The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure
what Emile had said about his pursuers, it was infinitely preferable to
any other.
Why he had helped the fellow Van Dam scarcely knew, unless it was
because of his sympathy for the under dog. Whatever the boy had done, he
possessed a reckless bravery that was commendable, and he still held his
mother's love.
Roly was about to close the door when he saw a second man, in a long,
black domino, briefly silhouetted above the fence. Then he heard a
whistle. The fellow dropped over into the tracks of Emile, leaving the
New-Yorker amazed at the apparition. A sickening fear clutched Van Dam,
but he knew it was useless to cry out. Could it be that he had sent the
young fellow to his death?
When a moment, then another, had passed with no sound from that quarter,
he closed the kitchen door and retraced his steps swiftly to the front
of the house.
As he came to the library entrance he found it closed, and, from inside,
he heard a tinkle as if a telephone hook was being violently agitated.
Inclining his ear, a low, agonized voice came to him:
"... Le Duc again.... Why haven't you sent the police?... Robbery.... My
cousin Emile ... murder me.... God above! They are slow!... He will
escape...."
Van Dam tried the door. It was locked. Then he called, sweetly: "Alfred!
My dear cousin Alfred!"
The voice at the telephone ended in a shriek. There came a crash as the
instrument fell from the old man's fingers.
So the police were on their way! Escape, then, must be but a matter of
moments. With his heart pounding, Van Dam stepped into the drawing-room
and reconnoitered from a front window. What he saw did not reassure him,
particularly in view of Emile's words; for, directly opposite, he beheld
a masked man in a black domino who looked very much like the Black Wolf.
Scattered up and down the block were others, all idling about in a
seemingly objectless manner. Evidently the house was surrounded. He
dared not risk the back way, after what he had seen. He could not
remain. From the library again came that faint, frantic tinkling.
Van Dam dropped his mask, tore the flimsy robe from his back, and strode
to the front door. Under any other circumstances he would have preferred
to remain and to take the consequences, but for Madelon's sake he dare
not risk an explanation to the police. Besides--how could he explain
that twenty thousand dollars, in clean, crisp ten-dollar notes, that she
had in her possession? He flung the portal wide, stepped out, then
turned and bowed as if to some one inside. "Good-by!" he called,
cheerily. "Had a delightful afternoon." The door closed with a click,
and he was in the open air. He extracted a cigarette from his jeweled
case, noting from the corner of his eye that, with one accord, the
maskers were closing in upon him. Descending the steps, he turned to the
left, walking briskly.
His one chance now depended upon whether these men knew Emile by sight.
If so, he felt that he was reasonably safe. If not--
He was approaching two of them. They separated to let him pass between.
From beneath their fatuously smiling masks he saw eyes staring at him
curiously. The flesh along his spine crinkled and rippled, but he did
not turn his head or falter, even when he knew they had halted. He could
feel the puzzled gaze of many eyes upon him, and imagined the
mystification his appearance had excited. In the midst of their
indecision there sounded the faint clamor of a gong. It grew rapidly
until, with wild clangor, a patrol-wagon reeled into the street and drew
up in front of the house Van Dam had just quitted. He turned as a
half-dozen blue-coats tumbled out of it and rushed up the steps;
incidentally, he saw that the black-clad figures were melting away in
various directions.
Roly did not wait to observe what followed. He turned the first corner,
then quickened his gait, at the next corner swinging once more to the
left. His pulses were jumping, his ears were roaring, he found the
muscles of his jaw were aching from the strain. A close call, surely!
But he had come through it all safely; he was whole, and on his way out
of this mysterious neighborhood. Once more his promptness and resource
had saved him. Here was the very street up which he and Madelon had
fled; yonder was the entrance to the blind alley that led into the
stable-yard.
He noticed that a little crowd was congregated there, many of its
members in the costume of merrymakers. He reflected that Emile might
have found their presence awkward in making his escape. They seemed
greatly excited or shocked over something, he noted, as he approached.
They completely blocked the alley entrance. In among them he forced his
way, then paused, staring down with startled eyes at what he saw. A
babble of voices smote his ears, but he heard nothing. He was elbowed
aside, but his gaze remained riveted upon the body of a man in a black
domino. It lay sprawled in the dirt, and covering the face was a mask
which smiled placidly up at the beholders; on the left breast was pinned
a solitary gardenia, crimson with blood. It had been pierced with a
dagger, and out of it had trickled a bright-red arterial stream.
Van Dam continued to stare at the gruesome sight while his wits whirled
dizzily. Why, it was but a moment ago that this boy had left him, in the
full flower of his youth! The body was still warm. It seemed
inconceivable that the grim reaper could have worked this grisly change
in so short a time! How had it happened? He recalled that somber figure
as he had seen it scaling the fence; he recalled that warning whistle.
At the memory he turned sick. Was it possible that he had been to blame
for this? He shook the notion from him, reflecting that Emile's fate
would have been the same, or worse, had he chosen any other course.
Arrest, he knew, would have been no more welcome than this.
Roly felt a great desire to shout the truth at these people who stood
about so stupidly; he longed to set them on the trail of the Black Wolf
and his pack, but he refrained. How little he really knew, after all!
