Chapter 19

She quickened her steps almost to a run. There should be no difficulty in finding the iron plant now. “Behind Jake Malley's saloon,” Danglar had said. She turned down the cross street, passed the side entrance to the saloon, and hastened along. The locality was lonely, deserted, and none too well lighted. The arc lamps, powerful enough in themselves, were so far apart that they left great areas of shadow, almost blackness, between them. And the street too was very narrow, and the buildings, such as they were, were dark and unlighted--certainly it was not a residential district!

And now she became aware that she was close to the river, for the sound of a passing craft caught her attention. Of course! She understood now. The iron plant, for shipping facilities, was undoubtedly on the bank of the river itself, and--yes, this was it, wasn't it?--this picket fence that began to parallel the right-hand side of the street, and enclose, seemingly, a very large area. She halted and stared at it--and suddenly her heart sank with a miserable sense of impotence and dismay. Yes, this was the place beyond question. Through the picket fence she could make out the looming shadows of many buildings, and spidery iron structures that seemed to cobweb the darkness, and--and--Her face mirrored her misery. She had thought of a single building. Where, inside there, amongst all those rambling structures, with little time, perhaps none at all, to search, was she to find the Adventurer?

She did not try to answer her own question--she was afraid that her dismay would get the better of her if she hesitated for an instant. She crossed the street, choosing a spot between two of the arc lamps where the shadows were blackest. It was a high fence, but not too high to climb. She reached up, preparatory to pulling herself to the top--and drew back with a stifled cry. She was too late, then--already too late! They were here ahead of her--and on guard after all! A man's form, appearing suddenly out of the darkness but a few feet away, was making quickly toward her. She wrenched her automatic from her pocket. The touch of the weapon in her hand restored her self-control.

“Don't come any nearer!” she cried out sharply. “I will fire if you do!”

And then the man spoke.

“It's you, ain't it?” he called in guarded eagerness. “It's the White Moll, ain't it? Thank God, it's you!”

Her extended hand with the automatic fell to her side. She had recognized his voice. It wasn't Danglar, it wasn't one of the gang, or the watchman who was no better than an accomplice; it was Marty Finch, alias the Sparrow.

“Marty!” she exclaimed. “You! What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to keep you from goin' in there!” he answered excitedly. “And--and, say, I was afraid I was too late. Don't you go in there! For God's sake, don't you go! They're layin' a trap for you! They're goin' to bump you off! I know all about it!”

“You know? What do you mean?” she asked quickly. “How do you know?”

“I quit my job a few days after that fellow you called Danglar tried to murder me that night you saved me,” said the Sparrow, with a savage laugh. “I knew he had it in for you, and I guess I had something comm' to him on my own account too, hadn't I? That's the job I've been on ever since--tryin' to find the dirty pup. And I found him! But it wasn't until to-night, though you can believe me there weren't many joints in the old town where I didn't look for him. My luck turned to-night. I spotted him comin' out of Italian Joe's bar. See? I followed him. After a while he slips into a lane, and from the street I saw him go into a shed there. I worked my way up quiet, and got as near as I dared without bein' heard and seen, and I listened. He was talkin' to a woman. I couldn't hear everything they said, and they quarreled a lot; but I heard him say something about framin' up a job to get somebody down to the old iron plant behind Jake Malley's saloon and bump 'em off, and I heard him say there wouldn't be any White Moll by morning, and I put two and two together and beat it for here.”

Rhoda Gray reached out and caught the Sparrow's hand.

“Thank you, Marty! You haven't got it quite right--though, thank Heaven, you got it the way you did, since you are here now!” she said fervently. “It wasn't me, it wasn't the White Moll, they expected to get here; it's the man who helped me that night to clear you of the Hayden-Bond robbery that Danglar meant to make you shoulder. He risked his life to do it, Marty. They've got him a prisoner somewhere in there; and they're coming back to--to torture him into telling them where I am, and--and afterwards to do away with him. That's why I'm here, Marty--to get him away, if I can, before they come back.”

