The Under-World/Chapter 4

Out I went and jumped into a taxi-cab, telling the driver to stop at the corner of Léontine's street

With the inside knowledge that I had it was not difficult to reconstruct the theft of Mary Dalghren's pearls. Léontine, I thought, was behind the whole dirty business. She was playing a double game, or possibly a triple one; the pearls themselves, an act of revenge and spite against a girl she no doubt considered to be her successful rival, and, finally, the chance of driving me back to the Under-World. Jealousy had probably induced her to do what she would never for a moment have thought of doing otherwise. She had leaped to the conclusion that I was in love with Miss Dalghren, and had decided that it was this, more than gratitude, which had led me to stick to my good resolutions.

Therefore she had made up her mind to get the pearls, thinking that, even if the actual suspicion did not fall upon me, I would, nevertheless, be held in a measure to blame, and that this might lead to a rupture with my benefactors which would drive me back to my old life. So she had seen Ivan and persuaded him to undertake the job. This, I thought, had not been very easy for her to do. I had read Ivan's character as that of a man of soul and sentiment. He was an enemy to Society, like the rest of them, but his Slavic nature was warm and emotional, and I knew that he had deeply appreciated the sacrifice that I had made when I surrendered my liberty in order to save himself and the others. During the time that I was in the Santé he had sent one of his gang, disguised as a priest, to tell me that if money could help me to get my freedom I might rest assured that none would be spared in the attempt.

But Léontine's persuasion had overcome his scruples. The girl was an indispensable ally to him in his work, and I more than half-suspected that he was himself in love with her. I remembered how his lustrous eyes had glowed as they rested on her the night of the dinner-party at Léontine's house. He had accordingly undertaken the theft, and the opportunity to carry it off had come sooner and more easily, no doubt, than he had hoped for. On meeting Miss Dalghren by chance at the Billings' dinner he had sent a word to Chu-Chu to get on the job. It was even possible that Chu-Chu himself had been at the dinner, for as M. de Maxeville, clubman and officier de la légion d'honneur, he went a good deal in Society. Chu-Chu might have left early, and have been in or about the Cuttynge's house when Miss Dalghren got home. Miss Dalghren had said that after playing the harp Ivan had brought her a glass of orangeade which had a queer taste, as if from some liqueur. It was possible that Ivan had drugged the beverage with an opiate not strong enough to take immediate effect but which would ensure of her not waking once she fell asleep. Miss Dalghren had remarked that she had never felt so sleepy in her life and had awakened with a splitting headache.

The chance of Edith being asleep, and John at the club, had made Chu-Chu's work only too easy. Knowing the ruthless character of the man, the only thing that surprised me was that he had not continued his efforts and gone upstairs to crack the safe, either gagging or strangling Edith, for Chu-Chu was a killer. But no doubt Ivan's instructions had strictly forbidden anything of this sort and Chu-Chu had not dared to disobey.

This was the way I reasoned it out; and whether the details were accurate or not, I had no doubt that the main features were correct. I was firmly convinced that Ivan would never have played me such a trick but for Léontine's influence. There is a professional etiquette observed between thieves of the highest class, just as there is between swell members of other professions; and although it is not always strictly adhered to, there was in this case a strong obligation to me. As to the location of the pearls, I was sure that they were now in Léontine's possession, having been first turned over to Ivan by Chu-Chu and then delivered to Léontine by Ivan, that she might dispose of them in England or elsewhere.

I paid off my taxi at the head of the Rue de Passy and walked quickly to Léontine's little house. There was a single light in one of the upper windows. Hardly had I rung the gate-bell when the door opened and a manservant came out and let me in.

“Mlle. Petrovski?” I asked.

He gave me a quick glance and I recognised him as the same person who had served us the night of the dinner-party.

“Mademoiselle is expecting monsieur,” said he, “if monsieur will take the trouble to enter.”

I followed him into the house, when he ushered me to the little Moorish room overlooking the garden at the rear. Like most places of the sort, there were two entrances—front and rear.

I had not long to wait. There was a rustle in the corridor, a light step, and Léontine entered. She wore the evening gown of orange-coloured chiffon which I remembered, and for a moment the inhuman beauty of her almost took away my breath, just as it had at our first meeting. There was a warm flush on her cheeks and her eyes shone like yellow diamonds.

