CHAPTER IX
WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS
As Mr. Heatherbloom prepared to issue from his neighbor's gate openingon the side street, the feminine voice of one of the servants in therear of the corner house called out in alarm at sight of the strangefigure speeding across their metropolitan imitation of a back yard. Ifanything were needed to stimulate the fugitive's footsteps, it was thesound of that voice. He stayed not on the order of his going, butpushing back the heavy bolt--fortunately his egress was not barred by alocked door--he tore open the gate and sprang to the sidewalk. Thenwithout stopping, he ran on, away from the fashionable avenue. Thestreet he traversed like many thoroughfares of its kind wascomparatively deserted most of the time; nobody impeded his progress,though one or two people gazed after him from their windows.
He had gone about three-quarters of a block when the window spectatorsdiscerned a heavier built figure come lumbering around the corner,apparently in hot pursuit. Mr. Heatherbloom, glancing over his shoulder,also observed this person; his capture and subsequent incarcerationseemed inevitable. Already the fugitive was drawing near to busierFourth Avenue; there he would be obliged to relax his pace; he could notsprint down that thoroughfare without attracting undue attention.Behind, the pursuer called out; he was, however, too short of breath forcompelling vocal effect.
Mr. Heatherbloom, on the contrary, had good control of his breathing andwas, moreover, yet fresh and physically capable. Which fact made it themore difficult for him to settle down to a forced, albeit sharp walk ashe approached the corner, when his gait suddenly accelerated once more.
A street-car had just started not very far from him and Mr. Heatherbloomran after it. A fine pretext for speed was offered him; as he "lethimself go" in the way he had once gone somewhere in the past in ahundred-yards' dash, he felt joyously conscious both of covering spacequickly and that he did so without making himself particularlyprominent. Fools who ran after street-cars were born every moment; hewas happy to be relegated to that idiotic class by any onlookers. Hecaught the car while it was going; he didn't want it to stop for him.
Neither did it stop to pick up any one else for several blocks; therewas a space before it unobstructed by traffic. The motorman turned onmore power and Mr. Heatherbloom listened gratefully to the hummingwheels. At the same time he looked back; at the corner where he hadturned into Fourth avenue he fancied a number of people were gathering.He could surmise the cause; the stockily-built man--his pursuer--wasasking questions; he had learned what had become of the fugitive and waspresumably looking around for a "taxi." In vain. At least, Mr.Heatherbloom so concluded, because one did not appear in hot chasebehind them.
The motorman still gave "rapid service"; the conductor looked at hiswatch, by which Mr. Heatherbloom imagined they had time to make up. Hehoped so, then resented a pause at a corner for an old lady. How hewished she had not been afflicted with rheumatism, and could have got onwithout help! But at length the light-weight conductor did manage topull the heavy-weight passenger aboard. Time lost, thirty seconds! Themotorman manipulated the lever more deliberately now and they gatheredheadway slowly. Mr. Heatherbloom dared not remain longer where he was;as the car approached a corner near an elevated station, he got off. Hewas obliged to walk now a short distance but he did so hastily. Drawingnear the iron steps, leading upward, he once more looked back; a "taxi"_was_ whirling after him and he had no doubt as to its occupant. Thestreet-car could easily have been kept in sight and his leaving it beennoted.
Mr. Heatherbloom now threw discretion to the winds; dashing toward thestairway he ran up. Just as he reached the ticket window, the pursuingvehicle stopped below. Some one sprang out, did not pause to pay thechauffeur, but calling out to him his name, started after Mr.Heatherbloom. That gentleman had by this time boarded the train waitingabove; he stood on the rear platform. Any moment the pursuer wouldappear. He did appear as the gates of the train were closed and the carshad started on their way.
Yet he did not give up for running alongside the last car he called outto the guard:
"Fugitive from justice! Criminal--on this train! Open the gate for me!"
An instant the guard hesitated; rules, however, were rules.
"Five hundred dollars if you let me on!" the voice panted.
