CHAPTER XIV
MALLARD'S
The ladder of crime has its bottom rung in Mallard's. Those who essaythe perilous descent inevitably gravitate, sooner or later, atMallard's. It was Saney who was responsible for the statement; and Saneywas a shrewd "investigator," and certainly one of the most experiencedamongst those whose lives were spent in an endeavour to beat thecriminal mind of Eastern Canada.
Mallard's was somewhere on the water front of Quebec. It stood in abackwater where the busy tide of seafaring traffic passed it by. But itwas sufficiently adjacent to permit its clientele swift and convenientaccess to the docks, at once a safety valve and the source of itspopularity.
It was nominally a sailors' boarding-house. Heredity also conferred uponit the dignity of "hotel." Furthermore, its licence carried with it theprivileges of a saloon. But its claims were by no means exhausted bythese things.
According to Saney's view there was no criminal in the country, and veryfew of those who were worth while in the criminal world of the UnitedStates, who, at some time in their careers, had not passed through oneof its many concealed exits. It might, in consequence, be supposed thatMallard's was a more than usually happy hunting-ground for theinvestigator of crime. But here again Saney must be quoted. Mallard's,he said, was a life study, and, even so, three score and ten years wasno more than sufficient for a very elementary apprenticeship. Further,he considered that Mallard's was the cemetery of all reputations incriminal investigation.
Outwardly Mallard's was no different from the other houses whichsurrounded it. It was part of a block of buildings which had grown upand developed in the course of a century or more. Its floors wereseveral, and its windows were set one over the other without anypretence other than sheer utility. Its main doorway always stood open,and gave on to a passage, narrow and dark, and usually deserted. Thepassage ran directly into the heart of the building where rose a shortstaircase exactly filling the breadth of the passage. At the top of theeight treads of this staircase was a landing of similar width, out ofwhich turned two corridors at right angles. Beyond these the landingterminated in a downward stairway, exactly similar to the one by whichit was approached. Beyond this, all description of this celebrated hauntof crime would be impossible, for the rest was a labyrinth of apparentlyuseless passages and stairways, ascending and descending, the followingof which was only to invite complete and utter confusion of mind. Thelegend ran that the cellars, many floors deep, undermined half a dozenadjacent streets, and, in the block in which the place stood, no one hadever been found who could say where the house began and where it ended.
As a refuge for its benighted guests there was always a bed, of sorts, ameal and drink--at a price. If the visitor were legitimate in his claimson its hospitality he would fare no worse than a lightened purse at thetime of his departure. If he were other than he pretended then it wouldhave been better for him to have shunned the darkened passage as hewould a plague spot.
The owner of the place was never seen by the guests. It wasadministered, as far as could be judged, by a number of men who onlyintruded upon their clients when definite necessity arose. Then theintrusion was something cyclonic. On these occasions the police werenever called in, and the nature of the disturbance, and the result ofit, was never permitted to reach the outside. Mallard's was capable ofhiding up anything. Its own crimes as well as the crimes of others.
On one of the many floors was a large sort of office and lounging-room.It had been extended, as necessity demanded, by the simple process oftaking down partition walls. It was low-ceiled and dingy. Its walls weremostly panelled with dull, shabby graining over many coats of paint. Thefloor was bare and unscrubbed, and littered with frowsy-looking woodencuspidors filled with cinders. There were many small tables scatteredabout, and the rest of the space seemed to be filled up with Windsorchairs, which jostled one another to an extent that made passage amatter of patient effort. At one end of the room was a long counter withan iron grid protecting those behind it. And, in this region there wereseveral telephone boxes with unusually heavy and sound-proof doors.
For the rest it was peopled by the hard-faced, powerful-looking clerksbehind the iron grid of the counter, and a gathering of men sittingabout at the small tables, or lounging with their feet on the anthracitestove which stood out in the centre of the great apartment.
It was a mixed enough gathering. There were well-dressed men, and menwho were obviously of the sea. There were the flashily dressed crooks,whose work was the haunt of sidewalk, and trains, and the surface cars.There were out and out toughs, careless of all appearance, and withtheir evil hall-marked on harsh faces and in their watchful eyes. Thenthere were others whom no one but the police of the city could haveplaced. There were Chinamen and Lascars. There were square-headedGermans, and the Dagos from Italy and other Latin countries. There wereniggers, too, which was a tribute to the generosity of Mallard'shospitality.
Those at the tables were mostly drinking and gambling. Poker seemed tobe the favoured pastime, but "shooting craps" was not without itsdevotees. There were one or two groups in close confabulation over theirdrinks. While round the stove was a scattering of loungers.
