MRS1 The Under Dogs (33 page)

"It was her ... it was her!" she gasped, pointing at my mistress.

My mistress seized my wrist and backed with me to the fireplace. From the bosom of her dress she whipped out the little gun that Bill had given her. I didn't know then if she had ever had the opportunity to load it. I know now that it was loaded.

It seemed to me as if they were all milling around the room like trapped rats. The only one I can remember clearly is Bill Combs. Bill turned a face on us black and terrible with rage, and raised his clenched fists above his head.

"By God, girl, I was on the square with you!" he cried hoarsely. "I was ready to go to my death with you. And this is what I get for it. You're nothing but a spy! You've sold us out! Well, God damn you, I'll kill you before they take me!"

"Easy, Bill!" said my mistress, keeping her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. "It's true I had him taken, and I want her," pointing to Black Kate. "The rest of you are free. The back way is open. Beat it!"

It is doubtful if they got it the first time.

"Beat it!" she cried, raising her voice. "I am still your friend, I promised you that I would set you free to-night. And if in the future you need a friend, come to me. I will help you to a fair start!"

At this moment we heard a peremptory knocking on the front door. They turned and scuttled down the basement stairs.

"Sam! don't leave me!" cried Black Kate.

He turned snarling: "To hell with you, old woman!" and disappeared.

Still racked with pain, Kate attempted to follow. My mistress covered her with the gun.

"Not you," she said sternly. "A bullet if you move!"

Black Kate sank groaning on a chair.

Bill Combs still lingered, goggling with amazement. "Who are you?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Rosika Storey," said my mistress.

"Oh, my God!" stammered Bill. "And I thought ... I thought ... Now I see it!"

A strange cry broke from Black Kate.

"Beat it! Beat it!" said my mistress urgently to Bill. "I cannot save you after they are in."

He turned and ran down the stairs with remarkable celerity for his size.

I heard other steps on the stairs, and an uncouth figure appeared in the doorway. I recognised Melanie Soupert, gaunt, dishevelled, weak from her imprisonment. The steel bracelet still dangled on her sore wrist, but the chain had been cut off short. She looked like a figure risen from the grave. But her sunken eyes glowed with something of the old spirit.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "I couldn't stay up there like a trapped rat."

"It's all right," said my mistress, holding out her hand to her. "Our friends are at the door!"

Melanie did not notice me at first. She half collapsed within my mistress's embrace. "Oh, Jess! Oh, Jess! Oh, Jess!" she murmured.

Black Kate looked on at this speechlessly. The woman was half out of her senses with pain. She looked like a wounded wild animal.

Meanwhile, the knocking on the door was redoubled. The door key still hung from Kate's nerveless hand. I took it, and ran out. I opened the front door, and Inspector Rumsey and four men came tumbling in. I pointed silently to the dining-room door. I followed them in.

For a second the inspector looked blankly at my mistress, then his face lighted up. "It's you!" he cried in great relief. "Is everything all right?"

"Right as rain!" she said smiling. She looked down affectionately at the dark head on her shoulder. "This is Melanie Soupert. I have her safe!"

The inspector snatched off his cap. "By God, Madame," he cried heartily, "you're the greatest woman of your time!"

Melanie quickly raised her head, and looking in my mistress's face with something like alarm, tried to withdraw herself from her embrace. "Who are you?" she whispered.

I was just behind her. "Melanie, don't you remember me?" I asked.

She turned her head. Her big dark eyes widened.

"Bella!" she said in amazement. "
Bella Brickley!
" She looked back at my mistress with eyes bigger than ever. "Then you must be..." she stammered. "You must be..."

"Your friend," whispered my mistress.

"That is Madame Rosika Storey, the master-mind of us all!" cried Inspector Rumsey magniloquently.

Melanie tried in earnest then to detach herself from my mistress's supporting arm. "You mustn't ... you mustn't!" she whispered, with hanging head. "Not the likes of me!"

Mme. Storey clung to her, smiling, and Melanie subsided.

"You did it all for me?" she whispered.

"Did you think I was going to let you go?" asked my mistress.

