The Net Part 23

"It's shocking! But tell me, is this plan your own, or did Bernie Dreux suggest it?"

Donnelly laughed silently.

"So you knew he'd turned fly cop? I thought I'd split when he came to me."

"I hope you didn't offend him."

"Oh, not at all. Those little milliners are mighty sensitive. I told him he had the makings of another Le Coq, but the force was full. I suggested that he work on the outside, and set him to watching a certain dago fruit-stand on Ca.n.a.l Street."

"Why that particular stand?"

"Because it's owned by one of our men and he can't come to any harm there. He reports every day."

"But Narcone--Are you really in earnest about this scheme?"

"I am. It's our only chance to land him, and I've got to accomplish something or quit drawing my salary. Here's the layout; the Pinkertons have an operative who knew Sabella in New York; they were friends, in fact. This fellow arrived here two hours ago--calls himself Corte.

He's to renew his acquaintance with our man and explain that he is returning to New York in a week. The day he sails we grab Mr. Narcone, hustle him aboard ship, and Corte will see to the rest. If it works right n.o.body'll know anything about it until Narcone is at sea, when it will be too late for interference. It's old stuff, but it'll work."

From what he knew of the Sicilian bandit, Blake felt a certain doubt as to the practicability of this plan, yet he was relieved to learn that he would not be called upon to testify. He therefore expressed himself as gratified at the change of procedure.

"It was partly to spare you," the Chief replied, "that I decided on this course. I want you to help me though."

"In what way?"

"Well, it will naturally take some force; Narcone won't go willingly.

I want you to help me take him."

Instantly those fears which had been lulled in Norvin's breast leaped into turmoil; the same sick surge of emotions rose, and he felt himself quailing. After an instant's pause he said:

"I'll act any part you cast me for, but don't you think it is work for trained officers like you and this Corte?"

"That's exactly the point. Narcone may put up a fight, and I have more confidence in you, when it comes to a pinch, than in any man I know.

Corte's job is to get him down to the dock, and I can't ask any of my men to take a hand with me, for it's--well, not exactly regular.

Besides, I may need a witness." Donnelly hesitated. "If I do need one, I'll want some man whose word will carry more weight than that of a policeman. You understand?" He leveled his blue eyes at Blake and they looked particularly smoky and cold.

"You mean the Quatrones may try to break you?"

"Something like that."

"Suppose Narcone--er--resists?"

Donnelly shrugged, "We can't very well kill him, That's what makes it hard. I knew you had as much at stake as I, so I felt sure you'd help."

Blake heard himself a.s.suring the officer that he had not been mistaken, but it was not his own voice that reached his ears, and when his caller had gone he found himself sitting limply in his chair, numb with horror at his own temerity.

As he looked back upon it, blaming himself for his too ready agreement, he realized that several mingling emotions had been at the root of it. In the first place, he had said "yes" because his craven spirit had screamed "no" so loudly. He felt that the project was not only dangerous, but impracticable, yet something, which he chose to term his over-will, had warned him that he must not upon any account give way to fear lest he weaken his already insecure hold upon himself. Again, Donnelly had appealed to him in a way hard to resist.

He was not only flattered by the Chief's high regard for his courage, but grateful to him for having relieved him of the notoriety and possible consequences of a public proceeding. Most of all, perhaps, his final acquiescence had been an instinctive reaction of rage and disgust at the part of his nature that he hated. He struck at it as a man strikes at a snake.

But now that he was irrevocably pledged, his reason broke and fled, leaving him a prey to his imagination.

What, he wondered, would Narcone do when he saw his life at stake-- when he recognized in one of his captors the man he had craved to kill in the forest of Terranova? There would in all probability be a physical struggle--perhaps he would find his own flabby muscles pitted against the mighty thews of the Sicilian butcher. At the thought he felt again the melting horror which had weakened him on that unspeakable night when Narcone had turned from wiping the warm blood from his hands to glare into his face. Blake feared that the memories would return to betray him at the last moment. That would mean that he would be left naked of the reputation he had guarded so jealously--and a far worse calamity--that his rebellious nature would finally triumph. One defeat, he knew, implied total overthrow.

He tried to reason that he was magnifying the danger--that Narcone would be easily handled, that other criminals as desperate had been taken without a struggle, but the instant such grains of comfort touched the healed terrors in his mind they vanished like drops of water sprinkled upon an incandescent furnace.

Nevertheless, he was pledged, and he knew that he would go.

He had barely gotten himself under a semblance of control, two days later, when Donnelly called him up by telephone to advise him in cautious terms that affairs were nearing a climax and to warn him to make ready.

