Part 12 (1/2)
”That's a hinstrument Hi hown w'ich Hi wouldn't show to the Pelican 'imself, but Bobbs shall see it and feel it if he likes.”
”Is it a file?”
”A wery little file.”
”How did you smuggle it in?”
”Just in a little plug o' smoke, Bobbs, w'ich a friend sent me for my 'ealth, w'ich is poor, as my bloomin' a.s.sociates around me 'ere frequently observe. n.o.body'd look for a little rat's tooth laid crossways in a little plug o' smoke, with the 'andle alongside of it, would they, Bobbs?”
”Are you sawing the bars?”
”Ham I? It's all done.”
”You've sawed them through?”
”And poor little hinnocent Bobbs never 'eard me.”
Dobbs went off in a peal of laughter.
”But how do you hide the cuts in the bars when any one comes?”
”Wot'll stop a leak in a gas-pipe? Soap. Wot'll 'ide a slice in a sawed bar? Gum.”
”Gum?”
”You see, chummy, the wentilation is poor in 'ere. There's a green mildew on my floor and the bloomin' spiders is too silent to be sociable company. But you never 'eard me 'ollerin', Bobbs.”
Indeed, he always lay low during the outbreaks. His methods were more secretive. He was the villain by trade.
”But my sympathy is with the bloomin' mutineers hall the time. So I pick away with my rat's tooth w'en the others is 'ollerin' and even green little hinnocent Bobbs cawn't 'ear me.”
The rasping sound ill.u.s.trated his meaning.
”Ee won't trust me, but Hi trust 'im. We'll see who can keep a secret, and who leaks.”
There was a sound as if something had been slid out of the wall on the other side and of a sudden Dobbs' whisper became startlingly distinct.
”Honly a few minutes, Bobbs. Hi 'old the plaster in my pockets, and the rat's tooth in my fingers w'ile Hi gnaw and gnaw.” The tool began working rapidly and dexterously. In a short time Dobbs spoke again: ”Tap 'em till you feel it 'ollow, and shove on the 'ollow spot.”
Robert tapped the wall.
”Shove 'arder.”
Robert gave a stiff push with his elbow. The brick was loosened and gave way.
”Now, catch it, chummy.”
Slowly the Englishman shoved the brick toward Robert, till it protruded from his side of the cell. It would have fallen on the bed if Robert had not caught it. After the brick came a hand and the striped sleeve of a convict's arm. It was a characteristic hand, broad, with spatulate fingernails and a black star on the fleshy ball between forefinger and thumb. But the cracksman must have fallen out with his own likeness as Iago, for his thumb-nail was clean as a whistle. Between the fingers lay a tiny file of rarest workmans.h.i.+p. Its teeth were set almost as sharply as those of a saw, and the steel was tempered to the hardness of adamant.
”'Ow's that for a tooth, Bobbs?”
Floyd took it for a moment, but a step was heard coming along the corridor. It was Longlegs.
”Quick, Bobbs, put back the brick.”
Dobbs' voice grew hoa.r.s.e with excitement. Robert replaced the block on his side, and heard the convict doing the same on the other. As Longlegs pa.s.sed, Dobbs fell into a tremendous spasm of coughing. The turnkey hastened to the end of the corridor, jangling his keys as if deriding the derision with which he was greeted all the way. He had run his gantlet too often to heed the jeers and grimaces he met. There was a sound as if he were unlocking the farther door and then relocking it from the outside.
”That's a very useful cough,” whispered Dobbs to Floyd. It had ceased all of a sudden. ”It drives undesirable acquaintances about their business and it procures me admission to the 'ospital, w'ich is a sociable and communicative quarter. Hi'm a-winkin'.”
Robert was beginning to understand things. The cracksman was malingering. It was through the hospital that he communicated with his friends outside.
”And Hi 'ope that Dobbs 'as given ample proof to Bobbs that ee his deservin' of 'is confidence.”
Robert looked down and started at the temptation before him. The file lay in his hand.
CHAPTER XV.
A TRIP TO HILLSBOROUGH.
