and came up Manhattan Avenue, she thought she saw a face at one of her windows; and she thought it was the face of Ray Levine. This was very disturbing, especially as it was after midnight, the street was deserted, and she was tired.
Her four-room flat was on the ground floor, and a gas-lamp on the pavement before it brightened the windows. What she saw was a momentary reflection, a gray shadow that assumed the shape of a man’s face and then vanished. She may have been mistaken.
Nevertheless she did not dare pause, but walked on to the stoop. Even then, to wait too long would inform the intruder that he had been seen. But if it was Ray Levine! Her heart gave a bound. Seven backward years were bridged, and she and Ray were standing near each other in the court-room, and Ray was full of bitter contempt. Luckily, he was handcuffed to an officer.
“Detective, eh? And catch a man with a kiss? Well, Ki, I hate just one thing, and that’s treachery. When I get out—so help me—I’ll put a bullet through your heart, Mrs. Judas.”
This was not the usual sort of threat; but the young man meant it with all his soul. In spite of her native courage, her heart sickened. In a flash, she saw herself in Ray’s big touring car at Niagara Falls, and felt his lips close upon hers. She had indeed betrayed him with a kiss. She had torn out his story—how he had been temporary agent of an express company in a Long Island town, and how he had taken thirty thousand dollars for Flo, that wicked woman of the Tenderloin. She had saved him from Flo, only to land him in prison.
“Perhaps he loved you, Ki,” she thought; “perhaps you—you loved him a bit. You sickly fool, is this the end of it, now?”
There was one last hope. She looked eagerly up and down the empty street. But the houses gazed vacantly on the vacant pavements, and in the distance the mist floated smotheringly, closing her in, accentuating her loneliness. Nevertheless, a plain-clothes man might be hidden in some doorway nearby; for on this day of Ray’s release he would doubtless be shadowed by Headquarters. Then, too, the Chief may have remembered Ray’s threat, in which case the house would be well watched.
She hesitated for a moment. Should she go around the corner to the drug store and telephone to Headquarters? Ray would notice this, and get away; and she had no intention of letting him off. Should she, then, take the risk and go in boldly? To open the door might easily mean the end.
She stood there at the foot of the stoop, a woman alone, tapping one high-heeled shoe on the stone step, swinging the silver mesh bag, which was fat with her “make-up.” She had spent the evening working along Broadway, and looked and felt the part. Her clear blue eyes were brilliant with the drinks she had had to take; her cheeks red with rouge; her hat startling with its red feathers; and her stout, tightly-laced body appareled in vivid blue.
After the excitement of the evening, she had the sense of ebb-tide: disgust with herself and her work; that gnawing loneliness she always felt as she returned home to the empty flat; that sense of impending disaster.
She shivered, looked quickly up and down the street again, heard, as it were, the silence of sleep on the city; and then, with heart pounding against her ribs, walked boldly up the stoop, pushed open the outer door, unlocked the inner door, and so entered the dark hall. It smelled of the dirty steam-heated carpet and the accumulated vapors of several suppers. She went to her door, listened, and scolded herself:
“Come, Ki. No worse to go tonight than any other night. But be a good fellow to the end; be a sport, old girl!” With that, she slipped the key into the lock, and with great care pushed the door open a little. Light from the street-lamp outside came in broad shafts through the windows, so that the crowded room was visible. All looked right: the Morris chair beside the center table; the couch in the corner; the photographs on the wall. She heard not the smallest sound.
All at once an anger at her own weakness nerved her. She flung up her head and walked in, leaving the door behind her open. She looked neither to right nor left, but went to the crowded mantel, found a match-box, and struck a match. That was the crucial moment, as she stood there, illuminated, distinct, with the tiny blaze flinging jumping shadows on the wall.
Nothing happened. And a moment later she had reached up, and the lamp on the table blazed. Then she looked about her. She was alone in the room; but the dining-room behind was in darkness, and was effectually screened by the tube-bead curtains that hung in the doorway in dusty silence.
Nevertheless she felt that she was a target; and, humming under her breath to forget her thoughts, she went to the door, shut it tight, the lock clicking, and then with swift steps returned to the mantel and seized the telephone.
