Part 11

He saw Peters in quite a different light now! A hundred little incidents metamorphosed the man’s excessive efficiency and attentiveness into a smug mask of hypocrisy. And, corroborative from this new viewpoint, where, for instance, had Peters, as it now appeared, got the money to send his family away even to a boarding house? Butlers were not in the habit of sending their families away to the seaside for the summer! Even Whitie Jack had not failed to comment on that fact. Well, he was satisfied that he knew the real Peters now, and it was not too late. It was Peters, or himself now. It was his life, or Peters’ life—unless Peters laid bare to the last shred the whole plot, and the name of every man connected with it.

And the stage was set. From the moment he had read the papers that morning, he had put Whitie Jack at work—and Whitie Jack had done well, exceedingly well. He, Billy Kane, knew that Peters was married and had a family, but he had not known Peters’ home address. Whitie Jack had proved a most praiseworthy ferret. He, Billy Kane, knew that Thursday was always Peters’ night off. This was Thursday night. Peters, then, if he followed his usual custom, would visit his flat to-night; and, since the man’s family was away, Peters and he would be _alone_. It was fortunate that the family was away, luck seemed to be turning; it precluded the necessity of getting Peters somewhere else—alone. It simplified matters. Peters’ flat would serve most excellently for that interview!

He laughed a little now. He was strangely cool, strangely composed. He was in a mood in which he found difficulty in recognizing himself. He was going to-night to wring from a man either that man’s life, or that man’s confession. He was absolutely merciless in that resolve; he would not turn back, nothing would make him swerve one iota from that determination, he would go the limit—and yet he sat here entirely unmoved, callous.

Well, after all, why not? If the man was already a murderer, his life was already forfeit. If he, Billy Kane, must choose between losing his own life and permitting one of the murderers of David Ellsworth to profit further thereby, would one hesitate long over that choice, or hesitate to go—the limit?

XIII—THE CIPHER MESSAGE

Billy Kane’s hands came from his pockets again, and he leisurely lighted a cigarette. Though sitting sideways to the door, he nevertheless unostentatiously commanded a full view of the entrance. Red Vallon had just entered, and, after a moment’s pause in which the man’s eyes searched around the dance hall, was coming forward, threading his way through the intervening tables. Billy Kane flung a short nod of recognition in the direction of the approaching gangster; and then his eyes fastened in a sort of hard, curious expectancy on the street door again. Whether or not it was intuition or premonition, induced by what had happened the previous night when Red Vallon had been followed, he did not know, but he was somehow prepared now, a little more than prepared, almost sure, in fact, that there would be a repetition of last night’s occurrence.

Red Vallon dropped into the seat vacated by Whitie Jack.

“Hello, Bundy!” he greeted affably.

“Hello, Red!” The response was purely mechanical. Billy Kane shifted his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other—to hide a smile in which there was no humor. His intuition, if it were intuition, had not been at fault. A woman had just entered the dance hall. He was not likely to mistake that slim, graceful figure, nor those dark, steady eyes—that were spanning the room and resting upon him. He could not see the lurking mockery in those eyes, the distance was a little too great for that, but his imagination could depict it readily enough. Nor did it require much imagination! It was the Woman in Black. He glanced at Red Vallon. Red Vallon’s back was turned to the door, and he had quite evidently not observed her.

The beer-stained attendant hurried to the table.

“What’ll you have, Red?” inquired Billy Kane pleasantly.

Red Vallon waved the man away.

“Nix!” he said in a lowered voice. “I got to beat it—I got to meet Birdie Rose. There’s something doing.”

Billy Kane, even as he watched that trim figure make its way to a table near the wall on a line with his own, leaned abruptly, eagerly forward, toward Red Vallon. He felt his pulse throb and quicken. Luck seemed to be breaking wide open at last. If, coupled with his own clue, Red Vallon and Birdie Rose had unearthed another, this infernal masquerade that threatened his life at every turn was as good as ended.

“What is it?” he demanded sharply. “Have you spotted the stones?”

Red Vallon shook his head.

“Not them stones,” he said a little uneasily. “Some others. I got orders.”

Billy Kane’s face hardened.

