The Greatest Works of Frank L. Packard (30+ Titles in One Volume). Frank L. Packard

youse was in it at all?”

      Jimmie Dale, as Smarlinghue, examined meditatively the ragged, frayed sleeve of his coat.

      “All right,” said Jimmie Dale cautiously. “If I'm as safe as that, I won't see you stuck. But you've got to show me first. What do you want me to do?”

      She reached out and caught his hand impulsively, and wrung it hard.

      “Gawd bless youse, Smarly!” There was a world of relief in her voice, husky and broken though it was. “I knew youse would, Smarly; I knew youse would. Listen! Youse knows where my pushcart is on Thompson Street. Well, just near it is Mezzo's second-hand shop, an' dere's a side door to dat—up de lane. Dat door ain't locked, an' old Mezzo's away to-night, an' de shop is shut up. Dere's a telephone in dere in de back storeroom. It's kept dere on de quiet—see? All youse've got to do, Smarly, is go in dere an' wait, an' answer de telephone if it rings. Dere ain't nobody goin' to see youse, an' dere ain't nobody goin' to know youse're dere. If it rings it'll be de Gray Seal, an' youse'll give him a message from me.”

      Jimmie Dale, as Smarlinghue, whistled a little dubiously under his breath.

      “And they said he always worked alone!” he observed plaintively. “Say, you'd get bumped off for this if any of the fleets knew about it! You're pretty thick, ain't you? He puts in a telephone for you, and——”

      “No, he didn't!” She shook her head vigorously. “He had nothin' to do wid it. It's—it's another crowd. He got wise to it, dat's all, an' one night he caught me cold in—oh, my Gawd, Smarly, never mind about dat! I—I'm in wrong wid de whole works. I—I got to get a message to him to-night if I can.”

      “Well, why don't you go and find him then, and can the telephone stuff?” inquired Jimmie Dale, in his rôle of Smarlinghue.

      “'Cause I don't know where he is, an' no more about him dan youse does,” she said almost hysterically. “Don't youse understand, Smarly? He calls me to de phone when he wants me, an' de times he's shown himself was when he was wearin' a mask like he had de night he bust in on youse here.”

      “Well, then,” prodded Jimmie Dale, “why don't you stick around and listen for the telephone yourself to-night?”

      Mother Margot was wringing her hands again.

      “D'youse t'ink I'd have come here an' put youse wise to wot I have, if I could've done dat?” she cried wildly. “Dat's wot's de matter. It—it's de other crowd dat's pullin' somethin' to-night, an'—an' I got to go an' do somethin' dey's told me to do. I got to go. I don't dare not to go. Dey—dey'd cut me t'roat if I didn't—an'—an' it's somethin' de Gray Seal's got to know about, or else he—oh, my Gawd, Smarly, can't youse understand?—he'd put me in wrong, an' I'd get finished anyway. He's pullin' somethin' himself to-night, but it's no good now, 'cause somethin' else is goin' to happen, an' he'd know afterwards dat I knew, an' if I didn't wise him up dat's my finish too.”

      Smarlinghue circled his lips with the tip of his tongue, and scowled unhappily.

      “Say,” he said heavily, “you're in nice, ain't you? How do you know it won't be the other crowd you're talking about, the bunch that you said put the phone in there, that rings up—and then I'd get stung too?”

      “'Cause dey knows I ain't goin' to be dere. Ain't I tellin' youse dat?” Mother Margot answered miserably. “If de phone rings, it'll be de Gray Seal. Dere's no one else'd ask for Mother Margot.”

      “And suppose he don't ring up at all?” inquired Smarlinghue.

      “I dunno!” Mother Margot's face seemed to whiten a little. “My Gawd, Smarly, I dunno—dat's wot's got me so scared. I ain't even sayin' he will; I—I'm only hopin'. It's de only chance I got. I know mabbe where I could find him a couple of hours from now, but it'll be too late den. I—I can't do nothin' more, Smarly, can I? I can't do nothin' more. If he don't telephone, de only chance I got is to try an' make him believe I did me best—dat's all! An' if he don't believe me, I—I guess I goes out for keeps.”

      Jimmie Dale for a moment appeared to consider the matter.

      “I ain't quite sure I get you,” he said slowly at last, “except that it looks to me like, between the two of them, it don't make much difference whether you're coming or going. And this telephone stunt looks like a long shot to me. But I don't see where I get hurt any, and if it's going to ease your mind I'll stand in. So what's the message I'm to give if he telephones?”

      Mother Margot's face brightened.

      “T'ank God for youse, Smarly!” she faltered. “Youse're as white as dey makes 'em. Youse just say dat de message is from me, an' dat de Voice is goin' to pull de big bump to-night, an' to watch French Jeff down at de White Rat. Y'understand, Smarly?”

      Jimmie Dale shook his head.

      “No; I don't,” he said. “But if he does, it's all right, I suppose. I'm satisfied. I'm not for mixing in and getting my hair singed. But if he asks me what the bump is, and what time it's going to bust loose, what do I say?”

      “Nothin',” said Mother Margot. “Dere ain't nothin' more to tell him, 'cause dat's all I knows myself; but I knows it's de big showdown all right, an' de dope is straight. He won't need nothin' more, I guess, if he wants to butt in.”

      Jimmie Dale nodded indifferently. It was precisely what he wanted to know—the exact extent of the old hag's information.

      Mother Margot shuffled her feet nervously.

      “I got to go, Smarly,” she said anxiously. “De Dago's runnin' me pushcart for me for de rest of de night, but he don't know nothin' about dis, so don't youse give him de high sign. Youse understand about de side door in de lane?”

      “Sure!” said Smarlinghue. “And while we're standing here talking maybe he's telephoned already and pulled a bone.”

      Mother Margot shook her head.

      “Dat don't matter,” she said. “He knows Mezzo don't always hear, an' sometimes it's hard to get an answer. If he was tryin' to get me, he'll try again until he does.” She hesitated, drew her shawl tightly about her head again, took a step toward the door, and once more hesitated. “Gawd bless youse, Smarly!” she said brokenly. “Mabbe youse t'inks youse does, but youse don't know wot youse're doin' for me to-night. Mabbe I'll pull out of dis alive, an' mabbe I won't, but don't youse ever forget, Smarly, if youse never sees me again, dat dere ain't no one in dis world means anythin' to Mother Margot like youse does, Smarly. An'—an'——” Her voice broke.

      She was crying. Jimmie Dale started forward impulsively as he saw the old shoulders shake, and a tear, followed by another, trickle unchecked down her cheek. But she turned her head quickly away, and scuffled hurriedly toward the door before he had reached her.

      But at the door she turned again.

      “Gawd bless youse, Smarly!” she called again—and closed the door behind her.