“Spring 3100,” she said in a low voice. “Send police if they don’t answer quick….Yes—yes….Oh, Headquarters? That you, Croly?” She laughed softly. “Yes, this is Mrs. Polly. I’m home….Yes; you’re right—it’s about Levine….Good enough. Shadowed him, eh?…Three men? Good!…No, I didn’t see the one on the street….Other in the yard?…Yes, sure, the roof. So you traced him to this house. Well, he can’t get away, then….I’ll call you up. Good luck! So long!”
She set the telephone down, and stood a moment, hesitating. Then she had a bright idea. Again she put the transmitter to her lips.
“Murray Hill 7109….Yes.”
She waited in silence; and a curious thought came to her—so trivial and absurd, she almost laughed aloud. Two nights before she had heard mice. She was not afraid of mice, but she was of rats; and these little fellows made such a noise that she concluded they were rats. In terror she sat up in her bed, and, not knowing what to do, she began to “meow” like a cat, her voice rising and rising, until suddenly she remembered that others in the house might hear her and think she was possessed of a devil.
“Yes,” she thought, with a slight shiver; “I’m so scared I’ve got to think of funny things.”
She felt as if her body were much too large and bullets much too small.
Suddenly she put her lips to the transmitter again.
“7109?…Yes. I want to speak to Flo….Oh, that you, Flo? This is Kirah Polly….I’m home, yes. Flo, I want you to jump in your clothes and come here quick….Yes, here. Ray Levine is out….He is. Now, see here, kid; if you don’t do this for me, you’re done for. Besides, you loved the boy, didn’t you, dear?…Listen. You know, he threatened to kill me when he got loose. Well, Headquarters has shadowed him: he’s close by; and only you can save him. Come quick, now, sweetheart, and catch him before he ruins himself. Take him away. He wrecked himself for you, you know….You will? Bless your heart, Flo! Take a taxi.”
The room was steeped in brooding silence. The lamp burned with a slight purr, as of a cat drowsing; sirens were echoes in the far misty night. Mrs. Polly was almost afraid to stir, afraid to hear the rustle of her dress. But she carefully pulled the hat-pins from her hat, laid the hat on the couch, gave her hair a dab or two, and glanced at herself in the mirror.
“My!” she said to herself, “but you look gone, Ki. Rouge on snow.” Then slowly she went to the Morris chair, sank into it, and folded her hands in her lap.
She was facing the tube-bead curtains, trying with her sharp eyes to see what lay behind them. She could see nothing. She waited.
She had the strange sensation of sitting in the electric chair and waiting for the annihilating current to be turned on—the killing “juice.” Then suddenly the shock went through her, and she sat up. There were two definite steps; a hand parted the curtains; and Levine stepped through.
Their eyes met. Neither really saw the other—they only felt. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind Mrs. Polly was telling herself that he looked old and fagged, though his black eyes had lost none of their glitter and his black hair was untouched with gray. He was fairly tall and wiry; and he looked dangerous.
He stood; she sat; neither looked away.
“How did you get in?” she asked under her breath.
Then, to her amazement, she saw that he did not hold a revolver. Somehow, this increased rather than allayed her sense of crisis.
He stepped into the room.
“You left your door unlatched,” he said.
He had difficulty in speaking.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You expected me, anyway.”
“I’m never surprised.”
“Well,” he muttered, staring hard at her, “I heard what you said over the ’phone.”
“What of it?” she questioned, returning his gaze.
“Nothing of it. What are you sitting there for?”
“What are you standing there for?”
“Just be careful what you say, Ki.”
“And what you do, Ray!”
She met his eyes again; and the power of her clear glance shook him. He looked around the room, muttering.
“Where do you keep your gun?”
“I don’t need any gun,” she answered very calmly.
He sneered. “A detective without a gun!”
She leaned forward suddenly, and spoke with menacing authority:
“Now you sit down, Ray! Sit down!”
He clenched his fists and took a step toward her.
“Ki,” he burst out, “I stand just so much, and then——”
“You sit!” she added sharply.
“Well, I won’t sit down.”
“Do,” she said. “For, when you stand, I can see that you tremble like a child—tremble before a woman.”
His dark face grew menacing. He was really handsome; but now there were lines like scars about his mouth.
“Say that again!” he breathed.
“Why!” she exclaimed. “Do you still love me?”
He drew back a little, as if she had struck him.
“Love you?”
“You’re shaking like a custard. Are you a man?”
“Love—you?” he repeated. Then he sneered. “If I could hate any one worse than I hate you——”
“It’s all the same,” she said.
“What’s the same?”