“Orders!” he echoed shortly. “Didn’t I tell you last night that everything else was piker stuff? A half million in rubies, that’s what we’re after—to the limit! Understand? To the limit! Orders! Who gave you any orders except to stick to the game?”

“You know,” said Red Vallon, and pushed a sheet of paper across the table. “Tear it up when you’re through. It’s no good to me any more. I just wanted to show it to you, so’s you’d know I wasn’t side-stepping on my own.”

Billy Kane did not tear it up. His face, still set hard, showed no other signs of emotion, as his eyes studied the paper, but inwardly there came a sort of numbed dismay. It was a code message. It meant nothing to him in one sense, in another it meant a very great deal. He was _supposed_ to know what this jumble of letters signified. Red Vallon expected him to know. To arouse Red Vallon’s suspicion for an instant was simply and literally equivalent to bringing down the underworld upon him—and the underworld would be as gentle and merciful as a pack of starving wolves! The jumble of letters seemed to possess a diabolical leer all their own, as he stared at them.

zidu6vesfuu6fwefwjf8dfsuofnIIohjtopdteop8nbje3ofueobt8v piutsb7mmpez5bepun4psgnb9esfutnbf4wbiopjubIInspgoj3fiuf m4p2ntjho6jzbImbuo5bm2qpuu3fhnf4iuuih7jopuoff7xufcu5ih j3feobf4ojold6pmd3peobu6sfwjeopjd9jqtv2tpuf4np3tfopf4tm 3fov3sf4iufmp2npui5usb3fe4obflb3nn5jiih2vpdqv.

Was it a code that, with the key in one’s possession, one could read at a glance? He did not know. Was it a code that required elaborate and painstaking effort to decipher? He did not know. Did Red Vallon, sitting there across the table watching him, expect him to give instant indication that the code message was plain and intelligible to him? He did not know. There was only one course to take—the middle course. He laid the paper on the table, and laid his clenched fist over the paper, as he leaned farther over, truculently, toward Red Vallon.

“I tell you again that everything else is piker stuff,” he said angrily. “Do you get me? What have you done, you and Birdie, and the rest? Have you got anywhere to-day? Do you know where that secretary guy, Billy Kane, is? Do you know where those rubies are?”

“No,” said Red Vallon hurriedly, “we haven’t turned anything up yet, but——”

“But you’re going to—by nosing around after something else!” snapped Billy Kane. “Do you think I’m going to see the biggest thing that was ever pulled slip through my fingers? If you do, you’ve got another think coming! Things have changed since I’ve been away—eh? How long since there’s been any monkeying with what I dope out?”

“Don’t get sore, Bundy,” said Red Vallon appeasingly. “It’s nothing like that. You know how it was. Karlin’s arrest last night queered everything. That cursed snitch with the mask on put everything on the rough. There wasn’t any meeting. You know who sent that code there; well, _he_ didn’t know about the other job, or that he was butting in on you. Tumble? There ain’t nothing to be sore about, Bundy. Say, me and Birdie ain’t going to be more’n an hour or two doing this trick, anyhow. Someone of the Mole’s gang must have leaked; or maybe one of our boys piped him off. I dunno. But we got him cold this trip. He’s a slick one all right, and he’s been getting away with the goods quite a lot lately, and giving us the laugh. You know all about that. Well, this is where he doesn’t laugh—see? He’s pulling a nice one to-night. Got it all fixed up to make it look like somebody else did it. Sure! Well, we’re not kicking at that—so long as _we_ get the loot. Sure! We’ll let him pull it, all right, all right, believe me!”

Billy Kane appeared to be unmoved. He studied the gangster coldly.

“And how does it happen that you and Birdie, out of all the rest, are picked for this?”

Red Vallon indulged in an ugly grin.

“’Cause we know the Mole down to the ground,” he said; “but principally because the Mole knows _us_! There won’t be any fooling when we spring a show-down, he’s wise to that, and he’ll come across. And, besides, ’tain’t only Birdie and me, I’m taking some of my own gang along as well.”