A dark good-looking man, with an ample brown beard, was amongst thelatter. He was reclining with little more than his back resting on theseat of an armed Windsor chair. His feet, well shod, were thrust up onthe stove in approved fashion. He was smoking a cheap cigar whichretained its highly coloured band, and contemplating the brazen pages ofan early edition of a leading evening paper.
A man beside him, an Englishman, to judge by the make of his clothes andhis manner of speech, had a news sheet lying in his lap. But he was notreading. His fair face and blue eyes were turned with unfailing intereston the dull sides of the glowing stove. Occasionally he spoke to hisbearded neighbour, who also seemed to be something of a companion.
"I can't find anything that's likely to be of any use to me," he said.
His speech was curiously refined and seemed utterly out of place in theoffice of Mallard's. "I quit London because--It seems to me cities areall the same. They're all full to overflowing, and the only jobs goingare the jobs no one wants. Why in hell do we congregate in cities?"
The man beside him replied without looking up from his paper.
"Because we've a ten cent sense with a fi' dollar scare." He laughedharshly. "How long have you been out? Six months? Six months, an' you'velearned to guess hard when you see Saney bumming around, or a uniform inthe crowd. You've learned to wish you 'hadn't,' so you dream things allnight. You're yearning to get back to things as they were before youguessed you'd fancy them diff'rent, and you find that way the door'sshut tight, and a feller with a darn sharp sword is sitting aroundwaiting on you. Take a chance, man. Get out in the open. It's big, andit's good. It's a hell of a sight in front of a city, anyway. If theyget you--well, what of it? You've asked for it. And anyway they're goingto get you some time. You can't get away with the play all the time."
"Yes. I s'pose that's right. It's a big country, and--" The man's fairbrows drew together. The regret was plain enough in his eyes. There wasmore weakness than crime in them.
The bearded man tapped the page of the news sheet he was reading with anemphatic forefinger that was none too clean.
"What in hell?" he exclaimed. "These fellers beat me. Here, look atthat, and read the stuff some darn hoodlum has doped out."
He passed the paper to the Englishman. That at which the other pointedwas the photograph of a man. The letterpress was underneath it.
"Get a good look at the picture. Then read," the other exclaimed, whilehis dark eyes searched the Englishman's face.
He waited, watchful, alert. He saw the other's eyes scan theletterpress. Then he saw them revert again to the picture.
"Well, what d'you make out? Aren't they darn suckers? Look at that jobline in bum ink. Could you get that face from a Limburger cheese? Andthe dope? After handing you a valentine that 'ud scare a blind Choyeuse,and you couldn't rec'n
ize for a man without a spy glass, they set rightin to tell you he's 'wanted' for things he did in the North-west two anda haf years ago. The p'lice have been chasing him for two and a hafyears. They've never located him, and he's likely living in the heart ofSahara or some other darn place by now. And now--now some buzzy-headed'cop' reckons he's got a line, and dopes out that stuff to warn himthey're coming along, so he can get well away in time. Makes you laff."
There was irritation in the man's tone. There was something elsebesides.
The blue-eyed English crook was studying the picture closely.
"It sort of seems foolish," he said at last.
"Foolish? Gee!"
"Still, it is the face of a man, and a good-looking man," he went on."And there's something familiar about it, too; I seem to know the face."Suddenly he looked round, and his pale, searching eyes looked hard athis companion. "Say, he's not unlike you. He's got the same forehead,and the same eyes and nose. If you'd got no beard, and your hair wasbrushed smooth----"
"Tchah!"
The bearded man reclaimed the paper with a laugh that carried noconviction.
"The courts 'ud hand me big money damages for a libel like that," hedeclared.
"Would they?"
The smiling eyes of the Englishman were challenging. The other shruggedas well as his attitude would permit, and, emitting a cloud of smokefrom his rank cigar, pretended to continue his reading.
At that moment a stir recurred amongst the "crap-shooters" under one ofthe windows, and the Englishman looked round. His alert ears had caughtthe sound of Saney's name on the lips of one of the men who had ceasedhis play to peer out of the window.
He rose swiftly from his chair and joined the group. The man with thebeard had made no movement. He, too, had heard Saney's name, and a keen,alert, sidelong glance followed his neighbour's movements.
The other was away some seconds. When he returned his breathing seemedto have quickened, and a light of uncertainty shone in his eyes.