“Loving—hating. They bind you to the other person. Perhaps you want a drink to steady yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t stand still. Why not sit down?”
“And if I don’t?”
“I won’t open my mouth again until you do!” She sat back complacently. He stared at her, and then began walking uncertainly about the room. He went to the mantel, and toyed with some of the papers on it. He studied some photographs on the wall. Once or twice he came toward her, and then withdrew.
At last he leaned a fist on the table and looked at her.
“What’s your game?” he burst out.
She met his glance without a quiver.
They were silent; the room was desperately still.
“Ki,” he began, between his teeth, “I say!”
He stopped. She said nothing.
“Huh!” he laughed sneeringly. “All right!”
Slowly she rose, and at once he became alert. She turned from him and went to a corner of the room. He followed swiftly.
“See here.” He raised his voice. “What’s this? No signaling, Ki!”
She stooped swiftly over a chair, and drew up a doily with a threaded needle sticking through it. She turned toward him, smiling, went back to her chair, sat down, and began to sew.
He stood behind her, amazed.
“Just as you want,” he said; and there was a new menace in his voice. She heard him step away, and then draw down the shades of the windows. He came back softly, and leaned over her. She could almost feel his hands closing around her throat; but she embroidered steadily.
“By God!” he burst out.
A moment later he passed her, and sat down on a chair near her.
She leaned toward him, smiling.
“Now we can talk.”
“You wicked devil!” he exclaimed.
She smiled at him.
“Am I so wicked, Ray?”
There was something so humanly intimate about this that he started. But he stiffened again.
She went on embroidering, and spoke musingly.
“Flo,” she said, “was wicked—with those green eyes of hers, and that heaving bosom, and the hundred devils in her when the lid was lifted. She’s the innocence that drives men mad and destroys them. She’s as beautiful as ever, and the men—crazy as ever.”
“What do you tell me that for, Ki?” he asked gruffly.
“You loved her once.”
“I was insane—insane,” he muttered angrily.
“And—what are you now?” she asked him slowly.
His nostrils quivered, his breath came quickly.
“Now,” he said, “I’m an ex-convict—thanks to you, Ki.”
“Thanks to yourself.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to Flo.”
“To you, I say.”
“To the law, I say!”
“Well,” he said, in a trembling, childish voice, “I just won’t have this any longer—you rotten——”
“Are you crying?” she burst out.
He bit on his lips, screwed up his face, turned from her.
“You damnable woman, I’ll have my revenge on you—I will! Ruined my life. Seven years of hell. Can’t you see what you did to me?”
He choked down a sob and turned toward her swiftly, slipping his hand in his jacket pocket.
Her heart missed a beat; but she spoke calmly.
“You never knew how I found you in Niagara, did you, Ray?”
“What’s that?” he snapped.
“It was fairly clever.” She smiled up at him. “You never would have thought of it yourself.”
“Thought of what?”
“You see, Ray, all they gave me was your photograph, and the rumor that you were in Niagara. So, when I got off the train, I made for the line-up of chauffeurs. And I said to them that my younger brother had come into a large fortune, and I was afraid he was blowing it on some woman. Had they seen a young man around, answering to description, who was making the coin spin? I went down the line. It was no, until I came to a private car. ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘that must be the man. He bought a car yesterday—a big black shining touring car. He’ll be hanging out in Piddy’s Inn.’ So he took me to you.”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“And in cold blood you went ahead?”
“How else should a detective go ahead?”
“Yes! But to make love to me—to take advantage of being a woman!”
“You took advantage of being a temporary agent, and unbonded.”
“Yes. But to play with love!”
“How about Flo?”
He sat silent. Her voice lowered:
“You got out this morning, didn’t you, son?”
“Son!” he sneered. “That’s not what you called me then.”
“What did I call you then?”
His face darkened.
“I suppose you don’t remember!”
“It’s seven years ago.”
“So, you didn’t even care for me. It was all acting!” He shut his eyes, clenching his fists, breathing between his teeth. He seemed to hate himself. “First one woman ruined me, then another. But I learned one thing in prison.”
“What was that?”
He rose slowly, his hand in his pocket, and took a step toward her.
“Revenge.”
She met his gaze.
“Sit down, Ray.”
“Not for a minute,” he answered.
She spoke scornfully:
“Do you think I’m afraid to die?”
“Who’s talking about dying?” he mumbled.
“Then take your hand out of your pocket.”