Billy Kane scowled. It probably mattered very little indeed that Red Vallon’s efforts were to be sidetracked for the next few hours, and should he, Billy Kane, during that time, be successful, it mattered not at all; but his play for the moment was to preserve his rôle in Red Vallon’s eyes, to keep away from anything intimate concerning the purport of this cipher message that still lay beneath his clenched hand, and that might so easily betray his ignorance, and above all now to get rid of Red Vallon before any such awkward and dangerous _impasse_ could arise. He shrugged his shoulders, but his voice was still sullen as he spoke.

“Well, go to it!” he growled. “Go and pick up your chicken feed! But you get this into your nut, Red, and let it soak there. After this”—he leaned far over the table, his face thrust almost into Red Vallon’s—“you stay with the game every minute, or quit! It’s the limit, or quit! There’s just one thing that counts—those rubies, or the man who pinched them. If we get the man, he’ll cough—red—the stones, or blood. Do you think I’m going to let anything queer me on my share of half a million? You don’t seem to get what I mean when I say the limit. Look out I don’t give you an object lesson!”

Red Vallon licked his lips, and drew back a little. There was something in Red Vallon’s eyes that was not often there—fear.

“It’s all right, Bundy,” he said with nervous eagerness. “I’m with you. Sure, I am! This thing must have broke loose quick, and there wasn’t no idea of crabbing anything you’d started. I got ten of the best of ’em combing out the ‘fences’ for you right now.”

“All right,” responded Billy Kane gruffly. “Make a report to me on that before morning.”

“Where’ll you be?” Red Vallon was apparently relieved, for his voice had recovered its buoyancy.

“At my place—some time,” said Billy Kane curtly. “You can wait for me there.” He smiled suddenly with grim facetiousness. “My shoulder’s a lot better—enough so that maybe I can sit in for a hand myself to-night.”

“I hope you do,” said Red Vallon fervently. “You always had the knock-out punch, Bundy, and it’ll seem like old times.” He half rose from his chair; then, looking furtively about him, bent forward over the table. “There’s something else, Bundy, before I go—that snitch last night at Jerry’s, the man in the mask. He’s played hell with the crowd. There’s no telling what’ll tumble down behind Karlin. And it don’t look like he’s just stumbled on that deal by _accident_. It don’t look good, Bundy. We got to get him, and get him quick, before he pulls anything more. The word’s out to bump him off.”

Billy Kane nodded.

“Well, don’t lose your nerve over it, Red,” he said coolly. “If it was by accident, he won’t do us any more damage, and we’ve only got to settle with him for what he’s done, providing we can ever find him; if it wasn’t accident he’ll show his hand again—won’t he?”

“Yes,” said Red Vallon.

Billy Kane’s smile was unpleasant.

“Well, you’ll know what to do with him then, won’t you?” he inquired softly.

The gangster’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed to slits.

“Yes, I’ll know!” said Red Vallon coarsely. He made an ugly motion toward his throat. “Well, so long, Bundy!”

Billy Kane nodded again by way of answer. He watched Red Vallon thread his way back among the tables, and pass out through the front door. With the gangster out of the way, he picked up the sheet of paper upon which the code message was written, studied it for a moment, then thrust it into his pocket—and his glance travelled to the table opposite to him and against the wall, where that slim little figure in black was seated. She appeared to be quite indifferent to his presence, and quite intent upon the consumption of a glass of milk and the sandwich on the plate before her.

Billy Kane smiled with grim comprehension. The frugality of the meal was not without its object. It was fairly obvious that she could dispose of what was before her in short order, and leave the place at an instant’s notice without inviting undesirable attention to an unfinished meal—if she so desired! It was his move. She had followed Red Vallon in, but she had not followed Red Vallon out—she was waiting for him, Billy Kane. The seat she had chosen had been in plain view of Red Vallon, therefore she was evidently free from any fear of recognition on the part of the gangster, and, as a logical corollary, from probably anybody else in the room. That she gave no sign now therefore could mean but one thing. It was his move. If he cared to cross swords with her here, he was at liberty to do so; if he had reasons of his own for preferring a less public meeting, he had only to leave the place—and she would undoubtedly follow.

