“I—I can't!” she burst out. “I—I daresn't!”
“I think you can,” Jimmie Dale answered sharply. “And I am sure that it will be much the safer thing for you to do. As a last resort, for instance, if you forced my hand, the police might be very much interested to learn that Mother Margot knew something about the Levenson Bank robbery, and——”
“I—I'll tell youse!” she broke in. “My Gawd, wot can I do? Wot else can I do? I—I'll come across. Wen youse telephoned me to-day I hadn't heard nothin'. It was only about six o'clock dat de Voice told me to take de message over to Hip Foo's, an' be dere by half past eight. See? Dere wasn't no way I could tell youse, was dere? I ain't de only one dat don't know where de Gray Seal lives, am I?”
“No,” said Jimmie Dale evenly; “and we'll dispense with any discussion as to what you would have done if you had known. Go on!”
“It was to meet Bunty Myers an' another of Gentleman Laroque's gang named Muller.” Mother Margot's whisper was scarcely audible. “An'—an' it was about Connie Pfeffer, all right. I was to tell 'em dat Connie had seen de error of his ways an' opened up, an' dat de coin was in de house wid de broken stairs, an' shoved in under one of dem.”
She paused, and in the semi-darkness Jimmie Dale could see her jerking her head in a queer birdlike way furtively about her.
“What's its other name?” demanded Jimmie Dale shortly.
She looked at him puzzled.
“De other name of wot?”
“The house with the broken stairs.” Jimmie Dale's tones were uncompromising.
“Why, it's Pedler Joe's, of course!” she answered. “Youse knows where dat is. Everybody does.”
Pedler Joe! For a moment Jimmie Dale stared at her. Was Pedler Joe, too, playing a game? The figure of the old man, full of misery from what seemed genuine distress and fear, rose before him. But against this was Pedler Joe's record. Was this the way he had brought up his young protégé—to play in with him hand and glove? And yet those bruises on the man's neck and throat—they were genuine enough.
Again Jimmie Dale lunged in the dark, and won.
“Pedler Joe had nothing to do with it!” he snapped. “Don't try any holding out on me, Mother Margot!”
“I ain't holdin' out nothin' on youse,” she protested. “I didn't say Pedler Joe was in it. Connie beat it for Joe's after pullin' de robbery at de bank dat day, so's to work up an alibi—see? But de bulls pinched him quicker'n he figured. He hears dem comin' while he's dere—see?—an' w'en Pedler Joe ain't lookin' he shoves de envelope wid de cash in under one of de broken stairs, an' w'en de bulls bust in dey don't find nothin', an' dey ain't got nothin' on Connie, an' after puttin' him through for a few hours down at headquarters dey has to let him go.”
Jimmie Dale nodded.
“Exactly!” he said tersely. “And the reason he didn't go back for the money was because he never got a chance. Your gang got him, and started in to apply less humane but evidently more effective measures to make him talk than the police did.”
Mother Margot drew in her breath.
“I guess youse knows de whole lay. My Gawd, youse ain't human, are youse?”
“There's Hip Foo's,” suggested Jimmie Dale grimly.
“Yes,” she mumbled. “But dere ain't nothin' much to dat: now youse knows de rest. I had just give 'em de message w'en de bulls started de raid, an' we beat it. Dey're to go down dere after Pedler Joe gets to sleep, an' pinch de dough—dat's all.”
“Not quite!” said Jimmie Dale. “There's Connie Pfeffer. Did they go the limit with him? Is he dead?”
Mother Margot shook her head.
“No, he ain't—not quite. He'll be all right after a while, but I guess he just come through wid de dope in time. Him an' one of Laroque's men, dat's supposed to be a man-nurse in charge of an invalid—see?—is on deir way west for somewhere now. Dat gets Connie outer here so's he don't get a chance to butt in an' spill anythin' to Pedler Joe or some other pal dat'd help him out, an' besides it's a kind of a stake dey're givin' him so's de bulls won't bother him no more.”
Again Jimmie Dale was silent for a moment. It was clear-cut, wasn't it, the work that was ahead now? There was no choice, was there? There was only one thing to do. He could not go to a telephone, say, and tip the police off to the hiding place of the money; for the fact that it would be found in Pedler Joe's would convict Pedler Joe as an accomplice. The man, innocent though he was, would not have a chance. His known intimacy with the Mole, and the fact that Connie Pfeffer had been found there shortly after the robbery, both of which reasons had already resulted in a grilling for the old man from the authorities, and above all Pedler Joe's own record would——
“All right!” said Jimmie Dale abruptly. “Let's go!”
“Go!” Mother Margot crouched back against the wall. “Go where?”
“To Pedler Joe's,” said Jimmie Dale curtly.
“Me!” She flung out her arms wildly. “Me—go dere! Aw, my Gawd, not dat! If dey caught me dey'd—dey'd croak me. I don't dare! My Gawd, I don't dare! Dey'd kill me. I've told youse all I knows. Youse ain't got no use for me dere.”
“Oh, yes, I think I have,” said Jimmie Dale coolly. “I'd feel a little more comfortable if I knew where Mother Margot was and what she was doing during the next half hour.”
“But—but youse can trust me,” she faltered.
“Possibly!” admitted Jimmie Dale evenly. “But not to the extent of staking my life on it. It would be rather awkward for me if you communicated with the Voice, say, while I was——”
“No, no; I swear I won't!” she whispered frantically. “Aw, for Gawd's sake, don't make me do dat! If dey sees me, if dey catches me dey'll know I snitched, an' dey'll twist me t'roat or put a knife into me.”
It was quite true. If caught under any such circumstances Mother Margot's life would not be worth a moment's purchase. But then Mother Margot would not be caught. Bunty Myers and whoever was to accompany him were not to go there until late to-night, not until they would expect Pedler Joe to be in bed and asleep; and at the present moment Pedler Joe was out roaming miserably about the streets in his hopeless search. The place would be empty. There would be no risk for Mother Margot—and he, Jimmie Dale, was certainly by no means sure enough of her to leave her free to communicate with her confederates and trap him like a rat if she chose to do so.
“They won't catch you.” His tones were peremptory now. “You go ahead. I'll follow—where I can keep my eye on you. I can't very well walk through the streets with a mask on my face, and I would a little rather prefer, Mother Margot, that all yousaw was—a mask. And, besides, it might be just as well for your sake that you should not be seen in company with any one. You say you know Pedler Joe's place. Well, so do I. When you turn into the wagon drive I'll join you. Now then!”
Again she shrank back.
“No, no!” she pleaded. “I—I'm scared. Youse don't know wot youse're doin'. Youse're goin' to get me killed, dat's wot it means.”
“I don't want to make any noise that might be heard back there in your room by the unseen watcher that you appear to be so much afraid of,” he said coldly; “but you are either going with me, or it is going to be a showdown right here, Mother Margot. You understand?” He caught her by the arm, and pushed her toward the front door. “Now go!”
She moved forward along the hall. He could see her wringing her hands.
“My Gawd!” she whispered; and again: “My Gawd!”
IX.