“Frank,” she murmured, and gave me both hands.

I held them for an instant, then let them fall, and stepped back to look at her. The room was softly lighted by two tall lamps which shone through amber-coloured shades.

“So you expected me?” said I.

“Yes. I received your pneumatique; but thought it probable that you would learn that I was leaving for London to-morrow with Kharkoff.”

“Aren't you ashamed of yourself?” I asked.

“Horribly;” she threw back her head and laughed. My word, but the pearls which she had stolen were no more perfect than her teeth, nor of a purer quality than her round throat. There was nothing artificial about the laugh either. It was low and gurgling and as full of real mirth as though what she had done were the funniest thing that ever happened.

“But you are the one who ought to be ashamed, Frank,” said she. “I never received such a horrid pneumatique, except from Kharkoff, and he's a savage. It's not good manners to threaten a lady.”

“It's even more impolite to threaten her by word of mouth,” said I, “but that's what I am here for. That was a low-down trick of yours, Léontine. I never would have believed it of you. What made you do it?”

Her eyes danced. “There were two reasons,” said she. “First, I wanted to get you back to your own again. The other was because I hate that lump of a girl you are always with. The last time we met it was all that I could do to keep from slashing her across the face with my crop. You don't really care for her, do you, Frank? Such a lump of a flaxen-headed doll.”

“I don't care for her at all,” I answered. 'I have been teaching her to drive because I was ordered to. Those reasons are not enough to excuse your rounding on a pal, my dear.”

“I am not excusing myself—and you are no longer a pal. You refused to be a pal.”

“There's no use going into that,” said I, “where are those pearls?”

She gave me a teasing look.

“Don't you wish you knew?” she said

“I do know,” I answered. “They are here. Hand them over, Léontine. Your plot has failed. My friends believe in me as much as ever, but they think that my old pals have played it on me mighty low. So do I. Why don't you tell the truth and say that you wanted the money and knew that you ran no risk because, owing to what they did for me, the hands of the victims were tied?”

Léontine's eves blazed. “Wanted the money!” she cried. “Come—you know better than that, mon ami. Hadn't I just offered to pay back what your mushy relatives had spent on you?”

“For your own selfish purposes,” I answered. “Failing in that, you thought you might as well make a little out of me in a different way.”

The blood rushed into her face.

“You lie!” she cried. “You lie, and you know it!”

“Who is impolite now?” I asked. “However, it's all right. I didn't come here to bandy compliments.”

The criminality in the girl flashed out of her yellow eyes.

“No?” she asked. “Then what did you come for?”

“I came to get the pearls,” I said, and something tells me that I am going to succeed. If you stole them for the reason that you say, you might as well give them back. Your plan has absolutely failed. I have always played fair myself, and was fool enough to have a little sentiment about 'honour amongst thieves.' But I know better now. This experience alone would be enough to sicken me with graft and start me on the level, even if there were no other reasons. But then, I was an American crook, and that makes a difference.”

Léontine's face turned the colour of ivory—a dead, creamy white—and her eyes seemed to darken.

“You are a fool, Frank,” she said, breathing hard. “You may think that your friends still believe in you, but they don't. Of course, they would pretend to, to save their own self-respect. Have they said anything to you about your handkerchief found in that girl's room—and your monogram cigarette—and the prints of your tennis shoes on the path outside?”

“What's that?” I cried, turning on her so suddenly that she shrank back a little.

“I see that they haven't.” She gave her low laugh, but there was no amusement in it this time. “Yes, my dear,” she went on mockingly, “Chu-Chu first paid a visit to your rooms and got what he needed”

“So it was Chu-Chu!” I snarled. “I'll twist his hairy neck for that—and you can tell him so for me.”

“Chu-Chu takes good care of his neck. But you see, Frank, you are outclassed. Better come back to the fold, my little boy.”

“You think so, do you?” I answered quietly. “Well then, my dear girl, let me tell you something. If you think that you are going to play me for a sucker, you're wrong. I'm either an old pal or I'm an honest citizen. If I'm the first, hand over those pearls. If I'm the honest citizen, then look out for squalls.”