In one sense she was most solicitous of his welfare! She would do nothing to hamper or hinder him in protecting himself, as long as he continued to double-cross and render abortive the crimes of that inner circle of the underworld in which she believed him to be a leader; failing that, as she had already made it quite clear, she proposed, as near as he could solve the riddle, to expose some past crime of the Rat’s to the police, and end his career via the death chair in Sing Sing. Also she had made her personal feelings toward him equally clear—she held for him a hatred that was as deep-seated as it was merciless and deadly.

He shrugged his shoulders. He, by proxy, stood in the shoes of one who, seemingly, had done her some irreparable wrong, and since she would dog him all night until she had had the interview that she evidently proposed to have, it might as well be here as anywhere. It mattered very little to him, as the Rat, that he should be observed by those in the room to get up from his table and walk over to hers. He was not being watched in the sense that anyone held surveillance over him, and, in any case, the conventions here in the heart of the underworld were of too elastic a character to have it cause even comment; and, besides, in a few hours from now, if luck were with him, he would be through with all this, done with this miserable rôle of super-crook, which, though it brought a new and greater peril at every move he made, was the one thing that, for the present, he was dependent upon for his life.

He rose, crossed the room nonchalantly, and dropped as nonchalantly into the chair at the end of her table, his back to the door.

She greeted him with a smile—but it was a smile of the lips only. The dark eyes, under the long lashes, studied him in a cold, uncompromising stare; and there was mockery in their depths, but deeper than the mockery there was contempt and disdain.

A cigarette, pulled lazily from his pocket and lighted, preserved his appearance of unconcern. In spite of himself, in spite of the fact that that contemptuous stare was his only through a damnable and abhorrent proxy, he felt suddenly ill at ease. He had never seen her as closely as this before. He had only seen her twice before—once in the dark; and once with the width of the Rat’s den separating them. He had been conscious then that she was attractive, beautiful, with her clustering masses of brown hair, and the dainty poise of her head, and the pure whiteness of her full throat; but he was conscious now that beyond the mere beauty of features lay steadfastness and strength, that in the sweetness of the face there was, too, a wistfulness, do what she would to hide it, and that there was strain there, and weariness. And he was suddenly conscious, too, that he disliked the rôle of the Rat more than he had ever disliked it, and that the loathing in those eyes, which never left his face, was responsible for this added distaste of the fact that nature had, through some cursed and perverted sense of humor or malevolence, seen fit to make him the counterpart of a wanton rogue, and, worse still, seen fit to force upon him the enactment of that rôle.

He could not tell her that he was not the Rat, could he?—that he was Billy Kane! Would the loathing in those eyes have grown the less at that? Billy Kane—the thief, the Judas assassin, whose name was a byword throughout the length and breadth of the land at that moment, whose name was a synonym for everything that was vile and hideous and depraved! He was the Rat—until to-night was over! After that—well, after that, who knew? Now, he was the Rat, and he must play the Rat’s part.

She broke the silence, her voice cool and even:

“I left it entirely to you as to whether you would come over to this table here or not.”

“I quite understood!” Billy Kane forced a sarcastic smile. “You are almost too considerate!”

“Am I?” she said. Her eyes flashed suddenly. “Well, perhaps you are right! I have thought sometimes that even the chance I give you is more than you deserve. I feel so strongly about it, in fact, that the only thing which prevents me from putting an end to it—and you—is that by using you to defeat the ends of your own criminal associates a great deal of good is being done. They will trap you sometime, of course, and, knowing them, you know what will happen, and I am satisfied then that, as an alternative, you would prefer Sing Sing and the chair; but you are clever—that is why you grasp at the chance I give you. You are extremely clever—and you believe you can continue to outwit them indefinitely. I don’t think you can, though I admit your cleverness, cunning and craft.”

“You flatter me!” said Billy Kane ironically.

“No,” she said, her voice suddenly lowered, passionate, tense; “I hate you.”

“You told me that last night.” Billy Kane indolently blew a ring of cigarette smoke ceilingwards. “I am beginning to believe you. Did you follow Red Vallon in here to tell me the same thing again?”

She did not answer for a moment.

