Doors of the Night Part 4

The van was in a narrow and ill-lighted street now. Marco's was still two streets further downtown, but in the block ahead was the lane that, running north and south, pa.s.sed the rear of Marco's place.

Billy Kane sat suddenly upright on the tail-board of the van, the piece of sacking thrown now around his shoulders. If the driver happened to look around and see him, the supposition would be that he had hopped on to steal a ride; and if the driver ordered him off it mattered very little, since, in another yard or so anyhow, the van, as far as he was concerned, would have lost its usefulness. He leaned out, and glanced ahead of him up the street. There were a few people about, but not many, and none in the immediate vicinity of the lane that was now just at hand; but even if he were seen for an instant as he left the van, he would not be running any very great risk for he would be out of sight again before any particular attention could be riveted upon him; and, besides, in that miserable and sordid quarter a man might do many things out of the ordinary, for instance, dive suddenly into a lane and disappear, without exciting even pa.s.sing curiosity or notice.

He jerked his slouch hat over his eyes, flung off the sacking, dropped to the ground, and slipped across the sidewalk into the lane. And now he was running again. He reached the next intersecting street, and was forced to draw back under cover to wait for an opportunity to cross unnoticed. And then the chance came, and he continued on down the lane on the opposite side of the street again.

Marco's was the second store in from the next corner on the street that paralleled the lane, and halfway down he stopped running and began to move forward cautiously. It was very black in here, and he wished now that he had looked at his watch when he had had the opportunity; but it must be somewhere around ten o'clock. It was two hours, then, since he had overheard that telephone conversation in which Laverto had said that all he cared was that the man to whom he was telephoning should be away from Marco's before a quarter of eleven.

Billy Kane was crouched now in the darkness against the back door of the second-hand shop. The chances were that whoever Laverto had been telephoning to had already been here and gone. Certainly two hours would have given any one ample time, and as Laverto had said that Marco did not keep open in the evening there would have been no cause for delay on that score.

He placed his ear to the panel of the door, and listened. There was no sound, and he tried the door. It stuck a little in spite of its broken lock, and gave with a slight squeak. Billy Kane drew in his breath sharply, and listened again. There was still no sound. He closed the door behind him, and crept forward, feeling his way with his hands along the wall in the pitch blackness. The flooring was old, and once it creaked under his foot, causing his lips to tighten rigidly, and his face to set in a hard, dogged way. He had no matches-they, in the match-safe that he usually carried in the ticket-pocket of his coat, were gone with the coat. A coat! All sense of absurdity in the length to which he was going to obtain so common-place an article as a coat had vanished. It was the one, final, ultimate, essential thing that he must and would have if he was to know a single chance for life. Without it he might as well throw up the sponge at once, but if his luck still held he would get one now. Marco's stock of clothing would naturally be in the shop in front, and--

His hand dove suddenly forward into s.p.a.ce, and he halted for an instant.

He had come to an open doorway on his right. He felt around him in all directions. The pa.s.sage seemed to end a foot or so ahead, and to lead nowhere but into what was probably the back room here at his side. The entrance, then, to the shop proper would be through the back room.

Again he moved forward, crossed the threshold, and again halted. It was dark, intensely dark, and he could see nothing; and it was still and silent, and there was no sound. But suddenly he found himself standing in a tense, strained att.i.tude, his head thrown a little forward, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness. He could hear nothing, see nothing-but the sense of _presence_ was strong upon him.

A minute pa.s.sed, the seconds dragging out interminably-and he did not move. And then it seemed that close to him he caught a faint stirring sound. But he was not sure. It might have been his imagination. The silence, so heavy and prolonged, had taken on strange little noises of its own. Billy Kane's lips thinned. He was bare-handed, wounded and unarmed, but he had a stake that he would fight for with a beast's ferocity. And that stake was a coat! If there was anyone here, if it was more than his excited and wrought-up fancy playing tricks upon him, it was certain at least that it was not the police, for the police would have no incentive to play at cat-and-mouse, and therefore it was probably the man, not yet through with his work, to whom Laverto had telephoned; it was probably a _fellow_ thief, fellow since he, Billy Kane, had also come to steal-a coat. Well, he would at least end the suspense! He turned in the direction from which he thought the sound, imaginary or real, had come, took a step forward-and stood still, hands clenched at his sides, as he blinked, through the ray of a flashlight that was suddenly thrown full in his face, at the round, ugly muzzle of a revolver that held a steady bead upon him on a level with his eyes.