The Sparrow whistled low under his breath.

“Well, then, I guess it's my hunt too,” he said coolly. “And I guess this is where a prison bird horns in with the goods. Ever since I've been looking for that Danglar guy, I've been carryin' a full kit--because I didn't know what might break, or what kind of a mess I might want to get out of. Come on! We ain't got no time. There's a couple of broken pickets down there. We might be seen climbin' the fence. Come on!”

Bread upon the waters! With a sense of warm gratitude upon her, Rhoda Gray followed the ex-convict. They made their way through the fence. A long, low building, a storage shed evidently, showed a few yards in front of them. It seemed to be quite close to the river, for now she could see the reflection of lights from here and there playing on the black, mirror-like surface of the water. Farther on, over beyond the shed, the yard of the plant, dotted with other buildings and those spidery iron structures which she had previously noticed, stretched away until it was lost in the darkness. Here, however, within the radius of one of the street arc lamps it was quite light.

Rhoda Gray had paused in almost hopeless indecision as to how or where to begin her search, when the Sparrow spoke again.

“It looks like we got a long hunt,” whispered the Sparrow; “but a few minutes before you came, a guy with a lantern comes from over across the yard there and nosed around that shed, and acted kind of queer, and I could see him stick his head up against them side doors there as though he was listenin' for something inside. Does that wise you up to anything?”

“Yes!” she breathed tensely. “That was the watchman. He's one of them. The man we want is in that shed beyond a doubt. Hurry, Marty--hurry!”

They ran together now, and reached the double side-door. It was evidently for freight purposes only, and probably barred on the inside, for they found there was no way of opening it from without.

“There must be an entrance,” she said feverishly--and led the way toward the front of the building in the direction away from the river. “Yes, here it is!” she exclaimed, as they rounded the end of the shed.

She tried the door. It was locked. She felt in her pocket for her skeleton keys, for she had not been unprepared for just such an emergency, but the Sparrow brushed her aside.

“Leave it to me!” he said quickly. “I'll pick that lock like one o'clock! It won't take me more'n a minute.”

Rhoda Gray did not stand and watch him. Minutes were priceless things, and she could put the minute he asked for to better advantage than by idling it away. With an added injunction to hurry and that she would be back in an instant, she was already racing around the opposite side of the shed. If they were pressed, cornered, by the arrival of Danglar, it might well mean the difference between life and death to all of them if she had an intimate knowledge of the surroundings.

She was running at top speed. Halfway down the length of the shed she tripped and fell over some object. She pushed it aside as she rose. It was an old iron casting, more bulky in shape than in weight, though she found it none too light to lift comfortably. She ran on. A wharf projected out, she found, from this end of the shed. At the edge, she peered over. It was quite light here again; away from the protecting shadows of the shed, the rays of the arc lamp played without hindrance on the wharf just as they did on the shed's side door. Below, some ten or twelve feet below, and at the corner of the wharf, a boat, or, rather, a sort of scow, for it was larger than a boat though oars lay along its thwarts, was moored. It was partly decked over, and she could see a small black opening into the forward end of it, though the opening itself was almost hidden by a heap of tarpaulin, or sailcloth, or something of the kind, that lay in the bottom of the craft. She nodded her head. They might all of them use that boat to advantage!

Rhoda Gray turned and ran back. The Sparrow, with a grunt of satisfaction, was just opening the door. She stepped through the doorway. The Sparrow followed.

“Close it!” said Rhoda Gray, under her breath. She felt her heart beat quicken, the blood flood her face and then recede. Her imagination had suddenly become too horribly vivid. Suppose they--they had already gone farther than...