The guard in his own mind decided he would let the other on--too late;the last car dashed past the end of the platform. A faint sigh of relieffrom Mr. Heatherbloom was drowned in the tumult of the wheels; then heendeavored to appear indifferent, apathetic. It was not easy to do so;the secret-service agent had been heard by many others.
A "fugitive from justice" on the train! Mr. Heatherbloom tried to lookas little the part as possible, to simulate by his expression apreoccupied young business man of heavy responsibilities. Fortunatelythe train was crowded; nevertheless he fancied people glanced especiallyat him. He wished now he were better dressed; good clothes may cover amultitude of sins. Still there was no reason why he should be suspectedmore than sundry other indifferently-dressed people. He would dismissthe thought, tell himself he was going down town on some little errand;he even devised what that errand should be--to procure theater tickets.But his brain did not seem quite capable of concentrating itself solelyon desirable orchestra chairs; it constantly and perversely reverted tothat other disagreeable subject--a "fugitive from--"
Whoever could the fellow be? He endeavored by a mental process toeliminate himself and see but a mythical some one else in a mythicalbackground. A short person; a tall one? What kind of person would theimaginary individual be, anyhow? And what had he done, what crimecommitted? Mr. Heatherbloom tried to think with the minds of all theseother people on the train, to put himself figuratively in their shoes.
One young sprig of a girl, about fourteen, with sallow complexion andbead-like black eyes, kept regarding him. He conceived a profounddislike for her, shifted a foot; then straightened and banished herperemptorily from his environment. His principal interest lay now incasual glimpses of windows and speculation as to what was behind them.He varied this employment in a passing endeavor to decipher sundry signsthat obtruded incidentally within range of vision.
He had made out only a few when the, train slackened and came to astandstill. Mr. Heatherbloom told himself he would get off as quickly aspossible; then changed his mind and remained. People would, of course,argue that, under the circumstances, the unknown criminal would beamong those to leave the train at the first opportunity.
A number got out; Mr. Heatherbloom noted the passengers who remainedaboard and watched closely the departing ones. A few of the latterseemed slightly self-conscious, notably, an elderly spinster who, havingnever done anything wrong, was possessed of an unusual sensitiveness.
"See that slouchy chap--By jove, I believe--"
"Does look like a tough customer--"
"On the contrary, he just looks poor." Mr. Heatherbloom turned upon thetwo speakers warmly.
Why could he not have kept silent; why was he obliged to obtrude hisopinion into their conversation?
They stared and he half turned as the train banged itself along oncemore. Where should he go? Reaching for a paper that some one haddiscarded, he sank into a vacant seat and opened the sheet withmisgiving.
What would the big types say? Nothing! Miss Van Rolsen had managed tokeep the strange affair of her niece's disappearance out of the columnsof the papers. They knew nothing about it as yet--Only a single littleitem in the shipping news, in fine print, which suddenly caught his gazebore in any way, and that a remote one, upon her niece and her affairs.Mr. Heatherbloom regarded it with dull glance. The few lines meantnothing to him--then; later he had cause to turn to them with abruptwondering avidity. Now his eyes swept with simulated interest thegeneral news of the day; he professed to read cable dispatches.
But an odd reaction seemed to have settled on him; the excitement of thechase became, for the moment, forgotten. The scope of his mentalvisuality no longer included the figure of the agent from the privatedetective b
ureau. An anxiety more poignant moved him; his thoughtscentered on that other matter--the cause of Miss Van Rolsen'sapprehensions--the while those emotions that had held him a listenerbehind the curtain in her library again stirred in his breast. He hadnot played the eavesdropper for any selfish purpose or through a senseof personal apprehension. The sudden realization of his own danger, had,perforce, awakened in him the need for quick action if he would savehimself.
If? What chance had he? But for one compelling reason, one consumingpurpose, he would not have fled at all; he would have faced them,instead! But he had work to do--he! A fugitive, a logical candidate forthe prison cell! Ironical situation! Even now he heard a voice at hiselbow.
