Читать книгу The Masked Woman - Johnston McCulley - Страница 6

CHAPTER III

Recruits for a Cause

Back they went, foot by foot, fighting and disputing every inch of the way. They came to a flight of three or four steps that ran up to a door, and up them they dashed, for it gave them some slight advantage of position. And there they fought, as the gangsters charged from the front and from either side.

And then it happened — the thing for which “Red” Riley and his companion had not been look­ing. They might have guessed that the door at the top of that little flight of steps led into the rear hall of a lodging house, but they had given no thought to it, except that “Red” Riley had tried it first and had found it locked.

And now the door was thrown open suddenly. Riley had been leaning against it, bracing him­self, and so had his companion. They tottered and sprawled backwards, inside. The door was slammed shut again and their foes barred out.

Riley looked at the woman who stood before them — rubbed his eyes and looked again. She was of medium size, dressed in an evening gown, jewels glittering on her fingers. Over her face was a black mask. “Red” Riley felt sure that she was not woman of his acquaintance. And he wondered what she was doing in such a place, and why she wore the mask, and why she had rescued him and the man who wore the spectacles.

Riley started to gasp his thanks. But his companion was before him.

“My dear madam,” he said, “I fail to find words strong enough to thank you for what you have done. We were in perilous straits. Another five minuets, and those wolves would have devoured us.”

“Come this way, please,” the woman said.

She walked down the hall, and they staggered weakly after her. They came to a stairwell and went up one flight, and there the masked woman opened a door and ushered them into a room.

“Red” Riley gasped when they entered. It was furnished lavishly and in excellent taste. There was a piano; there were books, pictures. Through an open door could be seen another room furnished simi­larly. Riley rubbed at his eyes again.

“Allow me to thank you once more, madam,” the voice of his companion came to him. “And allow me to introduce myself. I am Prof. James Xenophon Salwick, holding the chair of physics in the university, and an authority on anthropology. My young friend is known, I believe, as “Red” Riley.

“The gangsters attacked this young man in a dive in the alley, and I went to his assistance,” the professor continued. “It was not from a pure motive of gallantry however. I had an axe to grind, as the saying goes.”

“Indeed!”

“A few days ago, I determined to become a professional criminal. I have been searching for a pal — I believe that is the term? It came to my mind, when I saw the combat begin, that, if I gave assistance to this young man, he would be grateful enough to combine forces with me in my endeavors.”

“I’ll stand by you any time, old scout!” “Red” Riley said. “And believe me, you’ll need it. That man I fought was “Shifty” Slade, and he most of the others belong to his gang.”

“‘Shifty’ Slade!” the woman gasped. “You fought him? Oh! Let me thank you for that, Mr. Riley!”

“You’re mighty free with my name, but I don’t remember of hearin’ yours,” Riley said, quick suspicion in his eyes.

“You may call me Mme. Madcap — many persons do.”

Riley was breathing normally now and the lust of battle had left him. He was alert again, keen, every sense on edge, once more the careful, cunning “Red” Riley who had led his gangsters to so many victories.

“Well, thanks for helpin’ us out,” he said, “and now I guess I’ll slide. There’s a front door to this dump, I suppose.”

“If you’ll sit down — for just a moment,” Mme. Madcap begged. “Thank you! I shall try to explain. I saw the attack in the alley, and was eager to rescue you. You perhaps are mystified at my appearance and especially the mask. I put it on before opening the door for you because I did not know your identities, you see.”

“Quite right, Mme. Madcap — you did quite right!” said the professor.

“Why should a jane want to hide her face?” Riley asked. “I wouldn’t mind takin’ a peek at it myself.”

“Perhaps you may — under certain conditions,” Mme. Mad­cap said. “For I am going to make you an offer. Mr. Riley. You are a gangster — I have heard your name often. And you, Prof. Salwick, call yourself a criminal. You are eccentric, I make bold to say — but perhaps you are playing a new and deep game. At least I suspect as much. Now, so that we may understand one another, let me say that I am a criminal myself.”

“Never heard of you!” Riley sneered.

“Have you ever been in Paris?” she asked.

“No.”

“Possibly that explains it.”

“Ah!” the professor cried. “I see it now! You are one of those clever continental women of whom I have read. You play the game of strategy and wit! Clever, clever woman! If there is any way in which we can serve you — ”

“I am starting work in this city,” she replied. “I have very few associates yet, and I am looking for recruits. There will be plenty of profit, I assure you. And there will be fame for you in the underworld, too, for within a short time the name of Mme. Mad­cap will be known well throughout the city.

“Nothing could be more appropriate,” said the professor. “I shall be pleased to ally myself with you.”

“Well, I ain’t turnin’ down any good bets!” Riley said. “Let’s get down to cases.”

“It is very simple,” Mme. Madcap said. “You are to trust me, of course. You are to accept my commands and execute them loyally. And you are not to ask questions!”

“I don’t jump off any roof blindfolded!” “Red” Riley told her. “You may be a female copper for all I know.”

“I can tell you this,” Mme. Madcap said. “I have a mission to perform. It has to do with certain men who must be punished — and some who are to be robbed. Do you know Hamilton Brone?”

“I know the man,” the professor said. “He is a young millionaire who wastes oceans of money on frivolities. I at one time asked him to endow a chair of anthropology in our institution. The confounded rascal told me that he needed all his funds for the rearing of fancy chickens. I ascertained afterward that he spoke a falsehood — he has no chicken farm, or anything of the sort.”

“He’s got a chicken farm, all right — pastures ’em in the cabarets,” “Red” Riley said.

“Hamilton Brone is concerned in my enter­prise,” Mme. Madcap told them.

“If you’re out to pluck that guy, and there’s a chance of doin’ it, I’m in!” Riley said.

Mme. Madcap raised her hands and removed her mask. Prof. Salwick uttered a little cry of delight, and “Red” Riley gasped his admiration.

She probably was twenty-four. Her features were regular, charming. There was an adorable dimple just where a dimple should nestle against the chin. Her eyes were blue and her hair almost golden.

“It’s bunk!” Riley exclaimed. “You ain’t any more a crook then a preacher’s wife could be! With that face? Professor, if you want to hook up with this jane, you go right ahead and do it. I’m goin’ to walk out the front door of this buildin’ and go about my business.”

“I regret that I cannot allow that,” Mme. Mad­cap said. “You have seen my face and have heard a little of my plans. I cannot allow you to go now, knowing as much as you do.”

“What’s to stop me?” “Red” Riley asked.

Mme. Madcap raised her voice.

“Sambo!” she called.

There entered from an adjoining room, immediately, the largest black man “Red” Riley had ever seen. His face was that of a brute. His gnarled hands were massive; there were roils of muscles on his arms and shoulders, and he towered over six feet tall.

“Sambo,” said Mme. Madcap, “do you see that man in the chair at the end of the table?”

She pointed a forefinger at “Red” Riley, and Sambo nodded that he saw.

“He does not wish to join us, Sambo, and I desire him to do so,” she continued. “He will understand later, and possibly be glad. But just now he wishes to leave, and I cannot allow it.”

“He won’t leave, miss,” Sambo said.