Doors of the Night

by Frank L. Packard

Gypsy Joe, on the table, circled his lips approvingly with the tip of his tongue.

“Dat’s de stuff, Shaky!” he commended. “Don’t youse mind dese guys, dey ain’t neither of dem got anything on youse. I’m fer youse, old gal!”

Shaky Liz grinned complacently.

“Me, I was cryin’ good an’ hard by dis time,” she said, and grinned again, “an’ she had a face dat white youse’d think she was goin’ to pull de faint act. I says I ain’t slept all de last night tryin’ to think wot to do, an’ dat’s why I sent fer her. An’ she asks me if I’m sure de boy was goin’ to do it. An’ I says I am. An’ she asks me where he is, an’ I says I don’t know, an’ dat I don’t know where to find him; dat he went out just before I sent fer her, an’ dat he says he won’t be back till late to-night, an’ dat’s wot makes me sure he’s goin’ to do it. Sure, I was cryin’ good an’ hard den—savvy?

“An’ I says he’s a good boy, an’ if I tells de police dat’ll finish him; an’ I says I’m sick an’ can’t walk, an’ can’t go down dere myself, an’ dat she’s de only one I dares trust, an’ besides dat she’s got a lot of influence wid de boy, an’ dat I knows she can persuade him not to fall fer it, an’ den nobody’ll know anything about it. An’ she says: ‘Yes, of course—I’ll do anything. But where is he? Where can I find him?’ An’ I says dere ain’t only one place I knows, an’ dat’s down to Kegler’s, an’ dat he’ll be all alone dere, an’ dat if she gets dere before ten o’clock she’ll be in time to try an’ stop him. An’ she bends over me, an’ pats me hands, she does, an’ she says: ‘Don’t youse worry, Mrs. Cox,’ she says. ‘I’ll go.’ An’ I says: ‘An’ youse won’t tell nobody, nor take nobody down dere, so’s anybody’d know about me little lad’s disgrace?’ An’ she says: ‘No, I’ll go alone; an’ I’m sure I can promise youse it’ll be all right.’ An’ den she goes away. Dat’s all!” Shaky Liz was fumbling with the bodice of her dress again, and suddenly pulled out a black, square-faced bottle. “Dat’s all!” she announced with a cackle. “An’ I guess I gotta right to dis if I wants it—ain’t I?”

“Youse can bet yer life youse have!” agreed Gypsy Joe with fervent heartiness—and reached for the bottle.

In a flash the Cherub was up from the bed, and between them.

“Nix on dat, Gypsy!” he said sharply. “Shaky’s end is all right, I guess; but we ain’t through yet. Nix on dat—get me!” He stepped closer to both Clarkie Munn and Gypsy Joe. “Now, den,” he said briskly, “since we’re satisfied wid Shaky, we’ll get down to tacks—eh? Everybody makes sure dey knows dere own play, an’ we don’t make no renigs. I goes down dere, an’ youse two are trailin’ out of sight behind, an’ she buttonholes me, an’ I gets her inside widout youse if I can, but anyway we gets her inside widout any noise, an’ de trap-door where dey shoots de sweepings from de warehouse into de water under de dock does de trick. If dere’s enough weight on her she’ll be dere forever. An’ dere’s one thing more. Nix on de easy-fingered stuff wid any safe business, or anything loose lying around dat looks like meat! Savvy? To-morrow morning de place looks like it did when dey left it to-night. De girl’s disappeared, dat’s all—an’ dere’s nothing to show dat Kegler’s dock had anything to do wid it. Get me? Dey’ll never find her, an’ dat’s wot’s wanted, an’ why we’re gettin’ two hundred apiece more.”

Gypsy Joe removed the cigarette from his mouth, watched the blue spiral of smoke from its tip curl upward for a moment, and pursed his lips in a ruminative pucker.

“I wonder wot de Rat had it in fer her fer as hard as dat?” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “She must have——”