Part 23 (1/2)
”You're a rare one, Bertha!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed again. ”You don't seem to put much stock in your husband lately.”
”Why should I?” she inquired imperturbably. ”Things have been breaking fine, haven't they?--only not for us!” She cleared her throat as though it were an effort to talk. ”I'm not going crazy with joy till I've been shown.”
Danglar leaned suddenly over the table.
”Well, come and look at the cards, then,” he said impressively. ”Pull your chair up to the table, and I'll tell you.”
Rhoda Gray tilted her chair, instead, nonchalantly back against the wall--it was quite light enough where she was!
”I can hear you from here,” she said coolly. ”I'm not deaf, and I guess Matty's suite is safe enough so that you won't have to whisper all the time!”
The deformed creature at the table chortled again.
Danglar scowled.
”d.a.m.n you, Bertha!” he flung out savagely. ”I could wring that neck of yours sometimes, and--”
”I know you could, Pierre,” she interposed sweetly. ”That's what I like about you--you're so considerate of me! But suppose you get down to cases. What's the story about those sparklers? And what's the game that's going to let me shed this Gypsy Nan stuff for keeps?”
”I'll tell her, Pierre,” grinned the deformed one. ”It'll keep you two from spitting at one another; and neither of you have got all night to stick around here.” He swung his withered hand suddenly across the table, and as suddenly all facetiousness was gone both from his voice and manner. ”Say, you listen hard, Bertha! What Pierre's telling you is straight. You and him can kiss and make up to-morrow or the next day, or whenever you d.a.m.ned please; but to-night there ain't any more time for sc.r.a.pping. Now, listen! I handed you a rap about beating it with the empty money-belt the night you croaked Deemer with an overdose of knockout drops in the private dining-room up at the Hotel Marwitz, but you forget that! I ain't for starting any argument about that. None of us blames you. We thought the stuff was in the belt, too. And none of us blames you for making a mistake and going too strong with the drops, either; anybody might do that. And I'll say now that I take my hat off to you for the way you locked Cloran into the room with the dead man, and made your escape when Cloran had you dead to rights for the murder; and I'll say, too, that the way you've played Gypsy Nan and saved your skin, and ours too, is as slick a piece of work as has ever been pulled in the underworld. That puts us straight, you and me, don't it, Bertha?”
Rhoda Gray blinked at the man through her spectacles; her brain was whirling in a mad turmoil. ”I always liked you, Matty,” she whispered softly.
Danglar was lolling back in his chair, blowing smoke rings into the air.
She caught his eyes fixed quizzically upon her.
”Go on, Matty!” he prompted. ”You'll have her in a good humor, if you're not careful!”
”We were playing more or less blind after that.” The withered hand traced an aimless pattern on the table with its crooked and half-closed fingers, and the man's face was puckered into a shrewd, reminiscent scowl. ”The papers couldn't get a lead on the motive for the murder, and the police weren't talking for publication. Not a word about the Rajah's jewels. Was.h.i.+ngton saw to that! A young potentate's son, practically the guest of the country, touring about in a special for the sake of his education, and dashed near 'ending it in the river out West if it hadn't been for the rescue you know about, wouldn't look well in print; so there wasn't anything said about the slather of gems that was the reward of heroism from a grateful nabob, and we didn't get any help that way.
All we knew was that Deemer came East with the jewels, presumably to cash in on them, and it looked as though Deemer were pretty clever; that he wore the money-belt for a stall, and that he had the sparklers safe somewhere else all the time. And I guess we all got to figuring it that way, because the fact that nothing was said about any theft was strictly along the lines the police were working anyway, and a was a toss-up that they hadn't found the stuff among his effects. Get me?”
Get him! This wasn't real, was it, this room here; those two figures sitting there under that shaded lamp? Something cold, an icy grip, seemed to seize at her heart, as in a surge there swept upon her the full appreciation of her peril through these confidences to which she was listening. A word, in act, some slightest thing, might so easily betray her; and then--Her fingers under the shawl and inside the wide pocket of her greasy skirt, clutched at her revolver. Thank G.o.d for that! It would at least be merciful! She nodded her head mechanically.
”But the police didn't find the jewels--because they weren't there to be found. Somebody got in ahead of us. Pinched 'em, understand, may be only a few hours before you got in your last play, and, from the way you say Deemer acted, before he was wise to the fact that he'd been robbed.”
Rhoda Gray let her chair come sharply down to the floor. She must play her role of ”Bertha” now as she never had before. Here was a question that she could not only ask with safety, but one that was obviously expected.
”Who was it?” she demanded breathlessly.
”She's coming to life!” murmured Danglar, through a haze of cigarette smoke. ”I thought you'd wake up after a while, Bertha. This is the big night, old girl, as you'll find out before we're through.”
”Who was it?” she repeated with well-simulated impatience.
”I guess she'll listen to me now,” said Danglar, with a little chuckle.
”Don't over-tax yourself any more, Matty. I'll tell you, Bertha; and it will perhaps make you feel better to know it took the slickest dip New York ever knew to beat you to the tape. It was Angel Jack, alias the Gimp.”
”How do you know?” Rhoda Gray demanded.
”Because,” said Danglar, and lighted another cigarette, ”he died yesterday afternoon up in Sing Sing.”
She could afford to show her frank bewilderment. Her brows knitted into furrows, as she stared at Danglar.