Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure Read online

  CHAPTER XI

  THE POISONED NEEDLE

  That afternoon Burke improved his time, during a two-hour respite, tohunt for a birthday present for Mary.

  Manlike, he was shy of shops, so he sought one of the big departmentstores on Sixth Avenue, where he instinctively felt that everythingunder the sun could be bought.

  As Bobbie paused before one of the big display windows on the sidewalkhe caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It was that instinct whichone only half realizes in a brief instant, yet which leaves a strongreaction of memory.

  "Who was that?" he thought, and then remembered: Baxter.

  Burke followed the figure which had passed him so quickly, and foundthe same dapper young man deeply engrossed in the window display ofwomen's walking suits.

  "What can he find so interesting in that window?" mused Burke. "I'lljust watch his tactics. I don't believe that fellow is ever any placefor any good!"

  He stood far out on the sidewalk, close to the curb. The passingthrong swept in two eddying, opposite currents between him and Baxter,whose attention seemed strictly upon the window.

  "Well, there's his refined companion," was Burke's next impression, ashe espied the effeminate figure of Craig, strolling along the sidewalkclose to the same window.

  "Can they be pickpockets? I would guess that was too risky for them totake a chance on."

  Neither youth spoke to the other, although they walked very close toeach other. As Burke scrutinized their actions he saw a young girl,tastefully dressed in a black velvet suit, with a black hat, turn aboutexcitedly. She looked about her, as though in alarm, and her face wasdistorted with pain. Baxter gave her a shifty look and followed her.Craig had been close at her side.

  Burke drew nearer to the girl. She seemed to falter, as she walked,and it was apparently with great effort that she neared the door of thebig department store. Baxter was watching her stealthily now.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed desperately and keeled backward. Baxter'scalculations were close, for he caught her in his arms.

  "Quick! Quick!" he cried to the big uniformed carriage attendant atthe door. "Get me a taxicab. My sister has fainted."

  The man whistled for a machine, as Burke watched them. The officer wascalculating his own chances on what baseball players call a "doubleplay." Craig was close behind Baxter, in the curious crowd. Burkeguessed that it would take at least a minute or two for Baxter to getthe girl into a machine. So he rushed for Craig and surprised thatyoung gentleman with a vicious grasp of the throat.

  "Help! Police!" cried Craig, as some women screamed. His wish wasdoubly answered, for Burke's police whistle was in his mouth and heblew it shrilly. A traffic squad man rushed across from the middle ofthe street.

  "Hurry, I want to get my sister away!" ordered Baxter excitedly to thedoor man. "You big boob, what's the matter with you?"

  The crowd of people about him shut off the view of Burke's activitiesfifteen feet away. Baxter was nervous and was doing his best to make aquick exit with his victim.

  "What's this?" gruffly exclaimed the big traffic policeman, as hecaught Craig's arm.

  "The needle!" grunted Burke. "Here, I've got it from his pocket."

  He drew forth a small hypodermic needle syringe from Craig's coatpocket, and held it up.

  "It's a frame-up!" squealed Craig.

  "Take him quick. I want to save the girl!" exclaimed Burke, as herushed toward Baxter.

  That young man was just pushing the girl into the taxicab when amiddle-aged woman rushed out from the store entrance.

  "That's my daughter Helen! Helen, my child!"

  At this there was terrific confusion in the crowd, and Burke saw Baxtergive the girl a rough shove away from the taxicab door. He slipped abill into the chauffeur's willing hand and muttered an order. The carsprang forward on the instant.

  "I'll get that fellow this time!" muttered Burke. "He hasn't seen me,and I'll trail him."

  He turned about and espied a big gray racing car drawn up at the curb.A young man weighted down under a heavy load of goggles, fur and otherracing appurtenances sat in the car. Its engines were humming merrily.

  "Say, you, follow that car for me," sung out Officer 4434, delighted athis discovery. "The taxicab with the black body."

  The driver of the racer snorted contemptuously.

  "Do you know who _I_ am?"

  Burke wasted no time, but jumped into the seat, for it was as opportuneas though placed there by Providence. Perhaps Providence has more todo with some coincidences than the worldly wise are prone to confess.

  "_I'm_ Officer 4434 of the Police Department, and you mind my orders."

  "Well, I'm Reggie Van Nostrand," answered the young man, "and I takeorders from no man."

  Burke knew this young millionaire by reputation. But he was nowisedaunted. He kept his eye on the distant taxicab, which had luckilybeen halted at the second cross street by the delayed traffic.

  "I'm going to put this pretty car of yours in the scrap heap, and I'mgoing to land you in jail, with all your money," calmly replied Burke,drawing his revolver. "The man in that taxi is a white slaver who justtried the poison needle on a girl, and you and I are going to capturehim."

  The undeniable sporting blood surged in the veins of Reggie VanNostrand, be it said to his credit. It was not the threat.

