Kouka held to her arm; he shook her and swore. Mrs. Koerner swallowed, managed to say something, but in German. And then instantly the four officers, as if seized by some savage, irresistible impulse, began to rummage and ransack the house. They tore about the little parlor, entered the little bedroom that had been Gusta's; they looked everywhere, in the most unlikely places, turning up mats, chairs, pulling off the bed-clothes. Then they burst into the room behind.
Suddenly they halted and huddled in a group.
There, in the center of the room, stood old man Koerner, clad in his red flannel underclothes, in which he must have slept. He had an air of having just got out of bed; his white hair was tumbled, and he leaned on one crutch, as if one crutch were all that was necessary in dishabille.
Below the stump of his amputated leg the red flannel leg of his drawers was tied into a knot. He presented a grotesque appearance, like some aged fiend. Under the white bush of his eyebrows, under his touseled white hair, his eyes gleamed fiercely.
"Vat de hell ails you fellers?"
"We want Archie," said Kouka, "and, by God, we're going to have him, dead or alive." He used the words of the advertised reward. "Where is he?"
Kouka and the other officers glanced apprehensively about the room, as if Archie and Curly might start out of some corner, or out of the floor, but in the end their glances came always back to Koerner, standing there in his red flannels, on one crutch and one leg, the red knot of the leg of his drawers dangling between.
"You vant Archie, huh?" asked Koerner. "Dot's it, aind't it--Archie--my poy Archie?"
"Yes, Archie, and we want him quick."
"Vat you want mit him, huh?"
"It's none of your business what we want with him," Kouka replied with an oath. "Where is he? Hurry up!"
"You bin a detective, huh? Dot's it, a detective?"
"Yes."
"You got some bapers for him?"
"That's my business," said Kouka, advancing menacingly toward Koerner.
"You tell where he is or I'll run the whole family in. Here," he said suddenly, a thought having occurred to him, "put 'em under arrest, both of 'em!"
The old man shuffled backward, leaned against the table for support and raised his crutch for protection.
"You better look oudt, Mis'er Detective," said Koerner. "You'd better look oudt. Py Gott--"
Kouka stopped, considered, then changed his mind.
"Look here, Mr. Koerner," he said. "It's no use. We know Archie's here and we want him."
"He's not here," suddenly spoke Mrs. Koerner beside him. "He's not here!"
"The hell he ain't!" said Kouka. "I saw him come in--ten minutes ago.
Search the house, men." And the rummaging began again.
The men were about to enter the little room where Koerner slept: it was dark in there and one of them took the lamp.
"Look oudt!" Koerner said suddenly. "Look oudt! You go in dere if you vant to, but, py Gott, don't blame me if--"
The men suddenly halted and stepped back.
"Go on in!" commanded Kouka. "What do you want to stand there for? Are you afraid?"
Then they went, ransacked that room, threw everything into disorder and came out.
"No one there," they reported in relief.
They searched the whole house over again, and old man Koerner stood by on one leg and his crutch, with a strange, amused smile on his yellow face. At last, Kouka, lifting his black visage, looked at the ceiling, sought some way as if to an upper story, found none, and then began to swear again, cursing the old man and his wife. Finally he said to the officers:
"He's been kidding us."
Then he called his men, dashed out of the house, and with a dark lantern began seeking signs in the back yard. Near the rear fence he discovered footprints in the soft earth; they climbed over and found other footprints in the mud of the alley.
"Here they went!" cried Kouka.
V
Archie had stood for a moment in his mother's embrace; he had felt her cheek against his; he had heard her voice again. He was forgetful of everything--of Curly's presence, of all he had ever been made to suffer by himself and by others. He knew that his mother's eyes were closed and that tears were squeezing through the lids; he felt his own tears coming, but it did not matter--in that moment he could cry without being made ashamed. It was a supreme moment for him, a moment when all he had been, all he had done, all he had not done, made no difference; no questions now, no reproaches, no accusations, not even forgiveness, for there was no need of forgiveness; a moment merely of love, an incredible moment, working a miracle in which men would not believe, having lost belief in Love. It was a moment that suffused his whole being with a new, surging life, out of which--
But it was only a moment. Curly had turned away, effacing himself.
Presently he started, and cast about him that habitual backward glance; he had heard a step. It was Koerner. The old man in his shirt-sleeves, swinging heavily between his crutches, paused in the doorway, and then seeing his boy, his face softened, and, balanced on his crutches, he held out his arms and Archie strode toward him.
Curly waited another moment like the first, taking the chances, almost cynically wondering how far he could brave this fate. It was still in the little room. The words were few. The moment brought memories to him as well,--but he could endure it no longer; the risk was enormous already; they were losing time. For, just as they had entered the house, in that habitual glance over the shoulder, Curly had seen the figure in the dark doorway across the street--and he knew.
"Come on, Archie," he said.
Archie turned in surprise.
"It's all off," Curly said. "We're dogged."
"Why?"
"The bulls--"
"Where?"
"Across the street--an elbow."
"Him?"
"Yes."
"The hell!"
Curly glanced toward the back room. But Archie suddenly grew stubborn.
"No," he said. "Let's stick and slug."
"Don't be a chump," said Curly.