Léontine was silent for a moment. Then, says she, softly:

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, That if you choose to consider me as an honest citizen, I shall act like one. You like your little joke and so do I. You got Chu-Chu to play yours. I'll get the Prefect of Police to play mine—and glad enough he'll be to do it.”

Léontine's eyes narrowed. Her face was like alabaster.

“Indeed?” says she softly. “And how long do you think that our honest little citizen would be apt to live after playing such a joke?” She smiled. “I think that he would go straight to Heaven, where he belongs.”

“Not until he had sent an old pal or two to the other place,” I answered. “M. de Maxeville would probably find his handsome head under the guillotine—where it belongs.”

Léontine took a swift step forward and her hand fell on my wrist like a cold, steel bracelet—and I know how that feels.

“Frank,” she whispered, “don't joke on such vital matters. It's only a joke, of course—but it is not a nice one.”

“Well then,” said I, “it's not a joke—and the sooner you get that through your pretty, curly pate the better for all hands.”

She dropped my wrist and stepped back, her eyes wide and filled with a genuine look of horror. By George, my friend, you'd have taken her for the President of a Benevolent Society listening to a proposition to ditch a trainload of preachers.

“I don't believe it!” she cried. “I will not believe it! What, betray your former pals to the police. You, Frank?”

I began to feel my patience slipping her cogs.

“Yes,” I snarled, “I. What's the matter with you, girl? Haven't you got good sense? You make me sick! Why, just look at it; the other night I had a good-enough job all done down there at the Cuttynge's house. I'd done all that I set out to do. And because you made me lose my head with your hugs and kisses, we smashed around like a brace of drunken dagoes and roused up the house and had to do a quick get-away. Then when I saw the agent about to nab the car I tackled him, broken arm and all, and held him while the rest of you quit it. Don't you suppose that I could have saved my bacon if I'd been a mind to? Broken arm or not, I'd have been over the wall opposite and away from there like a scared cat. Do I look like the sort of goop to get collared by a French cop? And the rest of you would have got nailed. Now what do I get in return? You send that animal, Chu-Chu, to rob the house of the people who saved me a life sentence, and get away with a rope of pearls and stick the blame on me, knowing well that my friends have got to sit tight and take it on account of what they did for me. And now you have the cast-iron nerve to tell me that I'm to sit tight and take it, too. No! You don't know me, girl. Hand over those pearls, and be quick about it, or by the Power that made us both wrong I'll have you and your whole filthy mob in the dock. I've seen some dirty tricks in my life, but never such a skunk game as this.”

Léontine had drawn back and was staring at me with a white face and flaming eyes. For a moment she raised her hands to her temples, standing rigid and erect, and with a curious expression as of a person who thinks deeply and with strong intensity. Then suddenly her face seemed to stiffen. She dropped her arms, and, turning, rushed to a little writing desk in the corner of the room.

My friend, in my old trade the man lived longest who thought quickly and took no sentimental chances. I knew what she was after and crossed that room with the spring of a performing panther. Even then I was barely in time, for Léontine had snatched a revolver from the drawer of the desk and whirled about to face me.

But if she was quick, then I was quicker, and had her by both wrists. The little revolver flew out of her hand, whirled glittering across the room, and landed on a divan. My grip on her wrists tightened so that she gave a little cry of pain.

“Curse you!” she shrieked. “Let me go! Wait until Ivan hears of this!”

She leaned forward, thrusting her face almost in mine.

“You swine!” she snarled. “If Ivan guessed what was in your mind you'd never live to get home! You traitor”

She went too far. All the criminality in me came blazing out.

“I'll wring Ivan's snipe neck, you cat!” I growled, “and I'll skin Chu-Chu with his own knife. Do you think you can scare me with your mob o' yellow crooks? Scare 'Tide-water Clam'? Do you think there's an ounce of scare in 'The Swell'? Did you think so when I stepped in front of you and took the bullet you would have got? You're up against an American, you slut, and, crook or no crook, he's good for you and your dago bunch.” And with that, my friend, and perhaps I should shame to tell it, but I don't, I loosed her two wrists, shifted my grip like lightning to her soft, round shoulders, and shook her so savagely that her hair came tumbling over her face.