A voice came through the silence in a savage, guttural snarl:

"Throw up yer mitts, youse--" The words ended in an amazed and startled oath. The revolver muzzle sagged downward, as though the hand that held it had become suddenly powerless. "Well, fer Gawd's sake, if it ain't de Rat!" gasped the voice in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "When did youse get back? I thought youse was hobn.o.bbin' wid some of de swells youse used to know, an' was givin' Noo Yoik de icy paw until next month!"

IV-ALIAS THE RAT

Billy Kane's face was impa.s.sive. The keen, alert brain was working with desperate speed. There had come in a flash with the other's words a vista, not quite clear, nor distinct, but a vista that seemed to promise the way and the chance, not only of immediate escape from this place here, but perhaps more than that-a.s.sistance, help, perhaps even refuge and temporary sanctuary from the police who, before morning, would be scouring every quarter of New York in an effort to capture him. This man, a thief, a criminal, one of the underworld himself, had obviously mistaken him, Billy Kane, for another of his own ilk-for one known as the Rat. His appearance, disreputable, blood-stained and mud-covered, had undoubtedly been a very large factor in bringing about the man's mistake, it was true; but that did not in any way apply to his, Billy Kane's, _face_, and his face had been, and was still, full in the pitiless glare of the flashlight. Therefore he must to a very remarkable extent resemble this so-called Rat. And, moreover, this Rat must be a figure of some consequence in the underworld; for, even through the man's hoa.r.s.e and amazed tones, Billy Kane's quick ear had caught a note of almost cringing deference. And then Billy Kane's under jaw crept out a little, and his eyes narrowed. Well, for the moment, at least, he would play the part-because he must.

"Who in h.e.l.l are you?" he demanded gruffly. "I can't see you behind that light."

"I'm Whitie Jack," the other answered mechanically.

"Whitie Jack, eh?" snapped Billy Kane. "Well, then"-his hand shot out, and pushed the flashlight roughly away-"take your cursed lamp out of my eyes? What are you playing at?"

"Sure!" mumbled the man. "Sure-it's all right! Only youse gave me de jumps sneakin' in here. Bundy Morgan-de Rat! Wot's de idea?"

Nothing perhaps would confirm the man more in his mistake than an allusion to the common enemy-the police. Billy Kane dropped into the vernacular. But the man's reference to "de swells youse used to know"

had given him his cue. The Rat at one time had probably known quite a different station in life, and the Rat's speech therefore, even in the vernacular, would hardly be ungrammatical.

"A coat," said Billy Kane tersely. "The bulls have got my costume spotted."

"Swipe me!" Whitie Jack drew in his breath in a low whistle. "De bulls-eh? So dat's de lay! Well, youse wait a minute, an' I'll get youse one. Youse look as though youse had blamed near cashed in! Youse have spilled a lot of red out of dat shoulder, eh?"

"It's pretty bad," answered Billy Kane laconically.

"Sure!" said Whitie Jack again; and then, eagerly, the deference back in his voice: "Well, youse wait a minute, Bundy, an' I'll get youse de best coat de old geezer's got-though dat's not sayin' much, for dere's nothin' here but a bunch of rags."

The man was gone. Billy Kane leaned back against the wall. His hand swept across his eyes. It seemed as though for hours he had been living through some horrible and ghastly nightmare from which he could not awake. He was Billy Kane, whom the world, in the morning, would proclaim the murderer of David Ellsworth; but he was also now Billy Kane, alias Bundy Morgan, alias the Rat! Again his hand swept across his eyes. And the Rat-who was the Rat? And what--

Whitie Jack was back.

"Here!" said Whitie Jack. "Here youse are!" He handed Billy Kane a coat, and his flashlight fell again on Billy Kane's shoulder. "Say, dat's bad!" he jerked out; and then, irrelevantly, "Say, wouldn't it sting youse-youse showin' up here! When did youse blow into town, Bundy?"

"To-night," said Billy Kane.

"Well, youse didn't take long in startin' something!" said Whitie Jack admiringly. He helped Billy Kane on with the coat. "Was it a big one, Bundy?"