  "I'm with you, Officer!" He pressed a little lever with his foot andthe big racing machine sprang forward like a thing possessed by a demonof speed.

  The traffic officer on the other street tried to stop the car, until hesaw the uniform of the policeman in the seat.

  Bob waved his hand, and the fixed post man held back several machines,in order to give him the right of way.

  They were now within a block of the other car.

  "Say, haven't you another robe or coat that I can put on to cover myuniform, for that fellow will suspect a chase, anyway?"

  "Yes, there at your feet," replied Van Nostrand shortly. "It's myfather's. He'll be wondering who stole me and the car. Let himwonder."

  Burke pulled up the big fur coat and drew it around his shoulders asthe car rumbled forward. He found a pair of goggles in a pocket of thecoat.

  "I don't need a hat with these to mask me," he exclaimed. "Now, watchout on your side of the car, and I'll do it on mine, for he's a slyone, and will turn down a side street."

  They did well to keep a lookout, for suddenly the pursued taxi turnedsharply to the right.

  After it they went--not too close, but near enough to keep track of itsmanoeuvres.

  "He's going up town now!" said Reggie Van Nostrand, when the car haddiverged from the congested district to an open avenue which ran northand south. The machine turned and sped along merrily toward Harlem.

  "We're willing," said Burke. "I want to track him to his headquarters."

  Block after block they followed the taxicab. Sometimes they nosedalong, at Burke's suggestion, so far behind that it seemed as though aquick turn to a side street would lose their quarry. But it wasevident that Baxter had a definite destination which he wished to reachin a hurry.

  At last they saw the car stop, and then the youth ahead dismounted.

  He was paying the chauffeur as they whizzed past, apparently giving himno heed.

  But before they had gone another block Burke deemed it safe to stop.

  He signaled Van Nostrand, who shut off the power of the miraculous caralmost as easily as he had started it. Burke nearly shot over thewindshield with the momentum.

  "Some car!" he grunted. "You make it behave better than a horse, and Ithink it has more brains."

  Nothing in the world could have pleased the millionaire more than this.He was an eager hunter himself by now.

  "Say, supposing I take off my auto coat and run down that street andsee where he goes to?"

  "Good idea. I'll wait for you in the machine, if you're not afraid ofthe police department."

  "You bet I'm not. Here, I'll
put on this felt hat under the seat.They won't suspect me of being a detective, will they?"

  "Hardly," laughed Burke, as the young society man emerged from hischrysalis of furs and goggles, immaculately dressed in a frock coat.He drew out an English soft hat and even a cane. "You are ready forwar or peace, aren't you?"

  Van Nostrand hurried down the street and turned the corner, changinghis pace to one of an easy and debonair grace befitting the possessorof several racing stables of horses and machines.

  He saw his man a few hundred yards down the street. Van Nostrandwatched him sharply, and saw him hesitate, look about, and then turn tothe left. He ascended the steps of a dwelling.

  By the time Van Nostrand had reached the house, to pass it with thebarest sidelong glance, the pursued had entered and closed the door.The millionaire saw, to his surprise, a white sign over the door,"Swedish Employment Bureau." The words were duplicated in Swedish.

  "That's a bally queer sign!" muttered Reggie. "And a still queererplace for a crook to go. I'll double around the block."

  As he turned the corner he saw an old-fashioned cab stop in front ofthe house. Two men assisted a woman to alight, unsteadily, and helpedher up the steps.

  "Well, she must be starving to death, and in need of employment,"commented the rich young man. "I think the policeman has brought me toa queer hole. I'll go tell him about it."

  The fashionable set who dwell on the east side of Central Park wouldhave spilled their tea and cocktails about this time had they seen theelegant Reggie Van Nostrand breaking all speed records as he dasheddown the next street, with his cane in one hand and his hat in theother. He reached the car, breathless, but his tango athletics hadstood him in good stead.

  "What's up?" asked Burke, jumping from the seat.

  "Why, that's a Swedish employment agency, and I saw two men lead awoman up the steps from a cab just now. What shall we do?"

  "You run your machine to the nearest drug store and find out where thenearest police station is. Then get a few cops in your machine, andcome to that house, for you'll find me there," ordered Burke. "How fardown the block?"

  "Nearly to the next corner," answered Reggie, who leaped into hisracing seat and started away like the wind.

  Burke hurried down, following the path of the other, until he came tothe house. He looked at the sign, and then glanced about him. He sawan automobile approaching, and intuitively stepped around the steps ofthe house next door, into the basement entry.

  He had hardly concealed himself when the machine stopped in front ofthe other dwelling.

  A big Swede, still carrying his emigrant bundle, descended from themachine, and called out cheerily in his native language to theoccupants within the vehicle. Burke, peeping cautiously, saw two buxomSwedish lassies, still in their national costumes, step down to thestreet. The machine turned and passed on down the street.