The life of Emily Barlow during this balmy month of summer might be described as an oscillation in criss-cross between her home and the studio in one direction, and s.h.a.garach's office and the state prison in the other. For in spite of Robert's protest she had returned several times to pour the sunlight of her sympathy into his cell, and the convicts, either because the latent manhood in them went out to a brave girl doing battle for her lover, or because Dobbs had exercised his influence in her behalf, offered no repet.i.tion of their first affront.
The point of intersection between these two much-traveled routes was a certain down-town corner, where Emily was already becoming a familiar figure to the policeman who escorted ladies over the crossing. A more disagreeable feature of her pa.s.sage of this point was the frequent appearance there of Mr. Arthur Kennedy Foxhall. But Emily, like other golden-haired girls, was accustomed to rude glances from men, and had learned to tolerate them as we accept turbid weather, muddy streets and the other unavoidable miseries of life.
She had been riding in the steam car fully fifteen minutes before she could determine in what direction the hostile influence lay. It could not be the mere uncertainty of her journey. Even if Bertha were not with the Arnolds at Hillsborough, it did not follow that her sweetheart was lost. At first broadly pervasive, like an approaching fog, the malign presence had gradually begun to locate itself near her, and it was with a sudden shock, like the first splash of a long-delayed shower, that she realized she was under observation from the pa.s.senger in front.
He had never turned around since they had left the station. To all appearances he was buried in a magazine. There was not even a sidewise position to indicate that he was keeping her within the field of his vision. Yet Emily knew that every sense of the man was alert in her direction, and that by a sort of diffused palpation, like that of the blind, he was aware of her slightest gesture. She thought of moving back to escape the oppression, or forward into another car. But the station platforms on either side lay in full view of the windows, and she felt that the relief would be only temporary. He would follow her out.
Who was the stranger? She was certain she had never seen his round, shaven face before, yet she felt that it was some one whose fortunes were bound in with hers, some one whom she would recognize, when his name was uttered, as a familiar. All efforts to dispel this dim fear were fruitless. She tried to gaze out at the skimming landscape, but some subtle force gripped her muscles and turned her head to the front. She closed her eyes, but the image still floated before her and she knew it was there to thwart her purpose and work her lover harm.
Fully fifty minutes of the ride had been rendered wretched to Emily by these doubts and fears, when the conductor entered to collect the tickets for Hillsborough. The man in front seemed to jerk himself out of his fit of absorption. He fumbled for his oblong blue card, on which Emily espied the lettering ”Hillsborough.” But the hand which delivered it struck a numbness in her heart. It was broad and fleshy, with the fingernails which are said to betray the professional criminal, and a star worked in black ink on the protuberance between forefinger and thumb. Robert had described this peculiarity in his cell-acquaintance, Bill Dobbs. If it were he, this was a strange situation in which to find the solitary cracksman. Perhaps it was one of his ”hospital days.”
”Hillsborough! Hillsborough!” came the announcement from both ends of the car, followed by the usual banging of doors. Emily started for the rear exit, which was the nearer. Once alighted, she walked leisurely forward along the platform. A side glance upward revealed Bill Dobbs just leaving his seat and pa.s.sing to the rear, exactly in her footsteps. When he caught her eye he smiled. It was true. He was pursuing her. Her spirits sank, and she did not quicken her pace. The engine stood champing like an impatient horse beside her, for she was almost abreast of the tender.
”All aboard!” the uniformed trainmen were crying. Emily glanced around. Bill Dobbs was just entering the station door, apparently taking no more notice of her than of the drivers soliciting his custom. But she knew that her least movement was under his cognizance. With a quick jump she placed her foot on the step, and, catching a conductor's hand, remounted the moving train. A backward glance, as she sunk into her seat, discovered Bill Dobbs sauntering up the road.
An interval of regret seized Emily when she reviewed her conduct calmly. Had she, indeed, escaped some unknown danger? Or was she the victim of a girl's foolish illusion? She was beginning to chide herself as a prey to superst.i.tion when the realities of her predicament suddenly forced themselves upon her by the reappearance of the conductor.
”What is the next station, please?”
”Elmwood.”
”How far is that?”