XIII
RESPECTABILITY
But when it came to viscid second thought, alone in the gloom of anunsympathetic taxicab, P. Sybarite inclined to concede himself moreass than hero. It was all very well to say that, having spread hissails to the winds of _Kismet_, he was bound to let himself drift totheir vagrant humour: but there are certain channels of New York lifeinto which even the most courageous mariner were ill-advised toadventure under pilotage no more trustworthy than that of sufficientchampagne and a run of good luck.
Dutch House in Fortieth Street, West, wore the reputation of being assinister a dive as ever stood cheek-by-jowl with Broadway and brazenlyflaunted an all-night liquor license in the face of law-abiding NewYork; of which it was said that no sober man ever went there, otherthan those who went to prey, and that no drunkard ever escaped from itunfleeced; haunt of the most deadly riff-raff to be found in Town,barring inmates of certain negro stews on the lower West Side and ofsome of the dens to which the sightseer does _not_ penetrate in thetour of Chinatown.
Grim stories were current of men who had wandered thither in theircups, "for the lark of it," only to return to consciousness daysafterwards, stripped, shorn, and shattered in health bodily andmental, to find themselves in some vile kennel miles from Dutch House;and of other men who passed once through its foul portals and--passedout a secret way, never to return to the ken of their friends....
Yet it stood, and it stands, waxing fat in the folly of man and hisgreed.
And to this place P. Sybarite was travelling to deliver a message froma famous demi-rep to a notorious gang leader; with only a .25 calibreColt's automatic and his native wit and audacity to guard the moderatefortune that he carried with him in cash--a single hundredth part ofwhich would have been sufficient to purchase his obliteration at thehands of the crew that ran the place.
However, in their ignorance his safety inhered; and it was not reallynecessary that he advertise his swollen fortunes; and as for the goldin his trousers pocket--a ponderable weight, liable to chinktreacherously when he moved--P. Sybarite removed this and thoughtfullycached it under one of the cushions of his cab. It seemed a longchance to take with a hundred dollars: but a hundred dollars wasn't agreat deal, after all, to a man as flush as he; and better lose it all(said he) than make a noise like a peripatetic mint in a den ofthieves and worse....
The cab drawing up to the curb, out P. Sybarite hopped, a dollar inhand for the chauffeur, and the admonition: "I'm keeping you; waittill I come out, if I'm all night; and don't let your motor die,'cause I _may_ be in a hurry."
"Gotcha," said the chauffeur tersely; pocketed the bill; lighted acigarette....
P. Sybarite held back an instant to inspect the approach.
This being Sunday morning, Dutch House was decorously dull to thestreet; the doors to the bar closed, the lights within low and drowsy;even the side door, giving access to the "restaurant," was closed muchof the time--when, that is to say, it wasn't swinging to admit anintermittent flow of belated casuals and habitues of both sexes.
A row of vehicles lined the curb: nighthawk taxicabs for the mostpart, with one or two four-wheelers, as many disreputable anddilapidated hansoms, and (aside from that in which P. Sybarite hadarrived) a single taxicab of decent appearance. This last stood, withdoor ajar, immediately opposite the side entrance, its motor pulsingaudibly--evidently waiting under orders similar to those issued by P.Sybarite.
Now as the latter advanced to enter Dutch House, shadows appeared onthe ground glass of the side door; and opening with a jerk, it let outa gush of fetid air together with Respectability on theprowl--Respectability incognito, sly, furtive of air, and innoticeable haste.
He paused for a bare instant on the threshold; affording P. Sybariteopportunity for a good, long look.
"Two-thirty," said Respectability brusquely over his shoulder.
The man behind him growled affirmation: "Two-thirty--don't worry: I'llbe on the job."
"And take care of that boy."
"Grab it from me, boss, when he wakes up, he won't know where he'sbeen."
"Good-night, then," said Respectability grudgingly.
"G'd-night."
The door closed, and with an ineradicable manner of weight andconsequence Respectability turned toward the waiting taxicab: a manof, say, well-preserved sixty, with a blowsy plump face and fat whiteside-whiskers, a fleshy nose and arrogant eyes, a double chin and aheavy paunch; one who, in brief, had no business in that galley atthat or any other hour of day or night, and who knew it and knew thatothers (worse luck!) would know it at sight.
All this P. Sybarite comprehended in a glance and, comprehending,bristled like a truculent game-cock or the faithful hound in theghost-story. The aspect of Respectability seemed to have upon him theeffect of a violent irritant; his eyes took on a hot, hard look, hislips narrowed to a thin, inflexible crease, and his handsunconsciously closed.
And as Respectability strode across the sidewalk, obviously intendingto bury himself in the body of his waiting cab as quickly as possible,P. Sybarite--with the impudence of a tug blocking the fairway for anocean liner--stepped in his path, dropped a shoulder, and planted bothfeet firmly.
Immediately the two came together; the shoulder of P. Sybarite in thepaunch of Respectability, evoking a deep grunt of choleric surpriseand bringing the gentleman to an abrupt standstill.
Upon this, P. Sybarite's mouth relaxed; he smiled faintly, almostplacatingly.
"Well, old top!" he cried with malicious cordiality. "Who'd think tomeet _you_ here! What's the matter? Has high finance turned too riskyfor your stomach? Or are you dabbling in low-life for the sheer fun ofit--to titillate your jaded senses?"
Respectability's cheeks puffed out like red toy balloons; so likewisehis chest.
"Sir!" he snorted--"you are drunk!"
"Sir!" retorted P. Sybarite, none too meekly--"you lie."
The ebony-and-gold cane of Respectability quivered in mid-air.
"Out of my way!"
"Put down that cane, Mr. Brian Shaynon," said P. Sybarite peaceably,"unless you want me to play horse with you in a way to let all NewYork know how you spend the wee sma' hours!"
At the mention of his name Respectability stiffened in dismay.
"Damnation!" he cried hoarsely. "Who are you?"
"Why, have you forgotten me? Careless of you, Mr. Shaynon. I'm thelittle guy that put the speck in Respectability: I'm the noisy littleskeleton in the cupboard of your conscience. Don't you know me now?"
With a gasp (prudently lowering his stick) Mr. Shaynon bent to peerinto the face exposed as P. Sybarite pushed back his hat; stared aninstant, goggling; wheeled about, and flung heavily toward histaxicab.
"The Bizarre!" wheezed he to the chauffeur; and dodging in, banged thedoor.
As for P. Sybarite, he watched the vehicle swing away and round thecorner of Seventh Avenue, a doubtful glimmer in eyes that had burnedhot with hostility, a slight ironic smile wreathing lips that hadshown hatred.
"But what's the good of that?" he said in self-disgust, as the taxicabdisappeared.
With a sigh, shaking himself together, he went into Dutch House.