His voice did not carry to the rest of the room, but the clerk's swift reply was plainly audible.

"I haven't had a sight of him, if that's what he's like," he said, handing back a photograph. "Still, the place is here for you to go through if you fancy that way. You know that, Mr. Saney. It's open to you the whole time."

The officer's reply was inaudible. But the voice of the stranger came sharply.

"Guess we'll just have a look at the fellow that pa.s.sed into that 'phone box as we came in," he said.

Again came the clerk's reply.

"There's no one in them boxes, Mister. I haven't sold a call in haf an hour," he said with a smile that lent no softening to his watchful eyes.

He stooped and released a series of levers. "Get a peek for yourselves, gents."

Each door was set ajar and the stranger moved swiftly across and flung them wide open in rapid succession. The boxes were empty. At "No. 1" he paused considering. Then he pa.s.sed within. And, for a few moments, stood examining the instrument, which was no different from any other 'phone in any other hotel in the city.

After the examination the two men pa.s.sed out of the room and the Englishman watched the smiling contempt that promptly lit the eyes of the clerk as he looked after them.

Outside on the landing Saney led the way. Nor did the two men speak until they had pa.s.sed down the stairs and out into the street.

"Well?"

Saney spoke with an ironical smile lighting his genial eyes.

"You'll search the place?" the other suggested.

Saney shrugged.

"If you feel that way. But it's useless," he said. "I said that to you before. You've tracked this feller to this city. You've tracked him to Mallard's. It's taken you nearly two years. We've all been out after him, and failed. You've succeeded in hunting him down to Mallard's.

Well, I'd say your work's only just started. Maybe he's there right now.

If we searched with a hundred men we couldn't exhaust that darn gopher nest. If we blocked every outlet we know and don't know, he could still sit tight and laff at us. No. We need to start right in again. So long as he's got the stuff, and hangs to Mallard's, he's safe."

"You might have those 'phone boxes torn down. I saw a feller go into one of them as we came in. I'd swear to that."

Saney nodded.

"So would I. A feller did go in. Maybe it was some guy that didn't fancy seeing me. Maybe it was your man. It wouldn't help us tearing out those boxes. We know them. 'No. 1' is a clear way out of that room. Guess the whole back of it opens into some darn pa.s.sage, which you could easily reach from anywhere outside that room. That's the trick of the place.

Short of pulling the place down you can't do a thing that 'ud help. It's honeycombed with concealed doors, that in themselves don't mean a thing but a 'get out' of any old room. It's the whole place that's the riddle.

Meanwhile it's a gravitating spot for crooks, and so has its uses--for us."

The room was sufficiently large, but it was low ceiled and suggested the bas.e.m.e.nt of an old-fashioned house. It was badly lit, too. Only an oil-lamp, on a table set with a cold supper for two, sought to discover the obscure limits of its tunnel-like length.

There was no suggestion of poverty about the place. It was modest. That was all. Its chief characteristic lay in the fact that it was obviously the full extent of the present home of its occupants. At the far end stood a bedstead, and by its side a large wicker hamper. The centre was occupied by the supper table, and, at the other end, under the window, which was carefully covered by heavy curtains, stood a child's cot.

For the rest there were the usual furnishings of a cheap apartment house, where the proprietors only cater for the cla.s.s of custom which lives in a state of frequent and rapid migration.

A woman was sitting in front of a small anthracite stove. A book was in her lap. But she was not reading. Her deep violet eyes were widely gazing down into the fire glow through the mica front, in that dreaming fashion which so soon becomes the habit of those condemned to prolonged hours of solitude.

It was by no means the face of a completely happy and contented woman.

It was a tired face with the weariness which is of the mind rather than of the body. There were a few tracings of lines about the eyes and the pretty forehead which were out of place in a woman of her age. Only anxiety could have set them there. Suspense, an unspoken dread of something which never ceased to threaten. Now, in an unguarded moment, when all disguise was permitted to fall from her, they were p.r.o.nounced, painfully p.r.o.nounced.

Her thought was plainly regretful. It was also obviously troubled.

Occasionally she would start and listen as some sound outside penetrated the profound stillness of the room. It was at these moments that her glance would turn swiftly, and with some display of anxiety, to the child's cot where she knew her baby lay sleeping. Once she sprang nervously to her feet and pa.s.sed over to the cot. She stood bending over the child gazing yearningly, hungrily down at the innocent, beautiful three-year-old life dreaming its hours away without understanding of that which surrounded it, or that which haunted the mind of its mother.

Then the stove and the wicker chair claimed her again, as did the suspense of waiting, with its burden of apprehension.

At last relief leapt to the troubled eyes, and, in a moment it seemed, every line which had been so deeply indicative before was suddenly smoothed out of her pretty face. The woman sprang from her chair transformed with an expression of deep relief and content. She glanced swiftly over the supper table as a key turned in the latch of the door.