With an effort she controlled herself--and the round, white ray of her flashlight swept the place. A moment more, and, with a low cry, she was running forward to where, on the floor near the wall of the shed opposite the side door, she made out the motionless form of a man. She reached him, and dropped on her knees beside him. It was the Adventurer. She spoke to him. He did not answer. And then she remembered what Danglar had said, and she saw that he was gagged. But--but she was not sure that was the reason why he did not answer. The flashlight in her hand wavered unsteadily as it played over him. Perhaps the whiteness of the ray itself exaggerated it, but his face held a deathly pallor; his eyes were closed; and his hands and feet were twisted cruelly and tightly bound.

“Give me your knife--quick--Sparrow!” she called. “Then go and keep watch just outside.”

The Sparrow handed her his knife, and hurried back to the door.

She worked in the darkness now. She could not use both hands and still hold the flashlight; and, besides, with the door partially open now where the Sparrow was on guard there was always the chance, if Danglar and those of the gang with him were already in the vicinity, of the light bringing them all the more quickly to the scene.

Again she spoke to the Adventurer, as she removed the gag--and a fear that made her sick at heart seized up on her. There was still no answer. And now, as she worked, cutting at the cords on his hands and feet, the love that she knew for the man, its restraint broken by the sense of dread and fear at his condition, rose dominant within her, and impulse that she could not hold in least took possession of her, and in the darkness, since he would not know, and there was none to see, she bent her head, and, half crying, her lips pressed upon his forehead.

She drew back startled, a crimson in her face that the darkness hid. What had she done? Did he know? Had he returned to consciousness, if he really had been unconscious, in time to know? She could not see; but she knew his eyes had opened.

She worked frantically with the bonds. He was free now. She cast them off.

He spoke then--thickly, with great difficulty.

“It's you, the White Moll, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He raised himself up on his elbow, only to fall back with a suppressed groan.

“I don't know how you found me, but get away at once--for God's sake, get away!” he cried. “Danglar'll be here at any minute. It's you he wants. He thinks you know where some--some jewels are, and that I--I--”

“I know all about Danglar,” she said hurriedly. “And I know all about the jewels, for I've got them myself.”

He was up on his knees now, swaying there. She caught at his shoulder to support him.

“You!” he cried out incredulously. “You--you've got them? Say that again! You--you've--”

“Yes,” she said, and with an effort steadied her voice. He--he was a thief. Cost her what it might, with all its bitter hurt, she must remember that, even--even if she had forgotten once. “Yes,” she said. “And I mean to turn them over to the police, and expose every one of Danglar's gang. I--you are entitled to a chance; you once stood between me and the police. I can do no less by you. I couldn't turn the police loose on the gang without giving you warning, for, you see, I know you are the Pug.”

“Good God!” he stammered. “You know that, too?”

“Try and walk,” she said breathlessly. “There isn't any time. And once you are away from here, remember that when Danglar is in the hands of the police he will take the only chance for revenge he has left, and give the police all the information he can, so that they will get you too.”

He stumbled pitifully.

“I can't walk much yet.” He was striving to speak coolly. “They trussed me up a bit, you know--but I'll be all right in a little while when I get the cramps out of my joints and the circulation back. And so, Miss Gray, won't you please go at once? I'm free now, and I'll manage all right, and--”

The Sparrow came running back from the door.

“They're comm'!” he said excitedly. “They're comm' from a different way than we came in. I saw 'em sway up there across the yard for a second when they showed up under a patch of light from an arc lamp on the other street. There's three of 'em. We got about a couple of minutes, and--”

“Get those side doors open! Quick! And no noise!”' ordered Rhoda Gray tersely. And then to the Adventurer: “Try--try and walk! I'll help you.”

The Adventurer made a desperate attempt at a few steps. It was miserably slow. At that rate Danglar would be upon them before they could even cross the shed itself.

“I can crawl faster,” laughed the Adventurer with bitter whimsicality. “Give me your revolver, Miss Gray, and you two go--and God bless you!”

