Gangsters -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
And as far as any actual danger that she might incur to-night was
concerned, it was not great. She was not interested in the fifty
thousand dollars in an intrinsic sense; she was interested only in
seeing that old Nicky Viner, unappealing, yes, and almost repulsive both
in personality and habits as the man was, was not blackmailed out of
it; that Danglar, yes, and hereafter, Perlmer too, should not prey
like vultures on the man, and rob him of what was rightfully his.
If, therefore, she secured those papers from Perlmer's desk, it
automatically put an end to Danglar's scheme to-night; and if, later,
she saw to it that those papers came into Viner's possession, that, too,
automatically ended Perlmer's persecutions. Indeed, there seemed little
likelihood of any danger or risk at all. It could not be quite ten o
clock yet; and it was not likely that whoever was delegated by Danglar
to rob Perlmer's office would go there much before eleven anyway, since
they would naturally allow for the possibility that Perlmer might stay
later in his office than usual, a contingency that doubtless accounted
for midnight being set as the hour at which they proposed to lay old
Nicky Viner by the heels. Therefore, it seemed almost a certainty
that she would reach there, not only first, but with ample time at her
disposal to secure the papers and get away again without interruption.
She might even, perhaps, reach the office before Perlmer himself had
left--it was still quite early enough for that--but in that case she
need only remain on watch until the lawyer had locked up and gone away.
Nor need even the fact that the office would be locked dismay her.
In the secret hiding-place here in the garret, among those many other
evidences of criminal activity, was the collection of skeleton keys,
and--she was moving swiftly around the attic now, physically as active
as her thoughts.
It was not like that other night. There were few preparations to make.
She had only to secure the keys and a flashlight, and to take with her
the damp cloth that would remove the grime streaks from her face, and
the box of composition that would enable her to replace them when she
came back--and five minutes later she was on the street, making her way
toward the lane, and, specifically, toward the deserted shed where she
had hidden away her own clothing.
IX. ROOM NUMBER ELEVEN
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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