“Not till I get ready to.”
She bent her head and began to embroider again.
“What’s that?” she murmured.
“What’s what?”
“Will you please open the hall door,” she said, “and see if anyone is outside?”
“Open it yourself,” he breathed.
She started to put down her sewing.
“No, you don’t!” he cried. “You are clever—by heaven, you are. Let him stay in the hall. You sha’n’t budge, nor I.”
She looked up at him frankly.
“Ray,” she said, “do be reasonable with me. You know well enough that you were guilty, and that it was my job to get the evidence and convict you. What, in heaven’s name, could I have done? What would you have done in my place?”
“You made love to me,” he said.
“Are you a man, Ray?” she asked quickly. “To say a woman made love to you!”
“Women like you and Flo do, Ki.”
“Yes, to womanish men.”
“Womanish!”
“Yes. I think you are womanish,” she answered quietly. “Now, like a woman, you come crying around here, and want revenge because I made love to you.”
He began to pace up and down nervously, pausing now and then to look at her.
“But you did ruin me!” he cried. “And in cold blood.”
“Not so very cold.”
He stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you, Ray.”
He obeyed her, and sat again in the chair near her.
“Ray,” she said softly, “when I went after you seven years ago, my husband had deserted me three years before, at the time my boy died. I was lonesome as a bell-buoy at sea. I was frozen in on myself. But I feel that way now,” she murmured, “and that’s why it never matters to me whether I die or not. Perhaps you think it easy for a woman to be a detective, and live in the under-world without being part of it, and not be respectable enough to have friends of the real sort. That was the way I felt when I found you. Then you loved me; and it seemed to me as if I had found something.”
Color mounted to his cheeks.
“You did care for me, Ki?” he whispered.
“I did, Ray.”
He leaned toward her.
“Ki, you honestly cared? Loved?”
“If you call it love,” she said weakly.
“But you cared?”
She smiled, her eyes wistful with tears.
“I’m an old fool,” she muttered, wiping her eyes with the doily. “You see, when a woman’s my age, and nothing to love, she just naturally fastens on every ownerless dog and becomes its mother. And when I found you up there, young and handsome, and blowing your life to bits—well——”
“Well, what?” he asked softly.
“I felt like a mother to you.”
He sat up.
“Like a mother! But I loved you, because you were a woman, not a mother to me!”
“Not so fast!” she said. “Remember the day we sat out watching the Falls, up there on the rocks, alone with sky and water?”
“What day?”
“The day you told me everything.”
He shivered.
“Well, what of it?”
“Remember what you said to me?”
“What did I say to you?”
“You said I reminded you of your mother, the only woman you had ever really loved——”
He stared at her.
“I said that?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t mean I wanted you to be a mother to me. I loved you.”
“What could come of it?” she pleaded. “Ray, I’m more than twelve years older than you.”
“What’s twelve years?”
She smiled.
“You’re the same as ever.”
He shuddered.
“The same! Yes, with seven years of hell branded on me.”
A vein on his forehead stood out; a dangerous light returned to his eyes.
“You’re playing with me again,” he muttered. “But I won’t take any more of it! I bet you’d make love to me now to get the best of me.”
“You think that, Ray?”
“You did it once; you would do it again.”
“Ah, no,” she sighed. “You see, I didn’t play at it then. I did care.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m too old; I’m past all that.”
“You’re not. Your eyes are as bright as ever.”
“My husband may still be living.”
“What do I care?”
“Can’t we be friends, Ray? Really, now, I’ve often thought of you these past years, and wished it might have been different. Come, let’s make the best of it. Perhaps I can put you on your feet again.”
“How?” he sneered.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve learned a lot in jail.”
“A lot!” he said bitterly. “A lot about crime and vice.”
“Just what I meant. You see, I might get you in on the police department—secret service work. I think you could do it.”
“With my record!”
“It was a youthful error. They know that.”
“I paid pretty heavily for my youthful error!”
“Come,” she said, “make the best of it. You look tired out, Ray—pale and worn. And all this strain. And this silly revenge business. Come, let me get you some supper, and we’ll celebrate your new life. A new start, tonight!”
He sat musing, and sighed. Then he rose wearily and began to pace around. Suddenly he looked at her suspiciously, and came toward her, leaning against the table. He spoke hoarsely, shaking with a new gust of emotion.
“Ki, what in the name of twenty hells are you trying to do?”