"No," said Billy Kane. "Only a fight, but someone got _hurt_ in the fight-get me, Whitie? And the bulls are out for fair."

Whitie Jack drew in his breath in a low, comprehensive whistle again.

"Sing Sing, an' de juice route-eh?" he muttered. "Did dey spot who youse were?"

"No," said Billy Kane.

"Aw, well den, wot de h.e.l.l!" observed Whitie Jack, with a sudden grin.

"Dat's easy! Youse have got a coat now, an' we'll beat it over for yer dump, an' dat's de end of it! You have got to get dat shoulder fixed, an' I'm some guy wid de bandage stuff--believe me!"

Billy Kane did not answer for a moment. Well, why not? He had accepted the absent Rat's personality, why not the absent Rat's hospitality? It would afford him shelter for the moment, and he was living, feeling, groping his way now only from moment to moment. Also, and what was of even more urgent importance, he must somehow and in some way get his wound dressed.

The flashlight in Whitie Jack's hand was sweeping in a circle around the room-in a sort of precautionary leave-taking survey of the place, as it were. The room was evidently the proprietor's office; but from what Billy Kane could see of it, it was bare and uninviting enough. He caught a glimpse of a rough table and a couple of chairs, and then the flashlight went out. But he was still staring, through the darkness now, toward the far end of the room-and it seemed that he could still see just as vividly as though the light still played upon the spot. There was an old safe there, a large and c.u.mbrous thing, long out of date, and the door sagged on its hinges where it had been blown open, and the floor around it was littered with the books and papers it had evidently contained.

"That's a b.u.m job you made, Whitie!" commented Billy Kane sarcastically.

"You're an artist, you are! What did you expect to get out of a piker hang-out like this?"

"Aw, forget it!" returned Whitie Jack. "It ain't so b.u.m! I'd like to see youse crack a box in here wid soup, an' not wake de whole town up. Dat's wot I get mine for-a century note-see? Dere wasn't nothin' in de safe!

Not a nickel! It's a stall-savvy? But, come on, Bundy, we'll beat it out of here, an' get youse fixed up."

A stall! What did Whitie Jack mean? Whitie Jack, at Antonio Laverto's instigation, had blown open the safe, knowing beforehand that there was nothing in it! What was Laverto's game? Billy Kane mechanically made his way out along the pa.s.sage, the flashlight winking in Whitie Jack's hand behind him. What was the game? Laverto was no fool, and there seemed an ominous something back of it all, but he dared not press Whitie Jack, or appear too inquisitive. His own position now was precarious enough as it was, and needed all his wits to see him through. For instance, they were going now to the Rat's quarters, to what was supposedly _his_, Billy Kane's, quarters-and he had not the faintest idea where, or in what direction, those quarters might be! Billy Kane smiled grimly in the darkness. But Whitie Jack evidently knew. Therefore Whitie Jack, without knowing it, must be made to act as _guide_!

They were outside now. Whitie Jack had closed the door. Billy Kane raised his hand to his head, smiled grimly again to himself in the darkness, and stumbled heavily against his companion.

"Wot's wrong?" whispered Whitie Jack anxiously. "Here, buck up, Bundy!"

"I guess I'm bad-worse than I thought I was-my head's going round,"

mumbled Billy Kane. "You'll have to help me, Whitie."

"Sure, I will!" returned Whitie Jack encouragingly. He slipped his arm through Billy Kane's. "Youse just buck up, Bundy! An' don't youse be afraid to throw yer weight on me. 'Taint far, an' we'll make it all right."

Billy Kane, his object accomplished, leaned not lightly on Whitie Jack.

Occasionally, as he walked along, he staggered and lurched, playing up his role-but only when the street in his immediate neighborhood was clear, and he ran no risk of attracting attention to himself and his companion!

It was not far, a few blocks; and then Whitie Jack, still unsuspectingly acting as guide, was helping Billy Kane down the half dozen steps of one of those cellar-like entrances to the bas.e.m.e.nt of a low building in the middle of a block.

The building seemed to be a store of some kind, but it was closed, the dingy front window dark, and in the none too well lighted street Billy Kane could not make out exactly what it was. At the bottom of the steps they halted-before a locked door-and for an instant again that grim, desperate smile twisted Billy Kane's lips. And then he laughed shortly, as his free hand fumbled in the pockets of the stolen coat.