Читать книгу Gordon Craig, Soldier of Fortune - Randall Parrish - Страница 15

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It was then that the power of thought returned to me. However glibly those two conspirators might gild over the affair it nevertheless was a criminal matter to which I had blindly committed myself. Neale's parting words of warning alone made that clearly evident. They understood the risk of discovery, and now I also comprehended it with equal clearness. Fraud and forgery were contemplated, had been coolly planned, and it occurred to me that I was the one selected for sacrifice in case of discovery. Vail and Neale were probably safe enough, as it would be easy for them to deny any participation, but they had me bound fast. However, I had no thought of withdrawal from the contract, for, while I saw the danger involved, and realized the illegality, yet I failed utterly to perceive any real evil. I did not doubt the truth of all that had been told me, and was willing to assume the risk. I fingered the crisp bills in my pocket, and the words "ten thousand dollars" kept repeating themselves over and over. Of course I would do it; I should be a fool not to. It would be "easy money," and my earning it could harm no one.

Not a glimmer of light appeared from within the house I had just left, and I drew my cap down over my eyes, and stared about, listening. The hour could not be far from midnight, the night dark, the air heavy with mist. Glancing out between the houses I caught a glimpse of asphalt pavement glistening with moisture, and the distant electric light above the street intersection appeared blurred and yellow. Here, in the heart of the residential district, the last belated cab had already drifted by, leaving the silence profound, the loneliness complete. Two blocks away a trolley-car swept past, an odd, violet light playing along the wire, grotesque shadows showing briefly amid the enveloping folds of vapor. The discordant clang of the gong died away into the far distance. Crouching there in the shade of the wall I felt like a criminal. Then, angry at myself, I advanced slowly forward, yet keeping well under cover.

The light fell slanting across the stone steps in front, and revealed a narrow opening through the brick coping beyond. I must pass that way in reaching the street, but hesitated to go forward boldly. I could see only a few feet in any direction, as the fog was thickening, driving along the soaked pavement in dense gray clouds, already beginning to blot from view the houses opposite. Another trolley-car, dismally clanging its gong, paused a moment at some near-by corner, and then passed noisily on. The way seemed clear, the street utterly deserted, and, nerving myself to the effort, I crept cautiously forward, until I crouched behind the brick coping. There was not a disturbing sound, and I straightened up, essaying the first quick step forth into the full gleam of the light. Like some confronting ghost, scarcely more real than a phantom of imagination, I came face to face with a woman.

She had turned swiftly into the narrow gateway leading through the brick coping, hurrying silently as if pursued, her foot barely planted upon the step when we met. I stopped, speechless, rigid, my outstretched hand gripping the rail, but the woman drew hastily back, her lips parted in a sudden sob of surprise, one hand flung out as if in self-protection. It was instantaneous, yet before either could move otherwise, or utter a word of explanation, a heavy footfall crunched along the walk, and a burly police officer, his star gleaming ominously in the dull light, rounded the corner a dozen feet away. Neither of us stirred, staring into each other's bewildered faces, and before either fully realized the situation, the strong, suspicious hand of the law had gripped my shoulder.

"Here, now, an' what the hell are ye oop too, me fine buck?" he questioned roughly, swinging me about into the light. "Give an account o' yer-self moighty quick, 'er I 'll run ye in."

Startled, recalling the money hidden in my pocket, the last injunction of Neale, I could think of no excuse, no explanation. The girl, still staring blankly at me, must have perceived how I instinctively shrank back, my lips moving in an impotent effort at speech. Some sudden impulse changed her fright into sympathy. However it was the officer who impatiently broke the silence, swinging his night stick menacingly:

"Come on now, me lad, hav' ye lost yer voice entoirely? Spake oop loively—whut ther hell are the two ov' yer oop to, onyhow?"

She started forward, just a step.

"Nothing in the least wrong, officer," her voice trembling slightly, yet sounding clearly distinct. "He—he was merely accompanying me home from a dance."

"Whut dance?"

"Over—over there on 43rd Street."

"An' do yer live here?" the gruff tone still vibrant with suspicion. "Fer if ye do, yer 're sure a new gurl," and he peered at her shadowed face in the dim light. She drew in her breath sharply.

"No," her voice steadying, now she realized she must carry out the deception. "My place is three blocks yet, around the next corner."

"Thet 's a prutty thin story, Miss. Then whut wus the two ov' yer doin' in here?"

She clutched the brick coping with one hand, never glancing toward me, her eyes fixed imploringly on the glistening face of the questioning policeman. Yet she responded instantly with the quick wit of a clever woman.

"I had my foot on the step, tying my shoe," she explained simply. "You don't arrest people for that, do you?"

It was plain enough the officer was puzzled, yet he reluctantly released his grip on my arm, boring the end of his club into the brick wall.

"It's half Oi' belave yer stringin' me roight now," he announced doubtfully, "but Oi 'll give yer ther benefit ov' the doubt; only the two ov' yer better kape on a-goin' till yer git under cover. Don't let me run across yer along this beat agin ternight. Be gory av yer do, Oi 'll let yer explain to ther sargint over at ther station. Go on now!"

I felt her hand touch my sleeve timidly, and caught a swift glimpse of her eyes. We must carry out the deception now, and go away together. There was no other choice. The policeman stared after us through the mist, rolling his night stick in his hand. I heard him mutter to himself:

"It 's a rum go o' sum koind. Thet guy ain't dressed fer no dance. But, dom me, if she 's the koind o' female ter run in aither. Lord, but she 's got a foine pair o' eyes in the face ov' her."

