Gangsters -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
“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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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