Gangsters -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
He took a step toward her impetuously--and stopped quite as impetuously.
Her revolver had swung to a level with his head.
“Pardon me!” he said.
“Not at all!” she said caustically.
For the first time, as she watched him warily, the Adventurer appeared
to lose some of his self-assurance. He shifted a little uneasily on
his feet, and the corners of his eyes puckered into a nest of perturbed
wrinkles.
“I say, Miss Gray, you can't mean this!” he protested. “You're not
serious!”
“I have told you that I am,” she answered steadily. “Those three minutes
that I gave you are going fast.”
“Then look here!” he exclaimed earnestly. “I'll tell you something. I
said I had been trying to find you to-night. It was the truth. I went to
Gypsy Nan's--and might have been spared my pains. I told her about last
night, and that I knew you were in danger, and that I wanted to help
you. I mention this so that you will understand that I am not just
speaking on the spur of the moment, now that I have an opportunity of
repeating that offer in person.”
She looked at him impassively for a moment. He had neglected to state
that he had also told Gypsy Nan he desired to enter into a partnership
with her--in crime.
“It is very kind of you,” she said sweetly. “I presume, then, that you
have some suggestion to make?”
“Only what any--may I say it?--gentleman would suggest under the
circumstances. It is far too dangerous a thing for a woman to attempt;
it would be much less dangerous for me. I realize that you are in
earnest now, and I will agree to carry out your plan in every detail
once I am satisfied that you are safely away.”
“The idea being,” she observed monotonously, “that, being safely away,
and the necklace being left safely on the floor, you are left safely in
possession of--the necklace. Well, my answer is--no!”
His face hardened a little.
“I'm sorry, then,” he said. “For in that case, in so far as your project
is concerned, I, too, must say--no!”
It was an impasse. She studied his face, the strong jaw set a little
now, the lips molded in sterner lines, and for all her outward show of
composure, she knew a sick dismay. And for a moment she neither moved
nor spoke. What he would do next, she did not know; but she knew
quite well that he had not the slightest intention of leaving her here
undisturbed to carry out her plan, unless--unless, somehow, she could
outwit him. She bit her lips again. And then inspiration came. She
turned, and with a sudden leap gained the wall, and the next instant,
holding him back with her revolver as she reached up with her left hand,
she caught at the great metal shield with its encircling cluster of
small arms, and wrenched it from its fastenings. It crashed to the floor
with a din infernal that, in the night silence, went racketing through
the house like the reverberations of an explosion.
“My God, what have you done!” he cried out hoarsely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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