Part 29 (1/2)

In the neighborhood of 125th street she left the train, and, entering the first drug store she found, consulted a directory. She did not know this section of New York at all; she did not know either the location or the firm name of the iron plant to which Danglar, a.s.suming naturally, of course, that she was conversant with it, had referred; and she did not care to ask to be directed to Jake Malley's saloon, which was the only clew she had to guide her. The problem, however, did not appear to be a very difficult one. She found the saloon's address, and, asking the clerk to direct her to the street indicated, left the drug store again.

But, after all, it was not so easy; no easier than for one unacquainted with any locality to find one's way about. Several times she found herself at fault, and several times she was obliged to ask directions again. She had begun to grow panicky with fear and dread at the time she had lost, before, finally, she found the saloon. She was quite sure that it was already more than half an hour since she had left the drug store; and that half an hour might easily mean the difference between safety and disaster, not only for the Adventurer, but for herself as well.

Danglar might have been in no particular hurry, and he would probably have gone first to whatever rendezvous he had appointed for those of the gang selected to accompany him, but even to have done so in a leisurely way would surely not have taken more than that half hour!

Yes, that was Jake Malley's saloon now, across the road from her, but she could not recall the time that was already lost! They might be there now--ahead of her.

She quickened her steps almost to a run. There should be no difficulty in finding the iron plant now. ”Behind Jake Malley's saloon,” Danglar had said. She turned down the cross street, pa.s.sed the side entrance to the saloon, and hastened along. The locality was lonely, deserted, and none too well lighted. The arc lamps, powerful enough in themselves, were so far apart that they left great areas of shadow, almost blackness, between them. And the street too was very narrow, and the buildings, such as they were, were dark and unlighted--certainly it was not a residential district!

And now she became aware that she was close to the river, for the sound of a pa.s.sing craft caught her attention. Of course! She understood now.

The iron plant, for s.h.i.+pping facilities, was undoubtedly on the bank of the river itself, and--yes, this was it, wasn't it?--this picket fence that began to parallel the right-hand side of the street, and enclose, seemingly, a very large area. She halted and stared at it--and suddenly her heart sank with a miserable sense of impotence and dismay. Yes, this was the place beyond question. Through the picket fence she could make out the looming shadows of many buildings, and spidery iron structures that seemed to cobweb the darkness, and--and--Her face mirrored her misery. She had thought of a single building. Where, inside there, amongst all those rambling structures, with little time, perhaps none at all, to search, was she to find the Adventurer?

She did not try to answer her own question--she was afraid that her dismay would get the better of her if she hesitated for an instant. She crossed the street, choosing a spot between two of the arc lamps where the shadows were blackest. It was a high fence, but not too high to climb. She reached up, preparatory to pulling herself to the top--and drew back with a stifled cry. She was too late, then--already too late!

They were here ahead of her--and on guard after all! A man's form, appearing suddenly out of the darkness but a few feet away, was making quickly toward her. She wrenched her automatic from her pocket. The touch of the weapon in her hand restored her self-control.

”Don't come any nearer!” she cried out sharply. ”I will fire if you do!”

And then the man spoke.

”It's you, ain't it?” he called in guarded eagerness. ”It's the White Moll, ain't it? Thank G.o.d, it's you!”

Her extended hand with the automatic fell to her side. She had recognized his voice. It wasn't Danglar, it wasn't one of the gang, or the watchman who was no better than an accomplice; it was Marty Finch, alias the Sparrow.

”Marty!” she exclaimed. ”You! What are you doing here?”

”I'm here to keep you from goin' in there!” he answered excitedly.

”And--and, say, I was afraid I was too late. Don't you go in there! For G.o.d's sake, don't you go! They're layin' a trap for you! They're goin'

to b.u.mp you off! I know all about it!”

”You know? What do you mean?” she asked quickly. ”How do you know?”

”I quit my job a few days after that fellow you called Danglar tried to murder me that night you saved me,” said the Sparrow, with a savage laugh. ”I knew he had it in for you, and I guess I had something comm'

to him on my own account too, hadn't I? That's the job I've been on ever since--tryin' to find the dirty pup. And I found him! But it wasn't until to-night, though you can believe me there weren't many joints in the old town where I didn't look for him. My luck turned to-night. I spotted him comin' out of Italian Joe's bar. See? I followed him. After a while he slips into a lane, and from the street I saw him go into a shed there. I worked my way up quiet, and got as near as I dared without bein' heard and seen, and I listened. He was talkin' to a woman. I couldn't hear everything they said, and they quarreled a lot; but I heard him say something about framin' up a job to get somebody down to the old iron plant behind Jake Malley's saloon and b.u.mp 'em off, and I heard him say there wouldn't be any White Moll by morning, and I put two and two together and beat it for here.”

Rhoda Gray reached out and caught the Sparrow's hand.

”Thank you, Marty! You haven't got it quite right--though, thank Heaven, you got it the way you did, since you are here now!” she said fervently.

”It wasn't me, it wasn't the White Moll, they expected to get here; it's the man who helped me that night to clear you of the Hayden-Bond robbery that Danglar meant to make you shoulder. He risked his life to do it, Marty. They've got him a prisoner somewhere in there; and they're coming back to--to torture him into telling them where I am, and--and afterwards to do away with him. That's why I'm here, Marty--to get him away, if I can, before they come back.”

The Sparrow whistled low under his breath.

”Well, then, I guess it's my hunt too,” he said coolly. ”And I guess this is where a prison bird horns in with the goods. Ever since I've been looking for that Danglar guy, I've been carryin' a full kit--because I didn't know what might break, or what kind of a mess I might want to get out of. Come on! We ain't got no time. There's a couple of broken pickets down there. We might be seen climbin' the fence. Come on!”

Bread upon the waters! With a sense of warm grat.i.tude upon her, Rhoda Gray followed the ex-convict. They made their way through the fence.

A long, low building, a storage shed evidently, showed a few yards in front of them. It seemed to be quite close to the river, for now she could see the reflection of lights from here and there playing on the black, mirror-like surface of the water. Farther on, over beyond the shed, the yard of the plant, dotted with other buildings and those spidery iron structures which she had previously noticed, stretched away until it was lost in the darkness. Here, however, within the radius of one of the street arc lamps it was quite light.

Rhoda Gray had paused in almost hopeless indecision as to how or where to begin her search, when the Sparrow spoke again.

”It looks like we got a long hunt,” whispered the Sparrow; ”but a few minutes before you came, a guy with a lantern comes from over across the yard there and nosed around that shed, and acted kind of queer, and I could see him stick his head up against them side doors there as though he was listenin' for something inside. Does that wise you up to anything?”