Ronicky Doone Read online

  Chapter Ten

  _Mistaken Identity_

  To flee down the stairs now would be rank folly. If there happened tobe among these fellows a man of the type of him who sneered, a bulletwould catch the fugitive long before he reached the bottom of thestaircase. And, since he could not retreat, Ronicky went slowly andsteadily ahead, for, certainly, if he stood still, he would be spokento. He would have to rely now on the very dim light in this hall andthe shadow of his cap obscuring his face. If these were roomers,perhaps he would be taken for some newcomer.

  But he was hailed at once, and a hand was laid on his shoulder.

  "Hello, Pete. What's the dope?"

  Ronicky shrugged the hand away and went on.

  "Won't talk, curse him. That's because the plant went fluey."

  "Maybe not; Pete don't talk much, except to the old man."

  "Lemme get at him," said a third voice. "Beat it down to Rooney's. I'mgoing up with Pete and get what he knows."

  And, as Ronicky turned onto the next flight of the stairway, he wasovertaken by hurrying feet. The other two had already scurried downtoward the front door of the house.

  "I got some stuff in my room, Pete," said the friendly fellow whohad overtaken him. "Come up and have a jolt, and we can have a talk.'Lefty' and Monahan think you went flop on the job, but I know better,eh? The old man always picks you for these singles; he never gives mea shot at 'em." Then he added: "Here we are!" And, opening a door inthe first hall, he stepped to the center of the room and fumbled ata chain that broke loose and tinkled against glass; eventually hesnapped on an electric light. Ronicky Doone saw a powerfully built,bull-necked man, with a soft hat pulled far down on his head. Then theman turned.

  It was much against the grain for Ronicky Doone to attack a man bysurprise, but necessity is a stern ruler. And the necessity which madehim strike made him hit with the speed of a snapping whiplash and theweight of a sledge hammer. Before the other was fully turned thatiron-hard set of knuckles crashed against the base of his jaw.

  He fell without a murmur, without a struggle, Ronicky catching him inhis arms to break the weight of the fall. It was a complete knock-out.The dull eyes, which looked up from the floor, saw nothing. Thesquare, rather brutal, face was relaxed as if in sleep, but here wasthe type of man who would recuperate with great speed.

  Ronicky set about the obvious task which lay before him, as fast as hecould. In the man's coat pocket he found a handkerchief which, hardknotted, would serve as a gag. The window curtain was drawn with astout, thick cord. Ronicky slashed off a convenient length of it andsecured the hands and feet of his victim, before he turned the fellowon his face.

  Next he went through the pockets of the unconscious man who was onlynow beginning to stir slightly, as life returned after that stunningblow.

  It was beginning to come to Ronicky that there was a strange relationbetween the men of this house. Here were three who apparently startedout to work at night, and yet they were certainly not at all the typeof night clerks or night-shift engineers or mechanics. He turned overthe hand of the man he had struck down. The palm was as soft as hisown.

  No, certainly not a laborer. But they were all employed by "the oldman." Who was he? And was there some relation between all of these andthe man who sneered?

  At least Ronicky determined to learn all that could be read inthe pockets of his victim. There was only one thing. That was astub-nosed, heavy automatic.

  It was enough to make Ronicky Doone sigh with relief. At least he hadnot struck some peaceful, law-abiding fellow. Any man might carry agun--Ronicky himself would have been uncomfortable without some sortof weapon about him but there are guns and guns. This big, uglyautomatic seemed specially designed to kill swiftly and surely.

  He was considering these deductions when a tap came on the door.Ronicky groaned. Had they come already to find out what kept thesenseless victim so long?

  "Morgan, oh, Harry Morgan!" called a girl's voice.

  Ronicky Doone started. Perhaps--who could tell--this might be CarolineSmith herself, come to tap at the door when he was on the very vergeof abandoning the adventure. Suppose it were someone else?

  If he ventured out expecting to find Gregg's lady and found insteadquite another person--well, women screamed at the slightestprovocation, and, if a woman screamed in this house, it seemedexceedingly likely that she would rouse a number of men carrying justsuch short-nosed, ugly automatics as that which he had just taken fromthe pocket of Harry Morgan.

  In the meantime he must answer something. He could not pretend thatthe room was empty, for the light must be showing around the door.

  "Harry!" called the voice of the girl again. "Do you hear me? Comeout! The chief wants you!" And she rattled the door.

  Fear that she might open it and, stepping in, see the senseless figureon the floor, alarmed Ronicky. He came close to the door.

  "Well?" he demanded, keeping his voice deep, like the voice of HarryMorgan, as well as he could remember it.

  "Hurry! The chief, I tell you!"

  He snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. He felthis faithful Colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of afriendly hand before he opened the door.

  She was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darknessof the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possesseda light and a life of its own. Ronicky Doone saw that she was a verypretty girl, indeed. Yes, it must be Caroline Smith. The very perfumeof young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly hewondered why he should be here to fight the battle of Bill Gregg inthis matter--Bill Gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the roomacross the street!

  She had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out."I don't know what's on, something big. The chief's going to give youyour big chance--with me."

  Ronicky Doone grunted.

  "Don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "I know you thinkPete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can makea good imitation of him. Don't do it, Harry. You'll pass by yourself.You don't need a make-up, and not Pete's on a bet."

  They reached the head of the stairs, and Ronicky Doone paused. To godown was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the oldman to whom Harry Morgan had already referred. In the meantime theconviction grew that this was indeed Caroline Smith. Her free-and-easyway of talk was exactly that of a girl who might become interested ina man whom she had never seen, merely by letters.

  "I want to talk to you," said Ronicky, muffling his voice. "I want totalk to you alone."

  "To me?" asked the girl, turning toward him. The light from the halllamp below gave Ronicky the faintest hint of her profile.

  "Yes."

  "But the chief?"

  "He can wait."

  She hesitated, apparently drawn by curiosity in one direction, butstopped by another thought. "I suppose he can wait, but, if he getsstirred up about it--oh, we'll, I'll talk to you--but nothing foolish,Harry. Promise me that?"

  "Yes."

  "Slip into my room for a minute." She led the way a few steps downthe hall, and he followed her through the door, working his mindfrantically in an effort to find words with which to open his speechbefore she should see that he was not Harry Morgan and cry out toalarm the house. What should he say? Something about Bill Gregg atonce, of course. That was the thing.

  The electric light snapped on at the far side of the room. He sawa dressing table, an Empire bed covered with green-figured silk, apleasant rug on the floor, and, just as he had gathered an impressionof delightful femininity from these furnishings, the girl turned fromthe lamp on the dressing table, and he saw--not Caroline Smith, but abronze-haired beauty, as different from Bill Gregg's lady as day isfrom night.