Chapter Nine
_A Bold Venture_
But how to reach that man of the smile and the sneer, how, above all,to make sure that he was really the power controlling Caroline Smith,were problems which could not be solved in a moment.
Bill Gregg contributed one helpful idea. "We've waited a week to seeher; now that we've seen her let's keep on waiting," he said, andRonicky agreed.
They resumed the vigil, but it had already been prolonged for such alength of time that it was impossible to keep it as strictly as it hadbeen observed before. Bill Gregg, outworn by the strain of the longwatching and the shock of the disappointment of that day, wentcompletely to pieces and in the early evening fell asleep. But RonickyDoone went out for a light dinner and came back after dark, refreshedand eager for action, only to find that Bill Gregg was incapable ofbeing roused. He slept like a dead man.
Ronicky went to the window and sat alone. Few of the roomers were homein the house opposite. They were out for the evening, or for dinner,at least, and the face of the building was dark and cold, the lightfrom the street lamp glinting unevenly on the windowpanes. He had satthere staring at the old house so many hours in the past that it wasbeginning to be like a face to him, to be studied as one might studya human being. And the people it sheltered, the old hag who kept thedoor, the sneering man and Caroline Smith, were to the house like thethoughts behind a man's face, an inscrutable face. But, if one cannotpry behind the mask of the human, at least it is possible to enter ahouse and find--
At this point in his thoughts Ronicky Doone rose with a quickeningpulse. Suppose he, alone, entered that house tonight by stealth, likea burglar, and found what he could find?
He brushed the idea away. Instantly it returned to him. The danger ofthe thing, and danger there certainly would be in the vicinity ofhim of the sardonic profile, appealed to him more and more keenly.Moreover, he must go alone. The heavy-footed Gregg would be a poorhelpmate on such an errand of stealth.
Ronicky turned away from the window, turned back to it and looked oncemore at the tall front of the building opposite; then he started toget ready for the expedition.
The preparations were simple. He put on a pair of low shoes, verylight and with rubber heels. In them he could move with the softnessand the speed of a cat. Next he dressed in a dark-gray suit, knowingthat this is the color hardest to see at night. His old felt hat hehad discarded long before in favor of the prevailing style of theaverage New Yorker. For this night expedition he put on a cap whichdrew easily over his ears and had a long visor, shadowing the upperpart of his face. Since it might be necessary to remain as invisibleas possible, he obscured the last bit of white that showed in hiscostume, with a black neck scarf.
Then he looked in the glass. A lean face looked back at him, the eyesobscured under the cap, a stern, resolute face, with a distinct threatabout it. He hardly recognized himself in the face in the glass.
He went to his suit case and brought out his favorite revolver. It wasa long and ponderous weapon to be hidden beneath his clothes, but toRonicky Doone that gun was a friend well tried in many an adventure.His fingers went deftly over it. It literally fell to pieces at histouch, and he examined it cautiously and carefully in all its parts,looking to the cartridges before he assembled the weapon again. For,if it became necessary to shoot this evening, it would be necessary toshoot to kill.
He then strolled down the street, passing the house opposite, with aclose scrutiny. A narrow, paved sidewalk ran between it and the houseon its right, and all the windows opening on this small court weredark. Moreover, the house which was his quarry was set back severalfeet from the street, an indentation which would completely hide himfrom anyone who looked from the street. Ronicky made up his mind atonce. He went to the end of the block, crossed over and, turning backon the far side of the street, slipped into the opening between thehouses.
Instantly he was in a dense darkness. For five stories above him thetwo buildings towered, shutting out the starlight. Looking straight uphe found only a faint reflection of the glow of the city lights in thesky.
At last he found a cellar window. He tried it and found it locked, buta little maneuvering with his knife enabled him to turn the catch atthe top of the lower sash. Then he raised it slowly and leaned intothe blackness. Something incredibly soft, tenuous, clinging, pressedat once against his face. He started back with a shudder and brushedaway the remnants of a big spider web.
Then he leaned in again. It was an intense blackness. The moment hishead was in the opening the sense of listening, which is ever in ahouse, came to him. There were the strange, musty, underground odorswhich go with cellars and make men think of death.