"Mr. Heatherbloom!" Some one spoke suddenly to him and he wheeled withabrupt swift fierceness.
"Well, are you going to eat me up?" the voice laughed.
He looked into the pert face of Jane--the maid with the provokingnose--who had been at Miss Van Rolsen's. She had got on at the other endof the car at the last station, and after waiting a few moments for himto see her, had moved toward him, or a seat at his side just thenvacated by some one preparing to leave. Mr. Heatherbloom's face cleared;he banished the belligerent expression.
"You look edible enough!" he said with forced jocularity.
"Indeed?" she retorted, surprised at such gallantry from one who hadheretofore not deigned to pay her compliments. "I'll have to tell myhusband about you." Playfully. "But how are things at Miss Van Rolsen's?Anything new?"
Mr. Heatherbloom murmured something about the customary routine; then,even as he spoke, became conscious of a sudden new disconcertingcircumstance. The tracks for the up and the down trains on the elevatedhad widely separated and ran now on the extreme sides of the broadthoroughfare. From his side of the car the young man was afforded a viewof the pavement below, between the two sustaining iron structures. Achill shot through him and his smile became set. Gazing down hediscerned, on the street beneath and a little to one side of them, amotor-car, speeding fast, apparently bent on keeping up with them.
"How--how's your husband?" he said irrelevantly. The car _was_ keepingup with them.
"Very well, thank you." (Would _it_ reach the next station before them?)
"You--you have a pleasant home?" he asked. (A slight blockade belowimpeded, momentarily, the "taxi". Mr. Heatherbloom raised hishandkerchief to his moist brow.)
"Lovely," she answered. "Are you going far?"
"Brooklyn," he said at random. What _were_ they talking about? (The carwas once more under way; fortunately their progress overhead would notbe impeded by a press of vehicles.)
"That's where we live--Brooklyn," she said.
"Is it? Got a nice house?" He had practically asked this questionbefore; but he hardly knew what he was saying. A policeman had stoppedthe "taxi" and was shaking his head, as at a rather "fishy" story. Mr.Heatherbloom by a species of telepathy, seemed to overhear the excitedtalk waging below.
"Oh, yes; lovely!" Jane's accents were but parenthetical to somethingelse. The "taxi" had been allowed to proceed, in spite of the detainingthought-waves Mr. Heatherbloom had launched toward the officer of thelaw. The occupant had probably showed a badge; Mr. Heatherbloomstretched his neck out of the window.
"You can come around and see, sometime, if you want to." Pride in hervoice. "And meet my husband." Husband was a very substantial baker.
"Charmed, I'm sure! Ha! ha!" He suddenly laughed.
"What is it?" She looked startled.
"Funniest accident!" He waved his hat, as at some one, out of thewindow. "See that taxi! Bumped into a dray. Ha! ha!"
"I don't see anything so funny in that." Straightening.
"No? You should have seen the expression on his face--"
"His? Whose?"
"The--ah, drayman's, of course! He--looked so mad."
"I should have thought," she observed, "the man in the car would havebeen the maddest It couldn't have hurt the dray much."
"No? Perhaps that's what made it seem so funny to me."
"Well," she said, "I never noticed before that you had a great sense ofhumor."
"You never knew me." Jauntily.
They got off at Brooklyn Bridge together. As they made their way throughthe crowd, Mr. Heatherbloom appeared most care-free and very sedulous ofhis companion's welfare, especially when they passed one or twoloiterers who seemed eying the passengers rather closely.
"Two for Brooklyn." Mr. Heatherbloom laid down a dime at the ticketoffice.
Soon, unmolested, he sped on once more; but as they crossed the busyriver all his light-heartedness seemed suddenly to desert him; thequestions he had been vainly asking himself earlier that day werereiterated in his brain. Where was she? What had become of her? Hishands clasped closely. A red spot burned on his cheek.