IV
The policemen had been pried out of the ice and the search continued, though the spirit seemed to have gone out of it. The scouting party had scattered among the grim factories along the railway tracks. Bob had presumably been borne out of the zone of danger and there was nothing more to be done for him.
They waited to make sure they were not watched and then crawled up the bank into Vevay Street. The rapidly falling snow enfolded them protectingly. Now that life had grown more tranquil Burgess became conscious that the scratch above his left ear had not ceased tingling. It was with real emotion that Webster G. Burgess reflected that he had escaped death by a hairbreadth. He meant to analyze that emotion later at his leisure. The grazing of his head by that bullet marked the high moment of his life; the memory of it would forever be the chief asset among all his experiences. There was a wet line down his cheek to his shirt collar that he had supposed to be perspiration; but his handkerchief now told another story. He turned up the collar of his buttonless ulster to hide any tell-tale marks of his sins and knocked his battered cap into shape. Glancing down at Nellie, he saw that the red feather had not lost its jauntiness, and she tripped along placidly, as though nothing unusual had happened; but as they passed opposite the Murdock house, where a lone policeman patrolled the walk, her hand tightened on his arm and he heard her saying, as though to herself:
“Goodby, house! Goodby, dad and mother! I’ll never be back any more.”
Burgess quickly shut the door of the tonneau upon Nellie; he had cranked the machine and was drawing on the chauffeur’s gauntlets, which he had found in the driver’s seat, when the druggist ran out and accosted him.
“Hello, Miller! Seen anything of my chauffeur?”
“I guess he’s out with the police,” the man answered excitedly; “they’ve been chasing a bunch o’ crooks over there somewhere. Two or three people have been shot. There was a woman mixed up in the scrimmage, but she got away.”
“Yes; it was a big fight—a whole gang of toughs! I took a short dash with the police myself, and fell over a dead man and scratched my ear. No, thanks; I’ll fix it up later. By-the-way, when my man turns up you might tell him to come home—if that harmonizes with his own convenience.” He stepped into the car. “Oh, has the plumber fixed that drain for you yet? Well, the agent ought to look after such things. Call me up in a day or two if he doesn’t attend to it.”
It was rather cheering, on the whole, to be in the open again, and he lingered, relishing his freedom, his immunity from molestation. The very brick building before which he stood gave him a sense of security; he was a reputable citizen and property owner—not to be trifled with by detectives and policemen. A newspaper reporter whom he knew jumped from a passing street car, recognized him and asked excitedly where the bodies had been taken.
“They’re stacked up like cordwood,” answered Burgess, “over in the lumber-yard. Some of the cops went crazy and are swimming in the canal. Young lady—guest of my wife—and I came over to look after sick family, and ran into the show. I joined the hunt for a while, but it wasn’t any good. You’ll find the survivors camped along the canal bank waiting for reenforcements.”
He lighted a cigarette, jumped in and drove the car toward home for half a dozen blocks—then lowered the speed so that he could speak to the girl. He was half sorry the adventure was over; but there yet remained his obligation to do what he could for Drake—if that person could be found.
“You must let me go now,” said Nellie earnestly; “the police will wake up and begin looking for me, and you’ve had trouble enough. And it was rotten for me to work you to help get Bob off! You’d better have stayed in the house; but I knew you would help—and I was afraid Bob would kill somebody. Please let me out right here!”
Her hand was on the latch.
“Oh, never in this world! I have no intention of letting the police take you—you haven’t done anything but try to help your brother, like the fine girl you are; and that’s all over. Where’s Drake?”
Her gravity passed instantly and her laugh greeted his ears again. He was running the car slowly along a curb, his head bent to hear.
“Listen! Robert telephoned just as I was leaving the office. I told him to keep away from the house. When I saw you in the bank I knew Bob was here, but I thought he’d be out of the way; but he wouldn’t go until dark, and I would have telephoned you but I was afraid. I really meant to tell you at the house that Robert wasn’t there and wouldn’t be there; but Bob was so ugly I made you go with us, because I wanted your help. I thought if they nailed us you would pull Bob through. And now you don’t really mind—do you?” she concluded tearfully.
“Well, what about Drake? If he’s still——”
She bent closer and he heard her murmurous laugh again.
“I told Robert I’d meet him at the courthouse—by the steps nearest the police station—at seven o’clock. That’s the safest place I could think of.”
Burgess nodded and the machine leaped forward.
“We’ve got ten minutes to keep that date, Nellie. But I’m going to be mighty late for dinner!”