Close together, without venturing to speak or glance around, we walked forward into the enveloping mist. Her fingers, for appearances' sake, barely touched the rough cloth of my sleeve. All this had occurred so swiftly, so suddenly, that I was yet bewildered, unable to decide on a course of action. The girl, I noticed, was breathing heavily from excitement, her eyes cast down upon the wet pavement. Once, beneath the glow of the lamp at the first corner, I ventured to glance slyly aside at her, in curiosity, mentally photographing the clear outline of her features, the strands of light brown hair straggling rebelliously from beneath the wide brim of the hat. I was of rather reckless nature, careless, and indifferent in my relationship with women. A bit of audacious speech trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered. My earlier conception that she was a woman of the street died within me. There was more than a mere hint of character about that resolute mouth, the white contour of cheek. She glanced furtively back across her shoulder—evidently the policeman had disappeared, for she released her slight grasp of my arm, although continuing to walk quietly enough by my side, her face partially averted. The night was deathly still, the sodden walk underfoot scarcely echoing our footfalls, the weird mist closing denser about us, as we advanced.

At the second street intersection she turned east, advancing toward where passing trolley-cars promised some life and activity even at that late hour. Helpless to do otherwise I moved along with her in the same direction, our grotesque shadows dimly discernible beneath the yellow mist of light. Impulsively she stopped, and faced me, her hands clasped.

"I—I—please—I will say good night, now," she said, endeavoring to speak firmly, yet with no uplifting of the eyes.

Hesitatingly I stood still, feeling strangely embarrassed by this sudden curt dismissal.

"Do—do you mean you wish me to leave you alone on the street at this hour?" I questioned uneasily. "At least permit me to see you home safely. I will not hurt you, or speak a word."

There was a tone of earnestness in my plea but she only shook her head decisively, lips pressed close together. The faint glow of the overhead light rested on the slightly uplifted face, and the sight of her features yielded me fresh confidence.

"You have no cause to feel afraid of me," I went on soberly, in the silence. "Can't you tell that by my face?" and I removed my cap, standing before her uncovered. She lifted her lashes, startled and curious, gazing at me for the first time. I met her glance fairly, and the slight resentment in her eyes faded, her clasped hands moving uneasily.

"I—I am not afraid of—of you," she returned at last doubtfully. "It is not that, but—but really I cannot permit you to accompany me farther."

"Only to the place where you said you lived," I urged eagerly. "I promise not even to take note of the number, and will never bother you any more."

Her fine eyes hardened; then sank slowly before mine.

"That—that was a lie also," she acknowledged, half defiantly. "I—I do not live about here."

I stared at her in sudden doubt, yet remained loyal to my first impression.

"All the greater reason then for not leaving you here alone."

She laughed, a faint tinge of bitterness in the sound.

"Surely you cannot imagine I would feel any safer in company with a burglar?" she asked sharply. My face flushed.

"Why accuse me of that?" I asked quickly. "Merely because I was in that yard?"

She drew back a step, one hand grasping her skirt.

"Not altogether. You were hiding there, and—and you were afraid of the policeman."

I could not explain; it would require too long, and she would in all probability refuse to believe the story. Besides, what difference could it make? She had as much to explain as I; no more reason to suspect me than I had her. Let us meet then on common ground.

"If I grant your hasty guess to be partially correct," I returned finally, my voice deepening with earnestness, "and confess I was avoiding observation—what then? Can you not also believe me a man capable of treating you honorably? Is it totally impossible for you to conceive of circumstances so compelling, as to cause one to avoid the police, and yet involve no real loss of manhood?"

She bowed her head slightly, lowering her eyes before mine. My earnestness, my apparent education, were clearly a surprise.

"Yes," she confessed reluctantly enough. "I—I believe I can. There was a time when I could not, but I can now."

"Then yield me the benefit of such charity of judgment," I went on. "At least do not altogether condemn me on mere circumstantial evidence, and before you learn what has led up to the events of the night. At least give me opportunity to exhibit my gratitude."

She remained silent, motionless.

"Why not? Is it because you have no confidence in me?" I insisted.

She put out one hand, grasping the iron rail of a fence, and I thought I could see her form tremble.

"Oh, no! it—it is not that exactly," she explained brokenly. "I believe I—I might trust you, but—but of course I do not know. I think you—you mean well; your words sound honest, and your—your face inspires confidence. Only I have found so much deceit, so much cruelty and heartlessness in the world I have become afraid of everyone. But I—I simply cannot let you go with me—oh! please don't urge it!"

I leaned forward, my face full of sympathy, my voice low and earnest.

"And do you suppose I will consent to desert you after that confession?" I questioned, almost indignant. "I would be a brute to do so. You saved me from arrest just now; for me to have been taken to the station house and searched would have put me in a bad hole. It was your wit that saved me, and now I am going to stay and help you. I 'll not leave you alone here in the street at this hour of the night."

She looked at me, her eyes wide open, shining like stars, her face picturing perplexity, not unmixed with fear, one hand yet gripping the supporting rail, the other pressed against her forehead.

"Oh, but you must! indeed, you must!" the words scarcely more than sobs. "I—I have no place to go!"