Dangerous Ground Part 20

Suddenly a shriek pierces the silence about them--a woman's shriek, thrice repeated, its tones fraught with agony and terror!

Silly Charlie lifts himself suddenly erect, and turns his face toward a dark building just across the open s.p.a.ce. Then, as the third cry sounds upon the air, both men, as by one humane instinct, bound across the waste regardless of stones and bruises, Silly Charlie flying on before, as if acquainted with every inch of the ground, straight toward the dark and isolated building.

CHAPTER XIV.

A PRETTY PLOT.

In order to comprehend the cause of the alarm which stimulated to sudden action both the wise man and the fool, Van Vernet and Silly Charlie, let us turn back a little and enter the dark house at the foot of the alley.

It is an hour before midnight. The place is dark and silent; no light gleams through the tightly boarded windows, there is no sign of life about the dwelling. But within, as on a previous occasion, there is light, life, and a measure of activity. The light is furnished by a solitary tallow candle, and the life supplied by the same little old man who, on a former occasion, was thrown into a state of unreasonable terror at sight of a certain newspaper advertis.e.m.e.nt.

It is the same room, its appointments unchanged; the same squalor and dirt, the same bottle upon the same shelf, the same heap of rags in the corner, the same fragments of iron and copper on the floor. The same deal table and sc.r.a.p of carpet are there, but not arranged as on a former occasion, for now the table is pushed back against the wall, the piece of carpet is flung in a wrinkled heap away from the place which it covered, exposing to view a dark gap in the floor, with a dangling trap-door opening downward. Beside this opening squats the little old man, his eyes as ferret-like and restless as usual, but his features more complacent and less apprehensive than when last we saw him.

By his side is the sputtering tallow candle, and in his hand a long hooked stick, with which he is lowering sundry bags and bundles down the trap, lifting the candle from time to time to peer into the opening, then resuming his work and muttering meanwhile.

"What's _this_?" he soliloquizes, lifting a huge bundle and scrutinizing it carefully. "Ah-h! a gentleman's fine overcoat; _that_ must have a nice, safe corner. Ah-h! there you go," lowering the bundle down the aperture and poking it into position with his stick. "It's amazin' what valuables my people finds about the streets," he chuckles facetiously.

"'Ere's a--a little silver tea-pot; some rich woman must a-throwed that out. I will put it on the shelf."

Evidently the shelf mentioned is in the cellar below, for this parcel, like the first, is lowered and carefully placed by means of the stick.

Other bundles of various sizes follow, and then the old man rests from his labor.

"What a nice little hole that is," he mutters. "Full of rags--nothin'

else. Suppose a cop comes in here and looks down, what 'ud he see? Just rags. S'pose he went down, ha! ha! he'd go waist-deep in a bed of old rags, and he wouldn't like the smell overmuch; such a _nice_ smell--for cops. He couldn't _see_ anything, couldn't _feel_ anything but rags, just rags."

A low tap at the street-door causes the old man to drop his stick and his soliloquy at once. He starts nervously, listens intently for a moment, and then rises cautiously. A long, low whistle evidently rea.s.sures him, for with suddenly acquired self-possession he begins to move about.

Swiftly and noiselessly he closes the trap, spreads down the bit of carpet, and replaces the table. Then he shuffles toward the entrance, pulls out the pin from the hole in the door, and peeps out. Nothing is visible but the darkness, and this, somehow; seems to rea.s.sure him, for with a snort of impatience he calls out:

"Who knocks?"

"It's Siebel," replies a voice from without. "Open up, old Top."

Instantly the door is unbarred and swung open, admitting a burly ruffian, who fairly staggers under the weight of a monstrous sack which he carries upon his shoulders.

At sight of this bulky burden the old man smiles and rubs his palms together.

"Ah! Josef," he says, reaching out to relieve the new-comer, "a nice load that; a very nice load!"

But the man addressed as Josef retains his hold upon his burden, and, resting himself against it, looks distrustfully at his host.

"It's been a fine evening, Josef," insinuates the old man, his eyes still fixed upon the bag.

"Fair enough," replies Josef gruffly, as he unties the bag and pushes it toward the old man. "Take a look at the stuff, Papa Francoise, and make a bid. I'm dead thirsty."

Eagerly seizing the bag, Papa Francoise drags it toward the table, closely followed by Josef, and begins a hasty examination of its contents, saying:

"Rags is rags, you know, Josef Siebel. It's not much use to look into 'em; there's nothing here but rags, of course."

"No, course not," with a satirical laugh.

"That's right, Josef; I won't buy nothing but rags,--_never_. I don't want no ill-gotten gains brought to me."

Josef Siebel utters another short, derisive laugh, and discreetly turns his gaze toward the smoky ceiling while Papa begins his investigations.

From out the capacious bag he draws a rich shawl, hurriedly examines it, and thrusts it back again.

"The rag-picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef,"

continues this virtuous old gentleman, drawing forth a silver soup-ladle and thrusting it back. "These are very good rags, Josef," and he draws out a switch of blonde hair, and gazes upon it admiringly. Then he brings out a handful of rags, examines them ostentatiously by the light of the candle, smells them, and ties up the bag, seeing which Josef withdraws his eyes from the cobwebs overhead and fixes them on the black bottle upon the shelf.

Noting the direction of his gaze, Papa Francoise rests the bag against the table-leg, trots to the shelf, pours a scanty measure from the black bottle into a tin cup, and presents it to Josef with what is meant for an air of gracious hospitality.

"You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend."

"Umph," mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a draught. Then setting the cup hastily down; "Now, old Top, wot's your bid?"

"Well," replies Papa Francoise, trying to look as if he had not already settled that question with his own mind; "well, Josef I'll give you--I'll give you a dollar and a half."

"The d.i.c.kens you will!"

Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his shoulder.

"Stop, Josef!" cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the treasure. "What do you want? That's a good price for rags."

"Bah!" snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, "wot d'ye take me for, ye blasted old fence?"

But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag.

"Stop, Josef!" he cries eagerly; "let me see," pulling it down from his shoulder and lifting it carefully. "Why, it's _heavier_ than I thought.

Josef, I'll give you two dollars and a half,--_no more_."

The "no more" is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends the meaning behind the words, for he reseats himself sullenly, muttering:

"It ain't enough, ye cursed cantin' old skinflint, but fork it out; I've got to have money."

At this instant there comes a short, sharp, single knock upon the street-door, and Papa hastens to open it, admitting a squalid, blear-eyed girl, or woman, who enters with reluctant step, and sullen demeanor.

"Oh, it's _you_, Nance," says Papa, going back to the table and beginning to count out some money, eyeing the girl keenly meanwhile.

"One dollar,--sit down, Nance,--two dollars, fifty; there! Now, Nance,"

turning sharply toward the girl, "what have you got, eh?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef."--page 117.]

"Nothin'," replies Nance sullenly; "nothin' that will suit you. I ain't had no luck."

"n.o.body left nothin' lyin' round loose, I s'pose," says Siebel with a coa.r.s.e laugh, as he pockets the price of his day's labor. "Wal, ye've come ter a poor place for sympathy, gal." And he rises slowly and shuffles toward the door.