"It's Saney," he said, without waiting for any question. "He's comingdown the street. I should think he's coming here. He's crossed over asif he were."
"Alone?"
The bearded man's question was sharp.
"No. There's another fellow with him. He's in plain clothes. A youngishlooking fellow, with a clean shaven face, and a pair of shoulders likean ox. Looks to me like a cavalryman in mufti. He certainly looks as ifhe ought to have a saddle under him. I----"
The other waited for no more. He was on his feet and across the room atthe window in a twinkling. And the smiling eyes of the Englishman gazedafter him. In the other's absence he picked up the paper which hadfallen upon the floor, and looked again at the portrait of the man, andre-read the letterpress underneath it.
"Hervey Garstaing," he murmured, as though impressing the name upon hismind. Then he laid the paper quickly aside as the thrusting of chairsannounced his companion's return.
The next few minutes were full of a tense interest for the man who hadonly just crossed the border line into the world of crime. The man withthe brown beard passed him by without a word. He thrust the chairs,which stood in his way, hastily aside. He seemed to have no regard foranything but his own rapid progress. He was making for the counter withits iron defences.
The smile in the Englishman's eyes deepened. His interest rose to a waveof excitement. He felt assured that "things" were about to happen.
A hard-faced clerk with the shoulders of a prizefighter, was waiting toreceive the hurried approach of his client.
These men were always alert and ready at the first sign.
The bearded man's demand came sharply back across the room.
"Guess I need to 'phone--quick!" he said. "I'll take No. 1."
The face of the clerk remained expressionless, but the tone of his replyhad doubt in it.
"No. 1?" he said.
"That's how I said."
"It'll cost you a hundred dollars."
"You needn't hand me the tariff," returned the bearded man with a laughthat jarred. "Here's the stuff. Only open it--quick."
The onlooker saw the applicant dive a hand into his hip pocket and drawout a roll of money. He heard the crumple of paper as he counted out anumber of bills. Then, in a moment, his whole attention was diverted tothe entrance door of the room. The swing door was thrust open and twomen pushed their way in.
The man who came first was of medium height and square build. He had adisarming, florid face, and the bland, good-natured expression of agenial farmer. The other glanced swiftly over the room. He was theshorter of the two, and his clean shaven face and his undistinctivetweed clothing would have left him quite unremarkable but for his air ofdefinite decision and purpose.
The first man the Englishman recognized as Saney, head of the CriminalInvestigation Department of the province. The other was a stranger.
From the newcomers, the onlooker's attention was suddenly distracted bythe slamming of a heavy door. It was the door of a telephone box, and heknew it was the door of "No. 1," the use of which had cost his friendone hundred dollars. He looked for the man with the beard. He had gone.
Saney's inspection of the room was rapid, and every individualforegathered came under his eye. Then he stepped up to the counter andspoke to the clerk.
His voice did not carry to the rest of the room, but the clerk's swiftreply was plainly audible.
"I haven't had a sight of him, if that's what he's like," he said,handing back a photograph. "Still, the place is here for you to gothrough if you fancy that way. You know that, Mr. Saney. It's open toyou the whole time."
The officer's reply was inaudible. But the voice of the stranger camesharply.
"Guess we'll just have a look at the fellow that passed into that 'phonebox as we came in," he said.
Again came the clerk's reply.
"There's no one in them boxes, Mister. I haven't sold a call in haf anhour," he said with a smile that lent no softening to his watchful eyes.He stooped and released a series of levers. "Get a peek for yourselves,gents."
Each door was set ajar and the stranger moved swiftly across and flungthem wide open in rapid succession. The boxes were empty. At "No. 1" hepaused considering. Then he passed within. And, for a few moments, stoodexamining the instrument, which was no different from any other 'phonein any other hotel in the city.
After the examination the two men passed out of the room and theEnglishman watched the smiling contempt that promptly lit the eyes ofthe clerk as he looked after them.
Outside on the landing Saney led the way. Nor did the two men speakuntil they had passed down the stairs and out into the street.
"Well?"
Saney spoke with an ironical smile lighting his genial eyes.
"You'll search the place?" the other suggested.
Saney shrugged.
"If you feel that way. But it's useless," he said. "I said that to youbefore. You've tracked this feller to this city. You've tracked him toMallard's. It's taken you nearly two years. We've all been out afterhim, and failed. You've succeeded in hunting him down to Mallard's.Well, I'd say your work's only just started. Maybe he's there right now.If we searched with a hundred men we couldn't exhaust that darn gophernest. If we blocked every outlet we know and don't know, he could stillsit tight and laff at us. No. We need to start right in again. So longas he's got the stuff, and hangs to Mallard's, he's safe."