However, he must not stay here indefinitely. To be seen leaning in atthis window was as bad as to be seen in the house itself. He slippedthrough the opening at once, and beneath his feet there was a softcrunching of coal. He had come directly into the bin. Turning, heclosed the window, for that would be a definite clue to any one whomight pass down the alley.
As he stood surrounded by that hostile silence, that evil darkness,he grew somewhat accustomed to the dimness, and he could make out notdefinite objects, but ghostly outlines. Presently he took out thesmall electric torch which he carried and examined his surroundings.
The bin had not yet received the supply of winter coal and was almostempty. He stepped out of it into a part of the basement which had beenused apparently for storing articles not worth keeping, but too goodto be thrown away--an American habit of thrift. Several decrepitchairs and rickety cabinets and old console tables were piled togetherin a tangled mass. Ronicky looked at them with an unaccountableshudder, as if he read in them the history of the ruin and fall anddeath of many an old inhabitant of this house. It seemed to hisexcited imagination that the man with the sneer had been the cause ofall the destruction and would be the cause of more.
He passed back through the basement quickly, eager to be out of themusty odors and his gloomy thoughts. He found the storerooms, reachedthe kitchen stairs and ascended at once. Halfway up the stairs, thedoor above him suddenly opened and light poured down at him. He sawthe flying figure of a cat, a broom behind it, a woman behind thebroom.
"Whisht! Out of here, dirty beast!"
The cat thudded against Ronicky's knee, screeched and disappearedbelow; the woman of the broom shaded her eyes and peered down thesteps. "A queer cat!" she muttered, then slammed the door.
It seemed certain to Ronicky that she must have seen him, yet heknew that the blackness of the cellar had probably half blinded her.Besides, he had drawn as far as possible to one side of the steps, andin this way she might easily have overlooked him.
In the meantime it seemed that this way of entering the house wasdefinitely blocked. He paused a moment to consider other plans, but,while he stayed there in thought, he heard the rattle of pans. Itdecided him to stay a while longer. Apparently she was washing thecooking utensils, and that meant that she was near the close of herwork for the evening. In fact, the rim of light, which showed betweenthe door frame and the door, suddenly snapped out, and he heard herfootsteps retreating.
Still he delayed a moment or two, for fear she might return to takesomething which she had forgotten. But the silence deepened above him,and voices were faintly audible toward the front of the house.
That decided Ronicky. He opened the door, blessing the well-oiledhinges which kept it from making any noise, and let a shaft from hispocket lantern flicker across the kitchen floor. The light glimmeredon the newly scrubbed surface and showed him a door to his right,opening into the main part of the house.
He passed through it at once and sighed with relief when his foottouched the carpet on the hall beyond. He noted, too, that there wasno sign of a creak from the boards beneath his tread. However oldthat house might be, he was a noble carpenter who laid the flooring,Ronicky thought, as he slipped through the semi-gloom. For there wasa small hall light toward the front, and it gave him an uncertainillumination, even at the
rear of the passage.
Now that he was definitely committed to the adventure he wondered moreand more what he could possibly gain by it. But still he went on, and,in spite of the danger, it is doubtful if Ronicky would have willinglychanged places with any man in the world at that moment.
At least there was not the slightest sense in remaining on the lowerfloor of the house. He slipped down the shadow of the main stairs,swiftly circled through the danger of the light of the lower hall lampand started his ascent. Still the carpet muffled every sound whichhe made in climbing, and the solid construction of the house did notbetray him with a single creaking noise.
He reached the first hall. This, beyond doubt, was where he would findthe room of the man who sneered--the archenemy, as Ronicky Doone wasbeginning to think of him. A shiver passed through his lithe, muscularbody at the thought of that meeting.
He opened the first door to his left. It was a small closet for broomsand dust cloths and such things. Determining to be methodical he wentto the extreme end of the hall and tried that door. It waslocked, but, while his hand was still on the knob, turning it indisappointment, a door, higher up in the house, opened and a humof voices passed out to him. They grew louder, they turned to thestaircase from the floor above and commenced to descend at a runningpace. Three or four men at least, there must be, by the sound, andperhaps more!
Ronicky started for the head of the stairs to make his retreat,but, just as he reached there, the party turned into the hall andconfronted him.