Part 11 (1/2)
”'He is a derrick-man.'
”Shorty was now well under the light of the bar. He had a scar over one damaged eye and a flattened nose, the same blow having evidently wrecked both; over the other was pulled a black cloth cap; around his throat was a dirty red handkerchief, no collar showing--a capital make-up for a stage villain, I thought, as I looked him over, especially the handkerchief. Even Mac here would look like a burglar with his hair mussed, collar off, and a red handkerchief tied around his throat.
”The barkeeper piped up again: 'Get a move on, Shorty, and help the gent find the Mick.'
”'Shure! I know him. He's a-livin' under de rocks. Come 'long, Boss.
I'll git him.'
”Two more men stepped out of the gloom; one, in a cap and yellow overcoat, went behind the bar and slipped something into his pocket; then the two lounged out of the room and shut the door behind them. I began to take in the situation. The purpose of the wink was clear now. I was in a dive in a deserted street, unarmed and alone, and surrounded by cutthroats. If I tried to find McGrath with any one of these men as a guide I would be robbed and thrown over the cliff; if I attempted to go back I would land in the clutches of the man in the yellow overcoat and his companion. All this time the barkeeper was leaning over the bar, his eyes fixed on my face. My only hope lay in a bold front.
”'All right,' I said to Shorty; 'how far is it?'
”'Oh, not very fur--'bout t'ree blocks.'
”I stepped out into the night.
”Down the long street on the way to the river stood three men--the man in the yellow overcoat, his companion, and one other. They separated when they saw me, the one in the overcoat retracing his steps toward the dive without looking my way, the others sauntering on ahead. I walked on, meditating what to do next. I could throttle Shorty and take to my heels, but then I would have to reckon with the pickets who might be between me and the bar-room.
”Sometimes, when in great danger, a sudden inspiration comes to a man; mine came out of a clear sky.
”'Hold on,' I said to Shorty--we were now half a block from the dive.
'Wait a minute; I have nothing smaller than a ten-dollar bill, and I want to give you something for your trouble. I'll run back and get the barkeeper to change it. Stay where you are; I won't be a minute.'
”I turned on my heel and walked back toward the dive with a quick step, as if I had forgotten something. The man with the yellow overcoat saw me coming and stepped into the street as if to intercept me. Shorty gave two low whistles, and the man stepped back to the sidewalk again. I reached the doorstep of the dive. All the men were now between me and the river, the one in the yellow overcoat but a short distance from the bar-room, Shorty waiting for me where I left him. With the same hurried movement I swung back the door, stepped inside, stripped off my overcoat, folded it close, threw it over my arm, and, before the barkeeper could realize what I was doing, pulled my hat close down to my ears, jerked the lapels of my dress-coat over my s.h.i.+rt-front to hide the white bosom, dashed out of the door and sprang for the middle of the street.”
Here Lonnegan stopped and puffed away at his pipe. For a minute every man kept still.
”Go on, Lonny,” said Mac, the intensity of his interest apparent in the tones of his voice.
”That's all,” said Lonnegan. ”The change of coats and slight disguise of hat and lapels threw them off their guard. The outside pickets thought, when I burst through the door, that I was somebody else until I was too far away to be overtaken. That's what saved my life.”
”And you call that an adventure, you fake!” cried Boggs. ”Ran like a street dog, did you, and hid under your mammy's bed?”
”Well, what's the matter with the yarn,” retorted Lonnegan; ”it's true, isn't it?”
”Matter with it? Everything! No point to it, no common sense in it; just a fool yarn! You go out hunting trouble with your imagination on edge, like a scared child. You meet a man who offers to conduct you gratuitously to a house up a back street; you agree to pay him for his trouble; you make a lame excuse to dodge him, he relying on your word to return, and then you take to your heels and cheat him out of his pay. No yarn at all; just a disgraceful bunco game!”
The Circle were now in an uproar of laughter, everybody talking at once.
Marny finally got the floor.
”Boggs is right,” he said, ”about Lonnegan's conduct. It is extraordinary how low an honest man will sometimes stoop. Lonnegan's life among the aristocrats of Murray Hill is undermining his high sense of honor. Now I'll tell you a story of an escape that really has some point to it.”
”Is this another fake murder yarn?” asked Boggs. ”We don't want any more fizzles.”
”Pretty close to the real thing--close enough to turn your hair gray.
About fifteen years ago----”
”Now hold on, Marny,” interrupted Boggs, ”one thing more. Is this out of your head, like one of your muddy, woolly landscapes, or is it founded on fact?”