"You might have those 'phone boxes torn down. I saw a feller go into oneof them as we came in. I'd swear to that."
Saney nodded.
"So would I. A feller did go in. Maybe it was some guy that didn't fancyseeing me. Maybe it was your man. It wouldn't help us tearing out thoseboxes. We know them. 'No. 1' is a clear way out of that room. Guess thewhole back of it opens into some darn passage, which you could easilyreach from anywhere outside that room. That's the trick of the place.Short of pulling the place down you can't do a thing that 'ud help. It'shoneycombed with concealed doors, that in themselves don't mean a thing
but a 'get out' of any old room. It's the whole place that's the riddle.Meanwhile it's a gravitating spot for crooks, and so has its uses--forus."
* * * * *
The room was sufficiently large, but it was low ceiled and suggested thebasement of an old-fashioned house. It was badly lit, too. Only anoil-lamp, on a table set with a cold supper for two, sought to discoverthe obscure limits of its tunnel-like length.
There was no suggestion of poverty about the place. It was modest. Thatwas all. Its chief characteristic lay in the fact that it was obviouslythe full extent of the present home of its occupants. At the far endstood a bedstead, and by its side a large wicker hamper. The centre wasoccupied by the supper table, and, at the other end, under the window,which was carefully covered by heavy curtains, stood a child's cot.
For the rest there were the usual furnishings of a cheap apartmenthouse, where the proprietors only cater for the class of custom whichlives in a state of frequent and rapid migration.
A woman was sitting in front of a small anthracite stove. A book was inher lap. But she was not reading. Her deep violet eyes were widelygazing down into the fire glow through the mica front, in that dreamingfashion which so soon becomes the habit of those condemned to prolongedhours of solitude.
It was by no means the face of a completely happy and contented woman.It was a tired face with the weariness which is of the mind rather thanof the body. There were a few tracings of lines about the eyes and thepretty forehead which were out of place in a woman of her age. Onlyanxiety could have set them there. Suspense, an unspoken dread ofsomething which never ceased to threaten. Now, in an unguarded moment,when all disguise was permitted to fall from her, they were pronounced,painfully pronounced.
Her thought was plainly regretful. It was also obviously troubled.Occasionally she would start and listen as some sound outside penetratedthe profound stillness of the room. It was at these moments that herglance would turn swiftly, and with some display of anxiety, to thechild's cot where she knew her baby lay sleeping. Once she sprangnervously to her feet and passed over to the cot. She stood bending overthe child gazing yearningly, hungrily down at the innocent, beautifulthree-year-old life dreaming its hours away without understanding ofthat which surrounded it, or that which haunted the mind of its mother.
Then the stove and the wicker chair claimed her again, as did thesuspense of waiting, with its burden of apprehension.
At last relief leapt to the troubled eyes, and, in a moment it seemed,every line which had been so deeply indicative before was suddenlysmoothed out of her pretty face. The woman sprang from her chairtransformed with an expression of deep relief and content. She glancedswiftly over the supper table as a key turned in the latch of the door.
A man with a brown beard thrust his way in and glanced swiftly over thewhole length of the room. It was the searching look of a mind concerned,deeply concerned, with safety. Then his dark eyes came to the woman'sface which was turned upon him questioningly.
"Well?" she demanded.
The monosyllable was full of deep significance. It asked a hundredquestions.
Just for a moment no answer was forthcoming. The man turned from thewoman, and his eyes sought the child's cot. There was no softness in hisregard. It was deeply contemplative. That was all. It was the woman whodisplayed feeling as she followed his gaze, and the lighting of herbeautiful eyes was with swift apprehension.
"Something's the matter, Hervey!" she demanded sharply.
The lamplight caught the man's eyes as they came back to her face, andits rays left them shining with a curious, lurid reflection.
"Matter?" A sharp, impotent oath broke from him. Then he checked hisimpulse to rave. "Yes. See here, Nita," he went on, with a restraintwhich added deep impressiveness, "we've got to quit. We've got to getout--quick. Steve's hard on our trail. I've seen him to-day atMallard's. He didn't see me. Only my back. But I saw him. He came withSaney. And there's only one thing I guess to bring Steve to Mallard's.Saney's never given me a moment's nightmare. But Steve--Steve back fromUnaga, Steve in plain clothes in Quebec _with Saney_, and me shelteringat Mallard's, tells its own story to anyone with _savee_. It means he'sgot a hot scent, and he's following it right up. He's not the sort tolet go of it--easy. It's quit for us--and quit right away."