“Sometimes you make me lose my faith in God,” she said, in a slow, restrained way. “It is hard to believe that a God, a just God, could have created such men as you.”

Billy Kane removed his cigarette from his lips, and flicked the ash away with a tap of his forefinger. He felt the color mount and tinge his cheeks. There was something, not alone in her words, but in her tone, that struck at him and _hurt_. The brown eyes, deep, full of implacable condemnation, burned into his. What was it that the Rat had done to her, or hers? He turned slightly away. An anger, smoldering in his soul, burst into flame. He was the Rat by proxy—and the proxy was damnable. He could not tell her he was not the Rat. He could not tell her he was—Billy Kane. He must play on with his detestable rôle! He must play the Rat. What answer would the Rat have made to her?

“Cut that out!” rasped Billy Kane.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I spoke impulsively. There are only two things in life that affect you—your own safety, and to be quite sure that you get all of your share out of your crimes, and, if possible, somebody else’s share as well. But the latter consideration is at an end now, isn’t it, Bundy? I think I have taken care of that. It’s just a question of whether you can save yourself or not with those clever wits of yours. Well”—she shrugged her shoulders suddenly—“you did very well last night. His life would not be worth very much if the underworld should ever lay hands on the man in the mask. Would it, Bundy?”

He did not answer her.

“Yes, you did very well, indeed,” she went on calmly. “You will meet somewhere else, of course, as soon as you can find a suitable place, but you will hold no more of your secret council meetings at Jerry’s for some time to come.”

Billy Kane’s face was impassive now. He was apparently intent only on the thin blue spiral of smoke that curled upward from the tip of his cigarette. So those meetings of that cursed directorate of crime had been held at Jerry’s, had they? He had not known that.

“Suppose,” suggested Billy Kane, curtly, “that we come to the point. What is it that you want to-night?”

“I am coming to the point,” she answered levelly. “Owing to the events of last night your organization is in confusion, some of the more faint-hearted of your partners have temporarily even taken to their heels; but, even so, the organization’s activities can hardly come to an abrupt standstill. You will perhaps remember a somewhat similar occasion once before? There are perhaps certain matters that are imperative, that cannot wait. Is it not so, Bundy? And in such an emergency it is left to—shall we call him the organization’s secretary?—to keep things going. Personal touch is lost with one another, but there is still a way. I know, it does not matter how, that Red Vallon received a written order a little while ago. I followed Red Vallon here. I _think_ he gave that order to you.”

Billy Kane looked at her for a moment, a quizzical, whimsical expression creeping into his face. She was in deadly earnest, he knew that well. And yet there was a certain sense of humor here too—a grim humor with something of the sardonic in it, and nothing of mirth. Red Vallon’s code order was quite as meaningless to him as it would be to her!

“Sure!” said Billy Kane, alias the Rat—and chuckled. “Sure, he gave it to me! You don’t think I’d hold anything out on _you_, do you? Sure, he gave it to me!” He tossed the paper across the table toward her. “Help yourself! All you’ve got to do is ask for anything _I’ve_ got, and it’s yours. You’re as welcome as the sunshine to it.”

She studied it for an instant calmly. Billy Kane, watching her narrowly, frowned slightly in a puzzled way. She appeared to be neither agitated nor confused. She raised her eyes to his, a glint half of mockery, half of menace, in their brown depths.

“Did you think I did not know it was in cipher?” she inquired coldly. “You would hardly have been so obliging otherwise, would you? It is always in cipher under these circumstances, isn’t it? Well, what is the translation?”

“Red Vallon didn’t tell me,” said Billy Kane complacently.

“Quite probably not!” she countered sharply. “It was hardly necessary, was it? But since you have decoded it yourself?”

Billy Kane shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve been away so long,” he said, “that I’ve forgotten the key.”

“Really!” She was smiling at him in derision now. “In other words, you refuse to tell me what it is.”

“Don’t you think you expect a little too much from me?” He forced a sudden roughness into his tones. “I haven’t decoded it yet, as a matter of fact; but if I had, do you think I’m looking for trouble—to give you the chance to force me into another mess?”

She shook her head in a sort of mocking tolerance.