“It means putting him in your power,” she said at last, “just as he was put in the power of John Mark, but I trust you.  Give me a slip of paper, and I’ll write on it what you want.”

Chapter Sixteen

Disarming Suspicion

From the house across the street Caroline Smith slipped out upon the pavement and glanced warily about her.  The street was empty, quieter and more villagelike than ever, yet she knew perfectly well that John Mark had not allowed her to be gone so long without keeping watch over her.  Somewhere from the blank faces of those houses across the street his spies kept guard over her movements.  Here she glanced sharply over her shoulder, and it seemed to her that a shadow flitted into the door of a basement, farther up the street.

At that she fled and did not stop running until she was at the door of the house of Mark.  Since all was quiet, up and down the street, she paused again, her hand upon the knob.  To enter meant to step back into the life which she hated.  There had been a time when she had almost loved the life to which John Mark introduced her; there had been a time when she had rejoiced in the nimbleness of her fingers which had enabled her to become an adept as a thief.  And, by so doing, she had kept the life of her brother from danger, she verily believed.  She was still saving him, and, so long as she worked for John Mark, she knew that her brother was safe, yet she hesitated long at the door.

It would be only the work of a moment to flee back to the man she loved, tell him that she could not and dared not stay longer with the master criminal, and beg him to take her West to a clean life.  Her hand fell from the knob, but she raised it again immediately.

It would not do to flee, so long as John Mark had power of life or death over her brother.  If Ronicky Doone, as he promised, was able to inspire her brother with the courage to flee from New York, give up his sporting life and seek refuge in some far-off place, then, indeed, she would go with Bill Gregg to the ends of the earth and mock the cunning fiend who had controlled her life so long.

The important thing now was to disarm him of all suspicion, make him feel that she had only visited Bill Gregg in order to say farewell to him.  With this in her mind she opened the front door and stepped into the hall, always lighted with ominous dimness.  That gloom fell about her like the visible presence of John Mark.

A squat, powerful figure glided out of the doorway to the right.  It was Harry Morgan, and the side of his face was swathed in bandages, so that he had to twist his mouth violently in order to speak.

“The chief,” he said abruptly.  “Beat it quick to his room.  He wants you.”

“Why?” asked Caroline, hoping to extract some grain or two of information from the henchman.

“Listen, kid,” said the sullen criminal.  “D’you think I’m a nut to blow what I know?  You beat it, and he’ll tell you what he wants.”