  Burke saw the man point out the sign of the employment agency, and thegirls chattered gaily, cheered up with hopes of work, as he led them upthe steps.

  The door closed behind them.

  Burke quietly walked around the front of the house and up the stepsafter them. He had made no noise as he ascended, and as he stood bythe wall of the vestibule he fancied he detected a bitter cry, muffledto an extent by the heavy walls.

  He examined the sign, and saw that it was suspended by a small wireloop from a nail in the door jamb.

  Bobbie reached upward, took the sign off its hook, and turned it about.

  "Well, just as I thought!" he exclaimed.

  On the reverse side were the tell-tale letters, "Y.W.C.A."

  "They are ready for all kinds of customers. I wonder how they'll likeme!" was the humorous thought which flitted through his mind as hequietly turned the knob. It opened readily.

  Bobbie stood inside the hallway, face to face with the redoubtable Pop!

  Pop's eyes protruded as they beheld this horrid vision of a bluecoat.A cynical smile played about Burke's pursed lips as he held the sign uptoward the old reprobate.

  "Can I get a job here? Is there any work for me to do in thisemployment agency?" he drawled quietly.

  Pop acted upon the instinct which was the result of many years'dealings with minions of the law. He had been a contributor to the"cause" back in the days of Boss Tweed. He temporarily forgot thattimes had changed.

  "That's all right, pal," he said, with a sickly smile, "just a littletoken for the wife and kids."

  He handed out a roll of bills which he pressed against Bobbie's hands.The policeman looked at him with a curious squint.

  "So, you think that will fix me, do you?"

  "Well, if you're a little hard up, old fellow, you know I'm a goodfellow...."

  Up the stairs there was a scuffle.

  Bobbie heard another scream. So, before Pop could utter another soundhe pushed the old man aside and rushed up, three steps at a time. Thefirst door he saw was locked--behind it Bobbie knew a woman was beingmistreated.

  He rushed the door and gave it a kick with his stout service boots.

  A chair was standing in the hall. He snatched this up and begansmashing at the door, directing vigorous blows at the lock. The firstleg broke off. Then the second. The third was smashed, but the fourthone did the trick. The door swung open, and as it did so a waterpitcher, thrown with precision and skill, grazed his forehead. Only aquick dodge saved him from another skull wound.

  Burke sprang into the room.

  There were three men in it, while Madame Blanche, the proprietress ofthe miserable establishment, stood in the middle transfixed with fear.She still held in her hand the black snake whip with which she had been"taming" one of the sobbing Swedish girls. The Swede held one of hiscountry-women in a rough grip.

  The country girl, who had been hitherto locked in the closet, was downon her knees, her bruised hands outstretched toward Burke.

  "Oh, save me!" she cried.

  The last of the victims, who was evidently unconscious from a drug, waslying on the floor in a pathetic little heap.

  Baxter was cowering behind the bed.

  The barred windows, placed there to prevent the escape of theunfortunate girl prisoners, were their Nemesis, for they were at themercy of the lone policeman.

  "Drop that gun!" snapped Burke, as he saw the Swede reaching stealthilytoward a pocket.

  His own, a blue-steeled weapon, was swinging from side to side as hecovered them.

  "Hands up, every one, and march down these stairs before me!" heordered. Just then he heard a footstep behind him. Old Pop wascreeping up the steps with Madame Blanche's carving knife, snatchedhastily from the dining-room table.

  Burke, cat-like, caught a side glance of this assailant, and he swungcompletely around, kicking Pop below the chin. That worthy tumbleddown the stairs with a howl of pain.

  "Now, I'm going to shoot to kill. Every court in the state willsustain a policeman who shoots a white-slaver. Don't forget that!"cried Burke sharply. "You girls let them go first."

  "I'm going to shoot to kill. Every court in the statewill sustain a policeman who shoots a white-slaver."]

  Down the steps went the motley crew, backing slowly at Burke's order.The girls, sobbing hysterically with joy at their rescue, almostimpeded the bluecoat's defense as they clung to his arms.

  It was a curious procession which met the eyes of Reggie Van Nostrandand half a dozen reserves who had just run up the steps.

  "Well, I say old chap, isn't this jolly?" cried Reggie. "This beatsany show I ever saw! Why, it's a regular Broadway play!"

  "You bet it is, and you helped me well. The papers ought to give you agood spread to-morrow, Mr. Van Nostrand," answered Bobbie grimly, as heshook the young millionaire's hand with warmth. The gang were rapidlybeing handcuffed by the reserves.

  Bobbie turned toward Baxter. It was a great moment of triumph for him."Well, Baxter, so I got you at last! You're the pretty boy who takesyoung girls out to turkey trots! Now, you can joi
n a dancing class upthe Hudson, and learn the new lock-step glide!"