The Sparrow was opening the side door, but she realized now that even if they could carry the Adventurer they could not get away in time. Her mind itself seemed stunned for an instant--and then, in a lightning flash, inspiration came. She remembered that iron casting, and the wharf, and the other side of the shed in shadow. It was desperate, perhaps almost hopeless, but it was the only way that gave the Adventurer a chance for his life.

She spoke rapidly. The little margin of time they had must be narrowing perilously.

“Marty, help this gentleman! Crawl to the street, if you have to. The only thing is that you are not to make the slightest noise, and--”

“What are you going to do?” demanded the Adventurer hoarsely.

“I'm going to take the only chance there is for all of us,” she answered.

She started toward the front door of the shed; but he reached out and held her back.

“You are going to take the only chance there is for me!” he cried brokenly. “You're going out there--where they are. Oh, my God! I know! You love me! I--I was only half conscious, but I am sure you kissed me a little while ago. And but for this you would never have known that I knew it, because, please God, whatever else I am, I am not coward enough to take that advantage of you. But I love you, too! Rhoda! I have the right to speak, the right our love gives me. You are not to go--that way. Run--run through the side door there--they will not see you.”

She was trembling. Repudiate her love? Tell him there could be nothing between them because he was a thief? She might never live to see him again. Her soul was in riot, the blood flaming hot in her cheeks. He was clinging to her arm. She tore herself forcibly away. The seconds were counting now. She tried to bid him good-by, but the words choked in her throat. She found herself running for the front door.

“Sparrow--quick! Do as I told you!” she half sobbed over her shoulder--and opening the door, stepped out and dosed it behind her.

XX. A LONE HAND

And now Rhoda Gray was in the radius of the arc lamp, and distinctly visible to any one coming down the yard. How near were they? Yes, she saw them now--three forms-perhaps a little more than a hundred yards away. She moved a few steps deliberately toward them, as though quite unconscious of their presence; and then, as a shout from one of them announced that she was seen, she halted, hesitated as though surprised, terrified and uncertain, and, as they sprang forward, she turned and ran--making for the side of the shed away from the side door.

A voice rang out--Danglar's:

“By God, it's the White Moll!”

It was the only way! She had the pack in cry now. They would pay no attention to the Adventurer while the White Moll was seemingly almost within their grasp. If she could only hold them now for a little while--just a little while--the Adventurer wasn't hurt--only cramped and numbed--he would be all right again and able to take care of himself in a little while--and meanwhile the Sparrow would help him to get away.

She was running with all her speed. She heard them behind her--the pound, pound, pound of feet. She had gained the side of the shed. The light from the arc lamp was shut off from her now, and they would only be able to see her, she knew, as a dim, fleeting shadow. Where was that iron casting? Pray God, it was heavy enough; and pray God, it was not too heavy! Yes, here it was! She pretended to stumble--and caught the thing up in her arms. An exultant cry went up from behind her as she appeared to fall--oaths, a chorus of them, as she went on again.

They had not gained on her before; but with the weight in her arms, especially as she was obliged to carry it awkwardly in order to shield it from their view with her body, she could not run so fast now, and they were beginning to close up on her. But she was on the wharf now, and there was not much farther to go, and--and surely she could hold all the lead she needed until she reached the edge.

The light from the arc lamp held her in view again out here on the wharf where she was clear of the shed; but she knew they would not fire at her except as a last resort. They could not afford to sound an alarm that would attract notice to the spot--when they had, or believed they had, both the Adventurer and the White Moll within their grasp now.

She was running now with short, hard, panting gasps. There were still five yards to go-three-one! She looked around her like a hunted animal at bay, as she reached the end of the wharf and stood there poised at the edge. Yes, thank God, they were still far enough behind to give her the few seconds she needed! She cried out loudly as though in despair and terror--and sprang from the edge of the wharf. And as she sprang she dropped the casting; but even as it struck the water with a loud splash, Rhoda Gray, in frantic haste, was crawling in through the little locker-like opening under the decked-over bow of the half scow, half boat into which she had leaped. And quick as a flash, huddled inside, she reached out and drew the heap of what proved to be sailcloth nearer to her to cover the opening-and lay still.

