He emerged into a waterfront street which was nearly deserted at this hour. One or two street lamps of an antiquated pattern flickered ineffectually. The only sign of habitation was a glow, wan and unhealthy, which escaped from the broad windows of a saloon on the corner.

Garth knew the reputation of that dive, and its long resistance to a final closing of its shutters. More than once the yellow sawdust of its floor had reddened, while men had fought towards its doors through a whirling, pungent fog of powder smoke. He remembered, too, that it was suspected of harboring the explanation of stealthier and more revolting crimes, the responsibility for which, however, had never been legally determined. He was glad when the automobile tracks swung beyond it, but they turned in at the next building, a warehouse with a crumbling, picturesque facade. He saw beneath the edge of a double cellar door a larger piece of fur, mute testimony that the place had recently been opened, that the condemned men had carried Nora to its abandoned vaults; but if Slim and George had trusted themselves there, the cellar obviously furnished other exits, perhaps underground to the river, almost certainly through the evil saloon next door. That, indeed, might offer him the chance he must have to come upon his men unexpectedly, from the rear.

He glanced around. There was no policeman in sight. He saw only half a dozen pedestrians--shambling creatures who appeared to seek the plentiful darkness. The neighboring warehouses, the pier opposite, frowned back at him. The lapping of the water was expectant. Yet high in the air two brilliant arches were suspended across a slight mist. They were restless with blurred movement. Constantly they lowered into this somber pit an incessant murmuring, like an echo, heard at a distance, from some complicated and turbulent industry.

These crowded bridges, his desolate surroundings, a.s.sumed a phantasmal quality for Garth. The only real world lay beyond those sloping, silent doors which had been swung back to admit Nora.

While he looked a figure detached itself from the shadows at the corner of the warehouse. It moved, lurching, in his direction. He could only see that the newcomer was in rags with unkempt hair, and features, sunken and haggard. He grasped his revolver, suspecting that this vagabond exterior disguised a member of the gang--an outpost. Yet there was a chance that the man was one of the neighborhood's mult.i.tude of derelicts--a purveyor, possibly, of valuable information.

"Come here, my friend," he called. "How long have you been loafing in that corner?"

The other hesitated. When he answered his voice was without resonance--scarcely more than an exaggerated whisper.

"Who the devil are you?"

Garth held out some money. The claw-like hand extended itself, closing over the coins. In quick succession the man rang three of the pieces on the pavement. Garth's watchfulness increased. Such routine suggested a signal, but the fellow picked up his money, grinning.

"Seems good," he said in his difficult voice. "If you want to know that bad, maybe an hour; maybe more. Napping. Nothing better to do, but I'm honest, and I'd work if I got the chance."

"An automobile drove up here," Garth said rapidly.

"Why so it did. I seen it with these very peepers--not a quarter of an hour back."

"How many got out of it? What did they do?"

"I seen two men and a woman," the other answered. "They lifted that cellar door and went down. Now I wondered why they did that."

"Did the woman make a fight?"

The other shook his head.

"Went like it was a candy store."

Cutting across his throaty accents, a feminine cry shrilled. The heavy doors could not m.u.f.fle its terror. It seemed like a response to the ringing of the coins. Suddenly it was hushed. Garth shoved the man to one side, urged by a temper that no longer permitted calculation. At any risk he must get to Nora and to those who were responsible for that unrestrained appeal.

Beyond the doors of the saloon he faced the proprietor across unoccupied tables. He remembered the round, livid face beneath its crown of reddish hair. He had seen it more than once, sullen and unashamed, behind the bars at headquarters. He had often watched its wrinkles smooth into a bland hypocrisy before the frown of a magistrate. The man's past history made a connection between him and Slim's party nearly inevitable. But Garth had no choice. The proprietor, at his entrance, had braced his elbows against the bar.

"I ain't done a thing, Mr. Garth. I call G.o.d to witness there ain't anything to bring a bull here except near beer and tobaccy."

"We'll see, Papa Marlowe," Garth said evenly. "I'm going into the cellar of the warehouse next door. Dollars to dimes there's a way through your place. Will you give up the combination quietly?"

Marlowe's misgivings resolved into a smile. Instead of protestations he offered only an oily surprise.

"Now who told you there was a door through my cellar?"

"Never mind," Garth snapped. "I'll take all the chances and use it, but at a sound from you--You understand? Come ahead then."

Marlowe slouched down the stairs, muttering apologetically:

"Blest if I know what you want there. Old hole's been closed six years.

That was a growler door for the warehous.e.m.e.n. Hold up, Mr. Garth, and I'll strike a match."

Garth ordered him ahead while he pressed the control of his pocket lamp.

They continued between grim walls, splashed with mold, beaded with moisture, offering the appearance and the odor of a neglected tomb. They paused before an oak door.

"Don't open," Garth whispered. "Let me get my fingers on the latch."

"Maybe it's locked on the other side," Marlowe whispered back.

But when Garth tried the latch noiselessly he found that the door would open.

"I don't trust you, Papa," he said, "but if you want to make yourself solid at headquarters find a policeman and tell him what I'm up against."

The round, white face leered.

"The cops and I seem hand and glove these days. What _are_ you up against, Mr. Garth? What you want in that empty cellar?"

Garth waved him away; watched him retreat towards the stairs, squinting his beady eyes, mouthing unintelligibly.

The detective snapped off his light, aware that he faced the critical moment. He opened the door and stepped into the black pall of the warehouse cellar. His memory reinforced him. Other members of the bureau had taken equal risks, had followed into such places criminals as desperate as the ones who held Nora. Moreover, they had lacked the impulse of a vigorous personal motive. They had answered only to the stimulation of duty. Not frequently they had emerged successful, unharmed.

He held his revolver ready. He moved to one side and paused. For some moments the silence was broken only by the drumming of his pulse in his ears. He realized it was not unlikely that the cellar was empty save for himself. The men might have led Nora into it as a trick to confuse the police. Nora's cry might have marked their departure by some ingeniously contrived exit. As his own immediate danger appeared to diminish his disappointment and anxiety increased. He had been prepared to risk everything for Nora. As if it had actually been prolonged to this moment, her cry still vibrated in his brain. Inaction was no longer bearable. He must a.s.sure himself that the cellar was, indeed, empty. He must find that exit and continue his pursuit. He stepped forward.

Light flashed, and from the sudden, sparkling confusion a remembered laugh jeered at him.

CHAPTER XX

THE BLACK CAP

Four shadowy figures stood in front of him, holding flashlights. Behind the blinding barrier he could make out Nora, crouched against a stained and rugged wall. And the brute, George, was at her side, his muscular hands on her arm. Slim stepped out of the obscurity, moving for Garth with a stealth and an evenness nearly cat-like.

Garth raised his revolver, strengthened by the knowledge that the inspector with many men would soon be tearing through the cellar doors.

If only he could postpone the issue for himself--fight for time until that saving moment! There lay Nora's best chance, but her ignorance of such a possibility couldn't account for the horror in her customarily expressionless face.

"It's no use," she screamed. "Get back, Jim! Quick! Through the door!"

Slim was so close that Garth could see the automatic held at his hip.

"You'll stick here, Garth," came the smooth tones. "And you might's well drop your gun."

Garth saw George's hands tighten on Nora's arm. He understood then the real threat by which they would control him.

"Hands off the girl!" he said.