Gangsters -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
It was done now. Rhoda Gray drew in her breath in a great choking gasp
of relief. She found herself trembling violently. She found her limbs
were bearing her none too steadily, as she began to grope her way now
along the black hall toward the back door. But it was done now, and--No,
she was not safe away, even yet! Some one was coming in through that
back door just ahead of her; or, at least, she heard voices out there.
She was just at the end of the hall now. There was no time to go back
and risk the front entrance. She darted across the hall to the opposite
side from that of the Pug's room, because on that side the opening of
the door would not necessarily expose her, and crouched down in the
corner. It was black here, perhaps black enough to escape observation.
She listened, her heart beating wildly. The voices outside continued.
Why were they lingering there? Why didn't they do one thing or the
other--either go away, or come in? There wasn't any too much time! The
Pug might be back at any minute now. Perhaps one of those people out
there was the Pug! Perhaps it would be better after all to run back and
go out by the front door, risky as that would be. No, her escape in that
direction now was cut off, too!
She shrank as far back into the corner as she could. The door of the end
room on this side of the hall had opened, and now a man stepped out and
closed the door behind him. Would he see her? She held her breath. No!
It--it was all right. He was walking away from her toward the front
of the hall. And now for a moment it seemed as though she had lost her
senses, as though her brain were playing some mad, wild trick upon her.
Wasn't that the Pug's door before which the man had stopped? Yes, yes!
And he seemed to have a key to it, for he did not knock, and the door
was opening, and now for an instant, just an instant, the light fell
upon the man as he stepped with a quick, lightning-like movement inside,
and she saw his face. It was the Adventurer.
She stifled a little cry. Her brain was in turmoil. And now the back
door was opening. They--they might see her here! And--yes--it was
safer--safer to act on the sudden inspiration that had come to her. The
door of the room from which the Adventurer had emerged was almost
within reach; and he had not locked it as he had gone out--she had
subconsciously noted that fact. And she understood why he had not
now--that he had safeguarded himself against the loss of even the second
or two it would have taken him to unlock it when he ran back for cover
again from the Pug's room. Yes-that room! It was the safest thing she
could do. She could even get out that way, for it must be the room with
the low window, which she remembered gave on the back yard, and--She
darted silently forward, and, as the back door opened, slipped into the
room the Adventurer had just vacated.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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