Who was the Black Wolf? Who was this Emile? What had the young scapegoat
done to place himself not only outside the law, but outside the good
graces of those conspirators? What intricate network of hatred and crime
was here suggested? The desire to know the truth overcame all thought of
his own safety, so he began to question those around him, heedless of
the fact that he was being hunted in this very block.
The crowd was growing. An officer returned after sending a call for an
ambulance, and began to force the people back.
Van Dam discovered a voluble old woman, evidently a shopkeeper, who
seemed better informed than the others, and to her he applied himself.
"Do I know him, indeed?" she cried, shrilly, in answer to his question.
"And who should know him better than I, Emile Le Duc--a fine boy, sir,
of the very best family. Think of it! To be murdered like this! Ah!
That's what comes of a bad life, sir. But right at my own doorstep, as
you might say, and in the light of day! Well! Well! What can you expect?
He must have been mad to return, with the whole city knowing him so
well." She was greatly excited, and her voice broke under the stress of
her feelings. "It doesn't help the neighborhood, you understand, to have
such things happen," she ran on, "although nobody can say it's not as
quiet and respectable hereabouts as the next place. You've noticed as
much yourself, I dare say. Nothing ever happens. A misfortune to all of
us, I call it. Why, it's barely two hours ago that they brought a poor
fellow out of this very alley with his head lolloping around like a ball
on a string. He fell and hurt himself, I hear, although he looked
perfectly dead to me. Think of that! Two in one day. Oh, it doesn't help
the neighborhood, although there's nobody in the whole block as would do
another an injury, unless it might be that poor boy's cousin, the old
rip who lives in the fine house through yonder. He's a bad one, far
worse than Emile, if I do say it who never speaks ill of my neighbors.
And there's others besides me who'll be sorry it isn't him instead of
the young man who lies there with a hole through his ribs. Why, I
thought he was some masquerader, up to his carnival pranks, or drunk,
perhaps, until I noticed him all over blood."
Van Dam drew the speaker into her shop, which was near by, then handed
her a bank-note. "Come! I want you to tell me all you know."
"Ho! A detective, eh? Not that I wouldn't tell you all I know without
this--Ten dollars, is it? Peace and love! You _are_ generous! Well,
then, he has stood right in your tracks, in this very store, many's the
time. Law! What a lad he was! Nothing bad about him, but just reckless,
we used to think. Of course that was before we learned the truth."
"What do you mean?"
"You must be a stranger. Why, the whole world knows the scandal. It made
a commotion, I can tell you. But the poor lad! He's paid for all his
evil deeds. Why, sir, he was dead when he walked out into the street. He
must have been a corpse even when I took him for a merrymaker. Strange
things do happen on these carnival days. They must have finished him
with one stroke. Ugh!"
"They? Whom do you mean?"
The old woman winked, and wagged her head sagely. "Oh! You'll never
learn who, but we know. You think the gang was broken up when Emile went
to prison, but where do all these counterfeits come from, eh? Answer me
that. There's not a week goes by that one of them doesn't find its way
into my store. They're perfect, or nearly so; it would take a
bank-teller to find a flaw. I'm always frightened to death till I work
them off again. For all I know, this very ten-dollar bill you gave me is
bad, but I'll risk it. Some people don't seem to mind them at all, and
so long as there's a chance to get rid of them, why, I don't object. But
that's how it all came about--through counterfeit money, sir. They used
Emile for a cat's-paw, so I've heard, but when he was caught they let
him take his punishment. It was his cousin, Alfred Le Duc, who got him
to confess, under promise of a light sentence. They do say the old
rascal fooled him into it, for what reason nobody ever knew. Anyhow,
they sent Emile away for ten years. He threatened to turn state's
evidence, and perhaps he would have done so if he hadn't escaped."
"Ah! So he broke jail?"
"Exactly! And they've been hunting him ever since, with a reward on his
head, and all the time the counterfeits are still coming in, and the
police are as far from the truth as ever. Poor boy! There he lies, dead,
with a flower over his heart. And I saw him fall! This will kill his
mother. She's blind, you know, and very feeble."
"He has a cousin, Madelon, I believe," Roly ventured.
"Eh? Then you know her? A blessed angel, with a face like a picture and
a heart of pure gold. Hark!" The old lady listened. "There go the clocks
striking six. That means masks off and the end of the carnival. Too bad!
Too bad! And Emile with a flower over his heart."
* * * * *
Like one in a dream Roland Van Dam emerged from the foreign quarter into
the broad reaches of Canal Street. He had been gone nearly three hours.
The pavements were strewn with confetti and the litter of a Mardi Gras
crowd, but nowhere was a masker to be seen. Directly ahead of him loomed
the Grunewald, a splendid tower of white brick and terra-cotta. Inside
were his friends, awaiting him, perhaps. He realized, with a sinking
sensation, that Eleanor Banniman was among them and that he had asked
her to be his wife. What a change three hours had brought to him! Why,
in that brief interval he had lived through all those very emotions the
existence of which they had both denied earlier in the day. Life had