A man with a brown beard thrust his way in and glanced swiftly over the whole length of the room. It was the searching look of a mind concerned, deeply concerned, with safety. Then his dark eyes came to the woman's face which was turned upon him questioningly.

"Well?" she demanded.

The monosyllable was full of deep significance. It asked a hundred questions.

Just for a moment no answer was forthcoming. The man turned from the woman, and his eyes sought the child's cot. There was no softness in his regard. It was deeply contemplative. That was all. It was the woman who displayed feeling as she followed his gaze, and the lighting of her beautiful eyes was with swift apprehension.

"Something's the matter, Hervey!" she demanded sharply.

The lamplight caught the man's eyes as they came back to her face, and its rays left them shining with a curious, lurid reflection.

"Matter?" A sharp, impotent oath broke from him. Then he checked his impulse to rave. "Yes. See here, Nita," he went on, with a restraint which added deep impressiveness, "we've got to quit. We've got to get out--quick. Steve's hard on our trail. I've seen him to-day at Mallard's. He didn't see me. Only my back. But I saw him. He came with Saney. And there's only one thing I guess to bring Steve to Mallard's.

Saney's never given me a moment's nightmare. But Steve--Steve back from Unaga, Steve in plain clothes in Quebec _with Saney_, and me sheltering at Mallard's, tells its own story to anyone with _savee_. It means he's got a hot scent, and he's following it right up. He's not the sort to let go of it--easy. It's quit for us--and quit right away."

Nita sighed. She pa.s.sed a shaking hand across her forehead, and when it had pa.s.sed all the tracery of lines had returned and stood out even more sharply.

"It's come--at last," she said, in a weary, hopeless tone. "It was bound to. I knew it right along. I told you."

"Oh, yes, you told me," Garstaing retorted, with a sneer that was always ready when anger supervened. "Guess you told me a whole heap of fool stuff one time and another. But you needn't reckon we're going to sit around under things, just because Mister Steve seems to put the fear of G.o.d into you. It's hastened the things I've had in my mind quite awhile.

That's all. We're going to beat it. We're quitting for up north. It was my notion from the start. Only I weakened with your squeal about the country. Well, your squeals are no account now. We got to save our skins. I'm going to beat Mister Steve, and show you he's just the same as most other folks who've got a grip on the game. We're making north where, if he gets a notion to follow, he'll need to play the lone hand.

And Steve on a lone hand can't scare me five cents. Up there I'll meet him. We won't need to live a gopher's life in a cellar. And when he comes along, if he's the guts you reckon he has, I'll meet him, and kill him as sure as h.e.l.l's waiting for him." The man's hot eyes were suddenly turned on the distant child's cot, and he nodded at it. "It's that makes me sick," he cried vehemently. "It's his!"

"She's mine!" Nita cried sharply. "And where I go she goes."

Nita read the man's mood with all the instinct of a mother. Three years ago when she brought Coqueline into the world the infant claim upon her had been loose enough. It was different now. Her woman's weakness and discontent had yielded her a ready victim to the showy promises and good looks of Hervey Garstaing. But the road they had had to travel since had been by no means easy. It had been full of disillusionment for the silly woman. They had lived in fear of the law, in fear of Steve, for over two years. And the grind of it, for the pleasure-loving wife who had buoyed herself with dreams of gaiety and delight which her life in the North had denied her, had driven her back upon the elemental that was only latent in her. Coqueline was her all now. Nita clung to her baby as the one indestructible link with that purity of life which no woman, however fallen, can ever wholly disregard, or forget. The child was a sheet-anchor for all time. Whatever the future had in store, little Coqueline was her child, born in wedlock, the pledge of her maiden dreams.

"Tchah! She's his!" The man's restraint was giving before the brutal, the criminal, that was the essence of him. "Why in h.e.l.l should I feed his brat? Why should I be burdened with it? Can't you see? We've got to drag her wherever we go, delaying us, an unhallowed worry, and a darn danger at all times. Cut it out. Pa.s.s her along to some blamed orphan outfit. Leave her to the mule-headed folks who guess their mission in life is to round up other folks' 'strays.' Steve's not a thing to you now, Nita, and never will be again. You can't ever go back to him. He'd kick you out without mercy, if I know Steve. He's hard--hard as h.e.l.l.

You're mine, my dear, mine for keeps. Steve don't want any woman who's shared her bed with another feller. You know that well enough. Well, say, be reasonable. Let the kid go. You don't need her. You and me together, we can play the game out. I can make good up there. And all I make you've a half share stake in. It's up to you, kid. Just say the word, and I'll fix things so that brat can get to an inst.i.tution. Will you----?"

"It's no use, Hervey." Nita shook her head decidedly. But his coa.r.s.eness, his brutality had had its effect. The violet of her eyes remained hidden lest it should reveal the terror that lay in her heart.

"We've argued all this before. I'll go where you like, when you like, but--my baby girl goes with me."