A few seconds passed; then she heard them at the edge of the wharf, and heard Danglar s voice.

“Watch where she comes up! She can't get away!”

A queer, wan smile twisted Rhoda Gray's lips. The casting had served her well; the splash had been loud enough! She listened, straining her ears to catch every sound from above. It was miserably small this hiding place into which she had crawled, scarcely large enough to hold her--she was beginning to be painfully cramped and uncomfortable already.

Another voice, that she recognized as Pinkie Bonn's now, reached her:

“It's damned hard to spot anything out there; the water's blacker'n hell.”

Came a savage and impatient oath from Danglar.

“She's got to come up, ain't she--or drown!” he rasped. “Maybe she's swum under the wharf, or maybe she's swum under water far enough out so's we can't see her from here. Anyway, jump into that boat there, and we'll paddle around till we get her.”

Rhoda Gray held her breath. The boat rocked violently as, one after another, the men jumped into it. Her right hand was doubled under her, it was hard to reach her pocket and her automatic. She moved a little; they were cursing, splashing with their oars, making too much noise to hear any slight rustle that she might make.

A minute, two, went by. She had her automatic now, and she lay there, grim-lipped, waiting. Even if they found her now, she had her own way out; and by now, beyond any question, the Adventurer and the Sparrow would have reached the street, and, even if they had to hide out there somewhere until the Adventurer had recovered the use of his limbs, they would be safe.

She could not see, of course. Once the boat bumped, and again. They were probably searching around under the wharf. She could not hear what they said, for they were keeping quiet now, talking in whispers--so as not to give her warning of their whereabouts undoubtedly!

The time dragged on. Her cramped position was bringing her excruciating agony now. She could understand how the Adventurer, in far worse case in the brutal position in which they had bound him, had fainted. She was afraid she would faint herself--it was not only the pain, but it was terribly close in the confined space, and her head was swimming.

Occasionally the oars splashed; and then, after an interminable time, the men, as though hopeless of success, and as though caution were no longer of any service, began to talk louder.

The third man was Shluker. She recognized his voice, too.

“It's no use!” he snarled. “If she's a good swimmer, she could get across the river easy. She's got away; that's sure. What the hell's the good of this? We're playing the fool. Beat it back! She was nosing around the shed. How do we know she didn't let the Pug loose before we saw her?”

Pinkie Bonn whined:

“If he's gone too, we're crimped! The whole works is bust up! The Pug knows everything, where our money is, an' everything. They'll have us cold!”

“Close your face, Pinkie!” It was Danglar speaking, his voice hoarse with uncontrollable rage. “Go on back, then, Shluker. Quick!”

Rhoda Gray heard the hurried splashing of the oars now; and presently she felt the bumping of the boat against the wharf, and its violent rocking as the men climbed out of it again. But she did not move--save with her hand to push the folds of sailcloth a cautious inch or two away from the opening. It did not ease the agony she was suffering from her cramped position, but it gave her fresher air, and she could hear better--the ring of their boot-heels on the wharf above, for instance.

The footsteps died away. There was silence then for a moment; and then, faintly, from the direction of the shed, there came a chorus of baffled rage and execration. She smiled a little wearily to herself. It was all right. That was what she wanted to know. The Adventurer had got away.

Still she lay there. She dared not leave the boat yet; but she could change her position now. She crawled half out from under the docking, and lay with her head on the sailcloth. It was exquisite relief! They could not come back along the wharf without her hearing them, and she could retreat under the decking again in an instant, if necessary.

Voices reached her now occasionally from the direction of the shed. Finally a silence fell. The minutes passed--ten--fifteen--twenty of them. And then Rhoda Gray climbed warily to the wharf, made her way warily past the shed, and gained the road--and three-quarters of an hour later, in another shed, in the lane behind the garret, she was changing quickly into the rags of Gypsy Nan again.