Melanie began to weep out of sheer weakness and relief and gratitude.

To the inspector Mme. Storey said, pointing to Black Kate, "That is your prisoner. She appears to be ill. You had better have medical assistance for her. But watch her well."

"Never fear, Madam," said the inspector grimly.

"You have the other one?"

"Safe outside, Madam. He's handcuffed."

"Did you search him?"

By way of answer, the inspector handed over the little green baize bag which had passed through so many hands that evening. My mistress made sure that its contents were intact.

"Bring him in for a moment," she said.

How different was the second entrance of that man. The super-boss, the man of mystery, had been brought low indeed. He had been unmasked, of course; one of his eyes was beginning to purple, and his lip was cut. Yet he still showed traces of his power. He kept his head up doggedly, and he preserved his remarkable faculty for keeping his mouth shut.

I recognised him now, and a great round "Oh!" of astonishment was forced from my breast. It was John McDaniels, the head of the famous detective agency, which had acquired such a name among the rich for the recovery of stolen valuables! Of course! Of course! Now I began to see it all. As the inner workings of the scheme revealed themselves to me, I was all agog with amazement. The detective agency was equally a part of the organisation, of course. One department of the business robbed the rich, and another department recovered their jewels—if the reward was sufficient. Furthermore, the outlawed part of the organisation aided convicts to break prison, while the reputable part instantly "ran them down," if their master was displeased with them. How simple, how ingenious, how efficient!

My mistress showed no surprise at the sight of him. I learned later that she had recognised him upon his first appearance.

"Madame Storey wants to have a look at you," said Inspector Rumsey, as he led him in.

He never batted an eye. Not a muscle of his face changed. He met her gaze point-blank with complete effrontery. Oh, truly a remarkable man!

"I'm not going to indulge in any moral reflections, McDaniels," said my mistress; "it's not my line, only feel like saying, when I look at this poor girl, that I regard this as the best night's work of my whole life."

He kept his mouth shut, and continued to stare at her with the hardihood of a savage animal.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" cried the inspector roughly.

McDaniels cast a look of ineffable contempt upon him. There was old bad feeling between these two. "Not to you," he said.

"He does right to keep his mouth shut," said Mme. Storey. "What is there for him to say? ... Take him out."

He was led away. Two men were told off to guard the house until daylight. Then the inspector turned to us.

"Well, ladies," said he; "I guess the night's work is finished."

"What say, Melanie," said my mistress, smiling, "shall we beat it out of here?"

"I ain't got no hat," murmured Melanie abashed.

We laughed.

"Well, it's past four," said Mme. Storey. "They'll think we've been on a party."

"Where you goin' to take me?" murmured Melanie.

"There's a little flat on Gramercy Park that's been waiting for you for weeks past. If you'll take in Bella and me until breakfast time, we'll all have a chance to tidy up."

Melanie smiled like an abashed schoolboy.

If I live to be ninety I will not forget the starry look that appeared in the eyes of the girl as she came out on the stoop of the house, and lifting her face to the sky, breathed deep of the delicious morning air; for it was growing light. It was worth all we had been through. Oh! a hundred times over!

At half-past ten next morning Mme. Storey was seated at her desk, and I at mine, and all the lurid events of the preceding days had taken on the semblance of a dream. We were reading the letters that had come in during my absence from the office. They were of no great importance, since my mistress was supposed to be in Europe. The door between the two rooms was open, and we were talking idly back and forth. Heavens! how sweet was the feeling of perfect relaxation after having been keyed up so long; how delightful was the free exercise of one's own personality, after having been forced to play an alien part. How I loved the calm and the coolness of our beautiful rooms! When I first came in, I had gone about like a fool, stroking everything.

Melanie was still asleep upstairs. As soon as we had put her to bed, Mme. Storey had carried me up to her own place, where she had put the services of her expert maid and masseuse at my disposal. In an hour I felt like a new woman. Neither of us had any desire to sleep; it was too good just to be; and we had issued forth in search of the most luxurious breakfast in New York. My mistress looked perfectly radiant. In honour of the occasion she had put on a sports dress of some rare eastern silk, with a gay all-over design of little dancing men. She had dyed Jessie Seipp's crass locks to darkest brown, the colour of her own hair, while waiting for it to grow out, and had subdued the frizzled bush with a net. She looked like a lady again—a lady! she looked like a Duchess!