Nita sighed. She passed a shaking hand across her forehead, and when ithad passed all the tracery of lines had returned and stood out even moresharply.
"It's come--at last," she said, in a weary, hopeless tone. "It was boundto. I knew it right along. I told you."
"Oh, yes, you told me," Garstaing retorted, with a sneer that was alwaysready when anger supervened. "Guess you told me a whole heap of foolstuff one time and another. But you needn't reckon we're going to sitaround under things, just because Mister Steve seems to put the fear ofGod into you. It's hastened the things I've had in my mind quite awhile.That's all. We're going to beat it. We're quitting for up north. It wasmy notion from the start. Only I weakened with your squeal about thecountry. Well, your squeals are no account now. We got to save ourskins. I'm going to beat Mister Steve, and show you he's just the sameas most other folks who've got a grip on the game. We're making northwhere, if he gets a notion to follow, he'll need to play the lone hand.And Steve on a lone hand can't scare me five cents. Up there I'll meethim. We won't need to live a gopher's life in a cellar. And when hecomes along, if he's the guts you reckon he has, I'll meet him, and killhim as sure as Hell's waiting for him." The man's hot eyes were suddenlyturned on the distant child's cot, and he nodded at it. "It's that makesme sick," he cried vehemently. "It's his!"
"She's mine!" Nita cried sharply. "And where I go she goes."
Nita read the man's mood with all the instinct of a mother. Three yearsago when she brought Coqueline into the world the infant claim upon herhad been loose enough. It was different now. Her woman's weakness anddiscontent had yielded her a ready victim to the showy promises and goodlooks of Hervey Garstaing. But the road they had had to travel since hadbeen by no means easy. It had been full of disillusionment for the sillywoman. They had lived in fear of the law, in fear of Steve, for over twoyears. And the grind of it, for the pleasure-loving wife who had buoyedherself with dreams of gaiety and delight which her life in the Northhad denied her, had driven her back upon the elemental that was onlylatent in her. Coqueline was her all now. Nita clung to her baby as theone indestructible link with that purity of life which no woman, howeverfallen, can ever wholly disregard, or forget. The child was asheet-anchor for all time. Whatever the future had in store, littleCoqueline was her child, born in wedlock, the pledge of her maidendreams.
"Tchah! She's his!" The man's restraint was giving before the brutal,the criminal, that was the essence of him. "Why in hell should I feedhis brat? Why should I be burdened with it? Can't you see? We've got todrag her wherever we go, delaying us, an unhallowed worry, and a darndanger at all times. Cut it out. Pass her along to some blamed orphanoutfit. Leave her to the mule-headed folks who guess their mission inlife is to round up other folks' 'strays.' Steve's not a thing to younow, Nita, and never will be again. You can't ever go back to him. He'dkick you out without mercy, if I know Steve. He's hard--hard as hell.You're mine, my dear, mine for keeps. Steve don't want any woman who'sshared her bed with another feller. You know that well enough. Well,say, be reasonable. Let the kid go. You don't need her. You and metogether, we can play the game out. I can make good up there. And all Imake you've a half share stake in. It's up to you, kid. Just say theword, and I'll fix things so that brat can get to an institution. Willyou----?"
"It's no use, Hervey." Nita shook her head decidedly. But hiscoarseness, his brutality had had its effect. The violet of her eyesremained hidden lest it should reveal the terror that lay in her heart."We've argued all this before. I'll go where you like, when you like,but--my baby girl goes with me."
The decision was irrevocable and the man understood the obstinacy whichwas so great a part of Nita's charact
er. So he added no further pressureat the moment. Only his dark eyes regarded her while his thoughttravelled swiftly. At last, as he made no reply, Nita raised her eyes tohis face. Her gaze encountered his, and she turned abruptly from thelurid reflection of the lamplight she beheld in his eyes, to the refugeof the child's cot, which never failed her.
Garstaing laughed. It was a coarse, hard laugh that meant nothing. Hethrew his hat aside.
"Let's eat," he cried. "Then we'll start right in to pack up our outfit.We're taking no chances. We got to be on the road north by noonto-morrow. We'll take the kid. Oh, yes, we'll take his precious kid," helaughed. "But God help you if things happen through it. You know whatthis thing means? If Steve and I come up with each other there's goingto be a killing. And murder's a big thing beside pouching the TreatyMoney of a bunch of darn neches."