This served to throw him into a renewed panic. It required a tremendous effort to concentrate upon his business affairs, and it took the genius of an actor to carry him through the inconsequent details of his every-day life without betrayal. Alone, at home, upon the crowded 'Change, in deadly-dull directors' meetings, that sinister shadow overhung him. These long, leaden hours of suspense were doing what nothing else had been able to do since he took himself definitely in hand. They were harder to bear than any of those disciplinary experiences which had turned his hair white and burned his youth to an ash.

At last Donnelly came.

"Corte has framed it for to-morrow," he announced with evident satisfaction.

"To-morrow?" Norvin echoed, faintly.

"Yes. He's sailing on the _Philadelphia_ at eleven o'clock--no stops between here and New York. They'll be waiting for Narcone at Quarantine." "I'm glad--it's time to do something."

Donnelly rubbed his palms together and showed his teeth in a smile, "Corte says he'll have him at the Cromwell Line docks without fail, so that will save us grabbing him on the street and holding him until sailing time. If we pull it off quietly, at the last minute, n.o.body'll know anything about it. You'd better be at my office by nine, in case anything goes wrong."

"You may count on me," Blake answered in a tone that gave no hint of his inward flinching. But once alone, he found that his nerves would not allow him to work. He closed his desk and went home. When the heat of the afternoon diminished he took out his saddle-horse and went for a gallop, thinking in this way to blow some of the tortured fancies out of his mind, but he did not succeed.

Despite his agitation, he ate a hearty dinner--much as a condemned man devours his last meal--but he could not sleep. All night he alternately tossed in his bed or paced his room restlessly, his features working, his body shivering.

He ate breakfast, however, with an apparent appet.i.te that delighted his colored servant, and as the clock struck nine he walked into Donnelly's office, smoking a cigar which he did not taste.

"I haven't heard anything further from Corte, so we'll go down to the dock," the Chief informed him.

On the way to the river-front, Blake continued to smoke silently, giving a careful ear to Donnelly's final directions. When they reached their destination he waited while Dan went aboard the ship in search of the captain.

In those days, rail transportation had not developed into its present proportions, and New Orleans was even more interesting as a shipping-point than now. Along the levee stretched rows of craft from every port, big black ocean liners, barques and brigantines, fruit steamers from the tropics, and a tremendous flotilla of flat-nosed river steamers with their huge tows of barges. The cavernous sheds that lined the embankment echoed to a thunder of rumbling trucks, of clanking winches, of stamping hoofs, while through and above it all came the cries and songs of a mult.i.tude of roustabouts and deck-hands.

Down the gangways of the _Philadelphia_, a thin, continuous line of dusky truckmen was moving. A growing chaos of trunks and smaller baggage on the dock indicated that her pa.s.senger-list was heavy.

Blake watched the shifting scene with little interest, now and then casting an unseeing eye over the ramparts of cotton bales near by; but although he was outwardly calm, his palms were cold and wet and his mind was working with a panicky swiftness.

Donnelly reappeared with the a.s.surance that all was arranged with the ship's master, and, taking their stand where they could observe what went on, they settled themselves to wait.

Again the moments dragged. Again Blake fought his usual weary battle.

He envied Donnelly his utter impa.s.sivity, for the officer betrayed no more feeling than as if he were standing, rod in hand, waiting for a fish to strike. An hour pa.s.sed, bringing no sign of their men, although a stream of pa.s.sengers was filing aboard and the piles of baggage were diminishing. Norvin struggled with the desire to voice his misgivings, which were taking the form of hopes; Donnelly chewed tobacco, and occasionally spat accurately at a knot-hole. His companion watched him curiously. Then, without warning, the Chief stirred, and there in the crowd Norvin suddenly saw the tall figure of Gian Narcone, with another man, evidently a Sicilian, beside him.

"That's Corte," Donnelly said, quietly.

The two watchers mingled with the crowd, gradually drawing closer to their quarry. But it seemed that Narcone refused to go aboard with his friend--at any rate, he made no move in that direction. The _Philadelphia_ blew a warning blast, the remaining pa.s.sengers quickened their movements, there was but little baggage left now upon the deck, and still the two Italians stood talking volubly. Donnelly waited stolidly near by, never glancing at his man. Blake held himself with an iron grip, although his heart-throbs were choking him. It was plain that Corte also was beginning to feel the strain, and Norvin began to fear that Donnelly would delay too long.

At last the Pinkerton man stooped and raised his valise, then extended his hand to the Mafioso. Donnelly edged closer.

Blake knew that the moment for action had come, and found that without any exercise of will-power he too was closing in. His mind was working at such high speed that time seemed to halt and wait. Donnelly was within arm's-length of Narcone before he spoke; then he said, quietly, "Going to leave the city, Sabella?"