The Prince and Betty Part 26

"If Comrade Maloney," he said, "is going to take to singing during business hours, I fear this journal must put up its shutters.

Concentrated thought will be out of the question."

He moved to the door and flung it open as a second squeal rent the air, and found Master Maloney writhing in the grip of a tough-looking person in patched trousers and a stained sweater. His left ear was firmly grasped between the stranger's finger and thumb.

The tough person released Pugsy, and, having eyed Smith keenly for a moment, made a dash for the stairs, leaving the guardian of the gate rubbing his ear resentfully.

"He blows in," said Master Maloney, aggrieved, "an' asks is de editor in. I tells him no, an' he nips me by the ear when I tries to stop him b.u.t.tin' t'roo."

"Comrade Maloney," said Smith, "you are a martyr. What would Horatius have done if somebody had nipped him by the ear when he was holding the bridge? It might have made all the difference. Did the gentleman state his business?"

"Nope. Just tried to b.u.t.t t'roo."

"One of these strong, silent men. The world is full of us. These are the perils of the journalistic life. You will be safer and happier when you are a cowboy, Comrade Maloney."

Smith was thoughtful as he returned to the inner room.

"Things are warming up, John," he said. "The sport who has just left evidently came just to get a sight of me. Otherwise, why should he tear himself away without stopping for a chat. I suppose he was sent to mark me down for whichever gang Comrade Parker is employing."

"What do you mean?" said John. "All this gets past me. Who is Parker?"

Smith related the events leading up to Mr. Parker's visit, and described what had happened on that occasion.

"So, before you throw in your lot with this journal," he concluded, "it would be well to think the matter over. You must weigh the pros and cons. Is your pa.s.sion for literature such that you do not mind being put out of business with a black-jack for the cause? Will the knowledge that a low-browed gentleman is waiting round the corner for you stimulate or hinder you in your work? There's no doubt now that we are up against a tough crowd."

"By Jove!" said John. "I hadn't a notion it was like that."

"You feel, then, that on the whole--"

"I feel that on the whole this is just the business I've been hunting for. You couldn't keep me out of it now with an ax."

Smith looked at him curiously, but refrained from enquiries. That there must be something at the back of this craving for adventure and excitement, he knew. The easy-going John he had known of old would certainly not have deserted the danger zone, but he would not have welcomed entry to it so keenly. It was plain that he was hungry for work that would keep him from thought. Smith was eminently a patient young man, and though the problem of what upheaval had happened to change John to such an extent interested him greatly, he was prepared to wait for explanations.

Of the imminence of the danger he was perfectly aware. He had known from the first that Mr. Parker's concluding words were not an empty threat. His experience as a reporter had given him the knowledge that is only given in its entirety to police and newspaper men: that there are two New Yorks--one, a modern, well-policed city, through which one may walk from end to end without encountering adventure; the other, a city as full of sinister intrigue, of whisperings and conspiracies, of battle, murder, and sudden death in dark byways, as any town of mediaeval Italy. Given certain conditions, anything may happen in New York. And Smith realized that these conditions now prevailed in his own case. He had come into conflict with New York's underworld.

Circ.u.mstances had placed him below the surface, where only his wits could help him.

He would have been prepared to see the thing through by himself, but there was no doubt that John as an ally would be a distinct comfort.

Nevertheless, he felt compelled to give his friend a last chance of withdrawing.

"You know," he said, "there is really no reason why you should--"

"But I'm going to," interrupted John. "That's all there is to it.

What's going to happen, anyway? I don't know anything about these gangs. I thought they spent all their time shooting each other up."

"Not all, unfortunately, Comrade John. They are always charmed to take on a small job like this on the side."

"And what does it come to? Do we have an entire gang camping on our trail in a solid ma.s.s, or only one or two toughs?"

"Merely a section, I should imagine. Comrade Parker would go to the main boss of the gang--Bat Jarvis, if it was the Groome Street gang, or Spider Reilly and Dude Dawson if he wanted the Three Points or the Table Hill lot. The boss would chat over the matter with his own special partners, and they would fix it up among themselves. The rest of the gang would probably know nothing about it. The fewer in the game, you see, the fewer to divide the Parker dollars. So what we have to do is to keep a lookout for a dozen or so aristocrats of that dignified deportment which comes from constant a.s.sociation with the main boss, and, if we can elude these, all will be well."

It was by Smith's suggestion that the editorial staff of _Peaceful Moments_ dined that night at the Astor roof-garden.

"The tired brain," he said, "needs to recuperate. To feed on such a night as this in some low-down hostelry on the level of the street, with German waiters breathing heavily down the back of one's neck and two fiddles and a piano hitting up ragtime about three feet from one's tympanum, would be false economy. Here, fanned by cool breezes and surrounded by pa.s.sably fair women and brave men, one may do a certain amount of tissue-restoring. Moreover, there is little danger up here of being slugged by our moth-eaten acquaintance of this afternoon. We shall probably find him waiting for us at the main entrance with a black-jack, but till then--"

He turned with gentle grace to his soup. It was a warm night, and the roof-garden was full. From where they sat they could see the million twinkling lights of the city. John, watching them, as he smoked a cigarette at the conclusion of the meal, had fallen into a dream. He came to himself with a start, to find Smith in conversation with a waiter.

"Yes, my name is Smith," he was saying.

The waiter retired to one of the tables and spoke to a young man sitting there. John, recollected having seen this solitary diner looking in their direction once or twice during dinner, but the fact had not impressed him.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"The man at that table sent over to ask if my name was Smith. It was.

He is now coming along to chat in person. I wonder why. I don't know him from Adam."

The stranger was threading his way between the tables.

"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Smith?" he said. The waiter brought a chair and he seated himself.

"By the way," said Smith, "my friend, Mr. Maude. Your own name will doubtless come up in the course of general chitchat over the coffee-cups."

"Not on your tintype it won't," said the stranger decidedly. "It won't be needed. Is Mr. Maude on your paper? That's all right, then. I can go ahead."

He turned to Smith.

"It's about that Broster Street thing."

"More fame!" murmured Smith. "We certainly are making a hit with the great public over Broster Street."

"Well, you understand certain parties have got it in against you?"

"A charming conversationalist, one Comrade Parker, hinted at something of the sort in a recent conversation. We shall endeavor, however, to look after ourselves."

"You'll need to. The man behind is a big bug."

"Who is he?"

The stranger shrugged his shoulders.

"Search me. You wouldn't expect him to give that away."

"Then on what system have you estimated the size of the gentleman's bug-hood? What makes you think that he's a big bug?"

"By the number of dollars he was ready to put up to have you put through."

Smith's eyes gleamed for an instant, but he spoke as coolly as ever.