“Don't talk scare to me, you little fool,” I said, and threw her across the room and on to the divan. “Pick up your gun and shoot,” I cried. “There it is beside you. Shoot, and save your pretty, cowardly pelt, for I give it to you cold that you are up against the real thing at last.” And I leaned across the table and glared at her.

Léontine flung back her hair with both hands. It was short and thick and curly and only reached to her chin. She snatched up the revolver, raised it, and covered my chest. I wasn't thinkin' of long-life policy just then. I was too mad.

“Unhook her. Empty your fool-gun,” I taunted her. “A lot I care.”

The muzzle wavered. I was staring into the eyes over it, willing her not to press the trigger. I won, too, for suddenly her pupils dilated and the yellow eyes grew dark. Her stiffened arm drooped. Then she dropped the pistol and flung herself face downward on the cushions.

I leaned across the table watching her. Then, straightening up, I pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. Léontine did not move, but her bare shoulders were heaving. The clock in the hall struck one. I dropped into a chair by the table and smoked and watched her.

Presently she raised her head, stared at me a moment, then looked at the revolver shining at her feet. She reached down, picked it up, and laid it on the table. Then she looked at me and laughed.

“You win, Frank,” she said unsteadily, struggling to her feet.

“Of course I've won,” I answered, and laid down the cigarette. “Why shouldn't I?”

She swept around the table, then dropped at my feet on the rug, and, gripping me by both knees, laid her head against them.

“Yes,” she said, “you've won.” Her voice broke. “And oh, my dear, I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad!”

“Then go and get the pearls,” I answered without moving, and picked up my cigarette again.

“You shall have the pearls,” she murmured. “Swear to me that you don't love her, Frank.” She laughed hysterically. “Chu-Chu told me that while he was getting the pearls she was snoring like a pig. Snoring, Frank.” She laughed again.

“Thanks to Ivan's dope,” said I. “But she can snore without, for all me.”

“You don't love her?”

“No, I don't,” I answered impatiently. “Where are those pearls? It's getting late.”

“Ivan has them. I'll give you a note to him,” she said; and I felt that she was telling the truth. “He didn't want to do it, Frank. He absolutely refused at first. Chu-Chu and I had an awful time persuading him. I'm sorry, Frank. Kiss me, and say that you forgive me.”

I leaned over and kissed her. “I'll forgive you when I get the pearls,” I said.

Her bare arms flashed up around my neck, and, for a moment, held me tight. Then she scrambled to her feet and went to the writing desk, where for several minutes she scribbled fast.

“There, Frank,” said she, rising and turning to me, as smooth and sleek and unruffled as though she had never been mauled about like a mutinous school-boy. She had pushed back her short, wavy hair, and jammed down over it the gold band which she usually wore to keep it in place and which had flown off when I gave her the shaking; and to look at her, no one would ever have guessed that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Such rows, after all, are food and drink to women of the Léontine sort; they love the excitement, and like to rouse the dominant male in the man on whom their fancy happens to rest. But I thought she would have some blue finger-marks on her shoulders the following day.

She slipped the note into an envelope and handed it to me unsealed.

“Here, Frank,” she said, “take this note to Ivan. He never wanted to take up the job and he will be quite content to give you back your old pearls. I'll have to make it right with Chu-Chu, though. He did his part, poor man.”

“I've got a little score with him, too, on the debit side,” I answered. “Better let me settle mine out first; it might cancel yours.”

“Be careful, Frank; and don't make any more threats. If Ivan were to guess what was in your mind you would be like a rabbit in the coils of a cobra. His system is like a cancer—it sifts in everywhere.”

“The mob may be the cobra,” said I, “but I ain't a rabbit by a whole lot. I know my way home in the dark.”

“Don't take any more chances, Frank, as you did to-night. And don't think that I am giving up the pearls because of your threats. I did so because you are the first man who ever mastered me. Kiss me, Frank.”

She held up her lovely, flushed face, and I kissed her twice.

“I always knew that there was a lot of good in you, my dear,” I said.