She looked at him.
“What are you trying to do?”
“By God, I’m a fool with women. I was fooled twice, and I’ve paid for it with seven years of being shut in; seven years of being dead; seven years of scheming how I could get revenge on you. You said you cared for me. You cared for me so much that you sent me to prison!”
He leaned nearer; his voice rose.
“Now I’ve reached the end. I swore, Ki, I would kill you, and I will!”
“I had to send you to prison,” she murmured.
“Had to!”
“For your own sake.”
“How?”
“To save you from your own folly—yes, and from Flo.”
“Yes,” he snapped; “from Flo!”
“Now, see here, Ray,” she said sharply. “What would have become of you if you had gone on running wild? You, with your crazy nature! And women could twist you around their little fingers! Why, you would have destroyed yourself in dissipation. Isn’t that so?”
“Maybe,” he growled.
“Think,” she said, “of taking thirty thousand dollars for a woman; and then the reckless speed with which you spent it! Perhaps you forget what you said when I turned you over to the police.”
“What did I say?”
She smiled.
“You said, ‘Thank God, it’s over.’ ”
There was a pause. He sat down again.
“Ah, now, Ray,” she said, “come! I did struggle with myself over you. I did care for you. But, if you had been my own son, it might have seemed best for you to pay up—to be shut away until you grew to know better. Why not make the best of it?”
“But you making love to me—” he began again.
“And you loving Flo.”
“I never did.”
“Not love? What, then? She was like a madness in your blood, even when you were with me. I think you still love her.”
He breathed hard, looking down on the floor.
“She was a—a snake!”
“But beautiful.”
“Not so beautiful. But that long, twisting neck of hers—and those green eyes—and her laughing at me, and never letting me alone——”
“Never letting you alone?”
“Yes; never taking no for answer, but coming around, dogging me about, making scenes, quarreling, tempting—and then whispering, ‘I am nice, Ray, don’t you think so?’ ‘You do care for me, after all, don’t you?’ And her damned innocence——”
“That fooled you, like the rest!” said Mrs. Polly, smiling.
“How did I know? She going around talking like a saint, and then making love like a hurricane—struggling, fighting— It was like hugging a volcano.”
“Often think of her?”
He looked away.
“I hate to think of her.”
“You love to think of her. You love that madness in your blood, don’t you? You love to feel wild.”
“She destroyed me. I was a decent fellow until Flo came.”
“Yes; she went around the world, breaking men. A curious business. But she’s changed, Ray.”
He looked up, interested.
“How, changed?”
“Well, your going to prison for her. It made a different woman of her. It subdued her, scared her. I think she loved you, Ray.”
He stared at her.
“Did she?” he asked, like a wistful child.
She smiled.
“I think she really did. So if she comes tonight, while you are here——”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be too hard on her. Perhaps you two——”
“We two?”
“Think of it! She’s still beautiful. And she and I have been very good friends.”
He breathed hard, looking away. Then he turned toward her.
“I’ve been a fool, Ki,” he said.
“Yes,” she laughed frankly; “you have, Ray.”
“You’re really my friend,” he said.
“And no silly love business?”
“No. I guess it’s Flo.”
“Good.” She arose. “Now, Ray, I’ll get supper. But first——”
“First, what?”
“An evidence of good faith. Give me the gun.”
He looked at her quickly, and met her clear, honest eyes. He smiled, put his hand in his pocket, and lifted out the loaded revolver. She took it carefully, and gazed at it.
“So you would have killed me, boy. Well, well!”
She sighed and looked down at him; her lips quivered.
“Listen,” she said. “I am going to see how wise you are. You see, I didn’t telephone to Flo; just held the ’phone to my lips.”
His jaw fell; he stared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Ray,” she said solemnly, “Flo is dead.”
He trembled all over, and sank back.
“Dead?”
She stepped away from him carefully.
“Yes. Consumption—three years ago.”
He leaped to his feet like a maniac.
“Damn you!” he shouted. “You’ve betrayed me again!”
He started for her, and she raised the revolver.
“Get back,” she said quietly.
He paused.
“Ray,” she said, “neither did I call up Headquarters. I could have; but you see I wanted to give you a chance to make good. It was all planted.”
He stared and stared at her.
“Shall I get supper?” asked Mrs. Polly.
“Oh, Ki!” he broke down.
She gave him one motherly kiss then, and went in to find the coffee pot.