Evan shook his head.

"As you are to be the first to enter the house it would be as well.

Take this."

"This" was a neat and businesslike automatic. George Deaves shuddered at the sight of it.

The Inspector compared watches with Evan and departed in his automobile to make his arrangements.

CHAPTER XIV

NUMBER 11 VAN DORN STREET

Evan borrowed a newspaper at the bank and cut from it five pieces of the size and shape of bills. These he enclosed in an envelope and gave it to George Deaves. The latter was already longing to turn back from this expedition, but Evan gave him no opening to do so.

It was about half-past ten when they left the bank. In case they should be under observation Evan had to find some plausible reason for delay. They taxied back to the Deaves house as if they had forgotten something, and then down-town again. They dismissed their cab in MacDougall street, and proceeded on foot according to instructions.

Few people in New York could lead you to Van Dorn street, but Evan happened to have marked it during his wanderings with Simeon Deaves.

It is only three blocks long, from MacDougall street to the river; one of the forgotten streets of the real Greenwich Village, not the spurious. Down the first block extends a double row of little old red brick dwellings; number eleven was presumably one of these. The remaining blocks are given up to great storehouses.

It was not any too easy to time their arrival to a second without rousing the suspicions of anyone who might be watching them. Evan dared not consult his watch too often. He made careful calculations of the time they took to walk a block. As it was he arrived in sight of the corner some seconds too soon. He used up this time by asking the way of an Italian grocer who had no English.

It was ten seconds to eleven when Evan guided the shaking George Deaves into Van Dorn street, and they mounted the steps of number eleven precisely on the hour. A great bell was tolling as Evan pulled the old-fashioned k.n.o.b. In the depths of the house a bell jangled. Evan's heart was beating hard in his throat; George Deaves was as livid as a corpse--nothing strange in that, though, if anybody was watching.

The little brick house with its beautiful old doorway and wrought iron railings was the very epitome of respectability--they had left the swarming Italian quarter around the corner. With its shining bra.s.s k.n.o.bs, neat window curtains and scrubbed steps one would have sworn that good, church-going people lived there--but you never can tell!

There was no wagon or van in the block that might have contained the police, but it was only a hundred feet or so to the corner. Evan had faith in the inspector. As a matter of fact, the van was about half a minute late in arriving; not a very long time, but long enough to make a fatal difference in modern tactics.

They heard steps approaching the door from within--still no sign of the police.

"Fumble for the envelope," Evan swiftly whispered. "It'll gain time."

The door was opened by a woman as respectable in appearance as her house, in short a hard-working, middle-aged American woman with an expression slightly embittered perhaps as a result of the influx of "dagoes" in her neighbourhood. She looked at them enquiringly. George Deaves fumbled a.s.siduously in his inside breast pocket.

"What is it?" she asked sharply.

"I have something for the gentleman up-stairs," he muttered.

"Oh!" She waited five seconds more. "What's the matter?"

"I can't seem to find it."

Still no sign of the police. Evan was on tenterhooks. To create a diversion he asked:

"Has the gentleman lived here long?"

"Only took the rooms yesterday. Hasn't moved in yet."

Evan's heart went down. "Oh, then he isn't in?"

"Yes, he and his friend are up there waiting for the furniture."

She was evidently a victim rather than an accomplice. Still no sign of the police! George Deaves had not the a.s.surance to keep up his pretended search. Evan signalled to him with a look to hand over the envelope. He did so with trembling hands.

At the same moment Evan, whose ears were stretched for sounds from within the house, heard a voice say, not loud: "They're coming over the back fence!" And another voice answered: "Beat it, then."

To Evan it was like the view halloo of the huntsman. He could not resist it. Never thinking of danger, he pushed past the astonished landlady and sprang for the stairs, pulling his pistol as he ran. As he left the stoop he had an impression of a motor van turning the corner from MacDougall.

The woman screamed, and George Deaves yelled to Evan to come back. The woman slammed the door in Deaves' face with the impulse of keeping out at least one intruder. This was unfortunate for Evan, for it delayed the entrance of the police.

As Evan went up the first flight he heard flying feet on the stairs overhead, and he made no pause on the second floor. He heard a door on the third floor slam. It was in the front. Houses of this type have a window on the stair landing and Evan had no difficulty in seeing what he was about.

On the third floor there were four doors on the hall, all closed. Evan went directly to the door he had heard close, the door of the princ.i.p.al front room, and throwing it open, stepped back, half expecting a fusillade from within. But none came. After a moment he stepped to the door and looked in. The room was empty. But there was a door communicating with the rear.

That was as far as his observations carried him. Suddenly a suffocating cloud was thrown over his head from behind and drawn close about him.

A voice said: "Give him one; he's heeled!"

A sickening blow descended on his skull. His strength became as water.

Still he did not lose consciousness.

A different voice said: "Let him lie! Come on!"

The first and more determined voice replied:

"Bring him, I tell you! It's too good a chance to miss!"

A rope was hastily wound around Evan's body, and he was partly dragged, partly boosted up a ladder and through a scuttle to the roof. The last sound he heard from the house was the trampling of heavy feet in the entry below. He was put down on the roof. He was still incapable of helping himself, but he heard all that went on as in a dream.

He heard them cover the scuttle. He heard the more resolute voice say: "Help me lift this slab from the parapet." The other replied agitatedly: "Oh, what's the use! Come on! Come on!" The first said: "Do what I tell you! Only one man can stand on the ladder at a time: he'll have all he can do to push this up."

A heavy object was dropped on the scuttle. Evan was then picked up between the two and carried over the roofs. They laid him down on the low parapet that separated each house from its neighbour, and jumping over, picked him up again. In this manner they crossed the roofs of six houses. Evan heard vague sounds of excitement from the street below.

He was put down again. One of his captors climbed above him: he heard his voice come down. With one pulling from above, and one boosting from below, with strenuous efforts Evan was hoisted to a higher roof.

The second man climbed after. As he did so he said:

"They're out."

The other replied: "Bolt the door as you come through."

A door slammed to behind them and was bolted. Evan was jolted down many stairs. Someone began to pound violently on the door above.

Other doors on the way were opened. Women exclaimed in astonished Italian. "Out of the way! Out of the way!" commanded the resolute voice, and none sought to interfere.

They ran down a long pa.s.sage and down a few steps to the open street again. Evan was carried across the pavement and flung into an automobile. The door slammed. Running feet were heard from another direction. The resolute voice said:

"Beat it!"