“There's a lot of bad, too. When you threw me over there on the divan I wanted to murder. you. I meant to call up Ivan after you had left and tell him what had happened. You would never have lived to go to the prefecture, Frank. But when you reminded me that the pistol was right beside me and I found that I could not shoot—then I knew.”

She turned to me, her eyes misty and her lips quivering. But I had other affairs more important than to sit there and spoon with Léontine, so I got up to go.

“Thanks for the note,” I said, “and forgive me for gettin' rough. I lost my temper.”

“You've found something else,” she said; and there was a break in her voice. “Hereafter, I'll play fair, Frank. Good-night.”

So out I went and walked across to the Chausée de la Muette, where there is a cab-stand. It was a good hour to find Ivan, I thought, for people of the Under-World don't waste the night in sleeping. His address was on the note and my taxi pulled up in front of a charming little house over by the Parc Monceau. A sharp-eyed manservant opened the door and took my card, saying that he would see if M. le Comte was at home; for Ivan sported a title. The man returned at once and asked me to follow him. We went up a flight of stairs and I was shown into a very handsome and practical-looking office, where Ivan himself, in a velvet costume d'intérieur was seated at a fine mahogany desk.

“How do you do, Mr. Clamart?” said he, rising. Ivan spoke perfect English. He was a fine-looking fellow, with an intelligent, aristocratic face, tall and slender in build, and with beautiful hands.

I replied to his greeting and took the chair which he offered me.

“I cannot tell you how delighted I was to learn of your release,” said he. “The whole situation was most dramatic; such a chain of circumstance as one might expect to find in a book or a play, but seldom finds in real life, even in a profession so full of startling incident as my own. Fancy being confronted by your own half-brother while working a strange house, and calmly receiving his bullet rather than to fire upon your own flesh and blood.”

“It might interest you to know,” said I, “that I have taken bullets before rather than fire on a person who was not of my own flesh and blood.”

“Indeed?” said Ivan, raising his fine brows.

“Monsieur,” said I, leaning forward and fastening his brilliant eyes with mine, “I have been a successful thief for a good many years. The profession interested me not only from its money profit and excitement but also from the purely artistic point of view, I enjoyed exercising my wit and skill against the difficult problems presented, and have always been fascinated by the interest of the stalk. A big, dark, silent house which I knew to contain treasure appealed to me in much the same way that a dangerous gold country might appeal to the prospector. I never stole from poor people, and there has never been a time when I would not have filled a position of trust, such as that of cashier in a savings bank, with scrupulous honesty. This was not because of any conscientious principle, but merely a sportsmanlike instinct. My purse has always been open to the needy and I have never let a just debt go unpaid.”

Ivan smiled. “I can readily believe you,” he said. “In fact, you quite voice my own code of ethics.”

“I am very sorry,” said I, “that I cannot agree with you.”

Ivan's thin, black eyebrows lifted and a tinge of colour showed in his olive cheeks.

“If what you say is true,” I went on, “how was it that you could bring yourself to take advantage of a pal whose hands were tied by his given word and use him as a scapegoat for your own gain? Monsieur, theft is theft, of course, and in this wicked world of ours every man is for himself, and the Devil take the hindmost. That seems to be the motto that most people live by—from the pickpocket to the high financier. But as I see it, monsieur, it is a dd poor motto for people who pretend to have any code of honour of their own, even though that code is one not generally recognised.”

Ivan's clear complexion grew swarthy. In the Under-World fierce passions lie closer to the surface than in the upper, and it is not hard to bring them to the top.

“What do you mean?” he snapped, leaning forward and gripping the rim of his desk. His eyes, however, shifted from mine.

“I mean,” said I, “that a man may be a thief and an enemy to Society and still be a man, with his own personal pride and self-respect. When that is gone he can't claim to be anything but a low-grade, mean-spirited sneak.”

That fetched him. Ivan shed his sleek politeness as a pickpocket slips out of his coat.

“Be careful what you say, Mr. Clamart,” he snarled, his face purple. “I'm not accustomed to such talk.”