We found our breakfast at Antoine's
recherché
little place on Park Avenue. Need I say how we enjoyed it? You must take a plunge into the underworld to appreciate to the full the delights of fine napery and silver, of delicate food. A table by a window with a rose or two upon it; an awning to mitigate the brightness of the morning sun; it was like heaven. And now we were back at Gramercy Park waiting for Melanie to wake up. Melanie and Mme. Storey were much of a size, and Grace, Mme. Storey's invaluable maid, had brought down an outfit from her mistress's wardrobe for Melanie.

The door from the hall opened, and a lady and gentleman came into my office. I closed the door into Mme. Storey's room. I was surprised, for, of course, we expected no visitors of importance; and these were people of importance, one could see in a glance from their clothes, and from their assured manner. The lady was a beauty, though no longer in her first youth. All their breeding and assurance could not conceal the fact that both were very much excited.

"Is Mme. Storey here?" the gentleman asked.

"May I ask the nature of your business?" I said politely.

"I cannot tell that to any one but her," he said. "I am Walbridge Sterry."

As soon as he spoke, I recognised them, for, of course, their photographs have been published. "Mme. Storey will be glad to see you," I said.

Opening the door again, I announced them. I followed them in. Mme. Storey arose with a smile. We both supposed they had gone to the police and had been referred by them to us.

Mr. Sterry said with an air of great relief: "How fortunate we are to find you. We just came on a chance. Nobody is in town now."

Mme. Storey and I exchanged a glance. So they had not been to the police! They did not know that we had the tiara! What a piquant situation was developing.

"Well, as a matter of fact I am supposed to be in Paris," said Mme. Storey dryly.

"Indeed! I must have missed the announcement of your departure," Mr. Sterry said politely. "I shall not waste time in explanation," he went on. "I do not know if you happen to be aware of it—the newspapers have gossiped about it, but I purchased the Pavloff tiara from Prince Yevrienev."

"I have read it," said Mme. Storey.

"Well, it's been stolen!" he said, flinging down his hands.

"Stolen!" echoed his wife.

"Ah!" said Mme. Storey, who could not resist drawing them on just a little. "The recovery of stolen goods is hardly in my line."

"I know! I know!" cried Mr. Sterry; "but surely this is an exceptional case. They say that you can perform miracles. In the first place, I want a little disinterested and intelligent advice. I have not been to the police yet—you know the police! Should I go to them and have a great hue and cry raised in the press. Or should I keep our loss a secret, and conduct a private search?"

"We think it was stolen by a woman," Mrs. Sterry chimed in. "It appears that last night my husband's valet brought a strange girl into the house to sup with the other servants. He says she left early; but we found upon questioning him that he did not actually see her out of the door. The natural assumption is that she concealed herself in the house until later."

"She must have had confederates though," put in Mr. Sterry, "for she possessed the combination to the safe. A curious feature is that there were other jewels of value in the safe which she never touched."

"Only fancy!" said Mrs. Sterry with a shudder. "She must have been hidden in the room when we came in!"

With a peculiar smile, Mme. Storey pulled open the drawer of her desk. How she loves a dramatic moment like this! She took out the little green baize bag, and laid it on top. When Mr. and Mrs. Sterry saw it, their eyes almost leaped out of their heads. When Mme. Storey opened the bag, and took out the gleaming crown of little suns, soft cries of astonishment broke from them.

"Is this it?" asked my mistress with an offhand air.

"Yes! Yes!" they cried breathlessly.

"Oh, what a blessed relief!" sighed Mrs. Sterry, handling her precious tiara. "I have almost come to hate it! It is such a responsibility."

"I quite hate it!" said her husband bluntly. "But what are we going to do? We can't sell the thing..."

"This is a veritable miracle," he went on, with a wondering glance at my mistress. "How did it come into your hands?"