"Thank you, Mrs. O'Connor," said the boy in exultation. "I'll come down directly."
He soon had it secured, and then boldly got out of the window and swung off. In a minute he was by the side of his friend.
"How do ye feel now?" asked the good woman, in a tone of sympathy.
"Better," said Julius.
"What made them lock ye up?"
"They didn't think I'd want to go out till mornin'. Good-bye, Mrs.
O'Connor; I'm goin' for the doctor. You can get your line in the mornin'."
He left the house with a quick, alert step, showing no further evidence of pain. Mrs. O'Connor noticed it, and wondered that he should have got over his sickness so soon. Julius had been tempted to take her into his confidence and explain the real state of the case, but in the uncertain issue of the burglary he decided that it would not be best.
"Good-bye, old house!" he said, looking back to it in the indistinct light; "I shall never come back and live here again. I'll go down to the wharves and find a place to sleep the rest of the night."
He turned his steps in the direction of the East River. He found an out-of-the-way corner on one of the piers, where he disposed himself for sleep. It was nothing new to him. Scores of times he had spent the night in similar places, and never found fault with the accommodations. They might be poor, but the best of it was there was nothing to pay, and he must be indeed unreasonable who could complain under such circumstances. He fell asleep, but the shadow of recent events was upon him. He dreamed that Marlowe had him by the throat, and woke up in terror to find a dock-hand shaking him by the shoulder.
"Avast there!" said the man, who had caught some phrases from the sailors; "wake up and pay for your lodgin's."
"All my money's in the bank," said Julius. "I can't get at it till the bank opens."
"Not then, either," said the dock-hand, good-humoredly. "Well, I'll let you off this time. Your wife's expectin' you home."
"Are you sure of that?" said Julius. "I told her I was goin' to a party, and she needn't expect me home till mornin'."
"Well, the party's broke up, and you'd better be going," returned the other, good-naturedly.
Meanwhile let us go back to Marlowe, whom we left hurrying home a little past midnight, intent upon wreaking his vengeance on Julius for his treachery. Had he found the boy it would have gone hard with him.
The ruffianly instinct of the burglar was predominant, and he might have killed him in the intensity of his blind rage. But the foresight and prudent caution of Julius defeated his wrathful purpose, and when he reached the shabby room which he called home his intended victim had escaped.
Marlowe did not at once discover the boy's flight. He unlocked the door, but it was dark within, for the window looked out upon an inclosed court, and permitted only a scanty light to enter. Before striking a light he locked the door again and put the key in his pocket. This was to prevent the boy's escape on the one hand, and any outside interference on the other. Then he drew a match from his pocket and lighted a fragment of candle upon the table. This done he turned his eyes toward the bed with stern exultation. But this was quickly turned into angry surprise.
"The boy's gone!" he exclaimed, with an oath. "How could he have got out, with the door locked?"
The open window and the rope hanging from it revealed the method of escape.
Marlowe strode to the window with a feeling of keen disappointment.
Was he to be robbed of his revenge, after all? He had depended upon this with certainty, and meant to have it, though he should be arrested the next minute, and he knew that, though he had escaped from the house of his meditated crime, he was still in great peril.
Doubtless Julius had given full information to the police of his name and residence, and even now they might be in pursuit of him. He ground his teeth when he thought of this, and clinched his fist in the impotent desire for vengeance.
"If I had him here," he muttered, "I'd crush him as I would a spider,"
and he stamped angrily upon the floor.
But where could he have got the rope? that was the next question. He knew that there was none in the room, and how one could have been smuggled in with the door locked was something that puzzled him.
Julius himself could not very well have brought one in, as on account of its bulk it would have attracted the attention either of Jack Morgan or himself. Perhaps the woman downstairs might know something about it, he reflected, and this led him to go down and knock at Mrs.
O'Connor's door.
After a little pause Mrs. O'Connor came to the door and opened it.
"What's wanted?" she asked. Then, recognizing her visitor as one of the lodgers in the room above, she added, "Is it the boy?"
"Yes; where is he?" demanded Marlowe, abruptly.
"It's gone to the doctor he is."
"Gone to the doctor!" repeated Marlowe, mystified. "What do you mean?"
"He was taken sick jist after you wint away, and as he couldn't open the door which was locked, he pounded on the floor. My key wouldn't fit, so he asked me to throw up a clothes-line, which I did, and the poor crayther got out of the winder, and wint for the doctor. He'll be back soon, I'm thinkin'."
"No, he won't," growled Marlowe. "He's a thief and a villain, and he's run away."
"Did I iver hear the likes?" exclaimed Mrs. O'Connor. "Who'd have thought it, shure?"
"I've a good mind to wring your neck, for helping him off," said Marlowe, forgetting in his anger the politeness due to the fair sex.
"Would you, thin?" exclaimed Mrs. O'Connor, incensed. "Then my husband would do the same to you, you brute! I am glad the boy's gone, so I am, and I hope he'll never get into your clutches again, you monster!
Tim, wake up there, and defind yer wife from the thafe that's insulted her!"
Before Tim O'Connor aroused from his sleep at his wife's call, Marlowe, with a smothered execration, retreated to his own room, and began to consider his position. He must fly. There was no doubt of that. Remaining in his old haunts, he would, unquestionably, fall into the hands of the police, now probably on his track. He must get away, and that very night. Any delay would be dangerous. He must leave the city and remain in hiding for the present.
While he was making hurried preparations steps were heard on the stairs, and there was a loud knocking on the door.
"Who's there?" demanded Marlowe.
"Open, in the name of the law!" was the reply of the officers, who had tracked him to his lair.
"Wait a minute," said Marlowe.
He rushed to the window and descended swiftly by the same rope which had given Julius deliverance (it had escaped the attention of the officers, on account of the darkness), and while the officers were waiting for the door to be opened he eluded their vigilance and made his escape.
CHAPTER XIX.
A CURIOSITY SHOP.
Marlowe realized that he had made the city too hot to hold him. The police, with whom he had a more intimate acquaintance than he desired, were already on his track, and it was doubtful if he could escape. The affair in which he was implicated was a serious one, and if arrested and tried he could hardly hope for less than ten years' imprisonment.
This is rather a long term of confinement to be taken out of a man's life, and must be avoided if possible. But one way of escape seemed feasible, and this Marlowe tried, as a desperate experiment.
He made his way swiftly through the darkness to a tumble-down building not far from Baxter street. The front door was unlocked. He opened it, and feeling his way up--for there were no lights--knocked in a peculiar way at a door just at the head of the stairs. His knock was evidently heard, for shuffling steps were heard within, a bolt was drawn, and Marlowe confronted a little old man, of feeble frame and deeply furrowed face, who scanned the face of his visitor by the light of a candle which he held above his head.
"Why, it's Marlowe!" he said.
"Hush, Jacob! don't mention my name! I'm in trouble."
"What's in the wind now?"
"Shut the door and I'll tell you."