“I believe you,” I answered. “Nor are you accustomed to the sort of act that causes it. I'd be willing to stake my life that this is the first time in yours that you ever paid a man for saving you and your gang by shoving a job on him as you have on me. You are a master-criminal and you couldn't be unless you were a big man. Big men don't do petty things. I know my human nature, monsieur, and I place you as gentleman born, like myself, who, for reasons of his own, has taken up crime as a profession. But in your world you are known to be square and generous and laid out on large lines. When I was in the Santé you offered to back me with your fund and you would have done it, too. And then, when I get out, by a miracle, you turn around and steal from me something that I value a lot more than my liberty. Are you proud of that job, monsieur?”

Ivan pushed himself back in his chair and the colour went out of his face. His eyes narrowed.

“Do your friends suspect you?” he muttered.

“I can't tell. But they consider the loss to have come as the result of what they did for me, and that very act of theirs ties their hands. Worst of all, those pearls were the entire fortune of a poor girl, a penniless music-teacher. Her father died bankrupt, and these pearls that she had from her mother was all that she saved. I am telling you the truth. Of course, a consistent thief doesn't consider the sentimental side. But there were other things to be considered in this job, principally myself.”

Ivan stared at me for a moment in silence. His face was set and he tugged at the waxed end of his black moustache.

“What makes you think that I managed the affair?” he asked.

I made a tired gesture.

“That's too easy,” said I. “You took out Miss Dalghren at the Billings dinner. You probably doped her drink. Then you set Chu-Chu on the job. I'm not altogether a fool.”

Ivan's handsome face relaxed. His eyes were clouded and he rubbed the point of his chin. Then he reached for an inner pocket, hauled out a package in white tissue paper, and tossed it into my lap.

“Here,” said he, “take them, Mr. Clamart. You are quite right. It was a rotten business. I hated it from the start.”

“Thank you,” said I. “To tell you the truth I was pretty sure that it wasn't your idea. Léontine put you up to it. She wanted to save me from a hideous life of honesty.”

Ivan laughed, then shot me a curious look.

“Did you think that I'd give them back?” he asked.

“I was sure of it,” I answered.

His face cleared, then clouded again. “I'll have a bad time with Léontine,” he said, “and a worse with Chu-Chu. But Chu-Chu can go to the devil. I've had nearly enough of Chu-Chu. He wanted to go after the other string—Mrs. Cuttynge's. But I flatly forbade that. I knew that Chu-Chu would never go out of the house without killing somebody. An unusual man, Mr. Clamart. He is purely criminal, with absolutely no saving grace of soul. He would rather kill than not. It is a pity, because he is the most able operator that I have ever known. But between you and me, I distrust Chu-Chu. There was a job I worked up some time ago and Chu-Chu carried it off brilliantly, but I have since had reason to suspect that he held back some of the loot. If I could be sure of this, Chu-Chu would never get another piece of work from me. Look here, Mr. Clamart, are you absolutely decided to quit the field? I've got a big thing for next week. Is it true that you are no longer one of us?”

“True as gospel,” said I.

“That's subject to error. What is the matter? In love with Miss Dalghren?”

“No. We don't even get on well. It's merely that I have passed my word.”

His face clouded. “It's a pity,” said he. “You and I could do big things together. But perhaps you are right. What are you doing now? Automobiles? Léontine told me something of the sort. Well, I'll buy a car from you some day.”

We both laughed and I got up to go. He saw me downstairs and we shook hands at the door.

As soon as I got back to my rooms I wrote a pneumatique to Léontine telling her of my success with Ivan and asking her to say nothing about our interview, as I wished Ivan to believe that I had counted entirely on his sense of fairness. This would suit Léontine, I thought, as she would not care to have Ivan know, if it could be helped, that after persuading him to steal the pearls she would turn around and give them back again.

I slept well that night and went to the office the next morning with a light heart. John was coming in at eleven to go with me to take out a prospective client. But at ten, as I was busy writing in the private office, the door burst suddenly open and in came John. His face was pale and pasty and there were heavy puffs under his eyes. He looked like a man half-drunk, and for that matter there was a reek of liquor in his breath.

“You're early,” said I, wondering what had fetched him out at this hour.

John closed the door, then lurched into a chair, where he sat staring at me with a curious, sodden look.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Matter enough!” he growled. “Edith's pearls are gone, too!”