the white moll-第1章
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The White Moll
by Frank L。 Packard
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I。 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD
II。 SEVEN…THREE…NINE
III。 ALIAS GYPSY NAN
IV。 THE ADVENTURER
V。 A SECOND VISITOR
VI。 THE RENDEZVOUS
VII。 FELLOW THIEVES
VIII。 THE CODE MESSAGE
IX。 ROOM NUMBER ELEVEN
X。 ON THE BRINK
XI。 SOME OF THE LESSER BREED
XII。 CROOKS vs。 CROOKS
XIII。 THE DOOR ACROSS THE HALL
XIV。 THE LAME MAN
XV。 IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
XVI。 THE SECRET PANEL
XVII。 THE SILVER SPHINX
XVIII。 THE OLD SHED
XIX。 BREAD UPON THE WATERS
XX。 A LONE HAND
XXI。 THE RECKONING
I。 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD
It was like some shadowy pantomime： The dark mouth of an alleyway
thrown into murky relief by the rays of a distant street lamp。。。the
swift； forward leap of a skulking figure。。。a girl's form swaying
and struggling in the man's embrace。 Then； a pantomime no longer；
there came a half threatening； half triumphant oath； and then the
girl's voice； quiet； strangely contained； almost imperious：
〃Now； give me back that purse； please。 Instantly！〃 The man；
already retreating into the alleyway； paused to fling back a
jeering laugh。
〃Say； youse've got yer nerve； ain't youse！〃
The girl turned her head so that the rays of the street lamp； faint
as they were； fell full upon her； disclosing a sweet； oval face；
out of which the dark eyes gazed steadily at the man。
And suddenly the man leaned forward； staring for an instant； and
then his hand went awkwardly to touch his cap。
〃De White Moll！〃 he mumbled deferentially。 He pulled the peak of
his cap down over his eyes in a sort of shame…faced way； as though
to avoid recognition； and； stepping nearer； returned the purse。
〃'Scuse me； miss；〃 he said uneasily。 〃I didn't know it was youse
… honest to Gawd； I didn't！ 'Scuse me； miss。 Good…night！〃
For a moment the girl stood there motionless； looking down the
alleyway after the retreating figure。 From somewhere in the
distance came the rumble of an elevated train。 It drowned out the
pound of the man's speeding footsteps； it died away itself … and
now there was no other sound。 A pucker； strangely wistful；
curiously perturbed； came and furrowed her forehead into little
wrinkles； and then she turned and walked slowly on along the
deserted street。
The White Moll！ She shook her head a little。 The attack had not
unnerved her。 Why should it？ It was simply that the man had not
recognized her at first in the darkness。 The White Moll here at
night in one of the loneliest； as well as one of the most vicious
and abandoned； quarters of New York； was as safe and inviolate
as … as … She shook her head again。 Her mind did not instantly
suggest a comparison that seemed wholly adequate。 The pucker
deepened； but the sensitive； delicately chiseled lips parted now
in a smile。 Well； she was safer here than anywhere else in the
world； that was all。
It was the first time that anything like this had happened； and；
for the very reason that it was unprecedented； it seemed to stir
her memory now； and awaken a dormant train of thought。 The White
Moll！ She remembered the first time she had ever been called by
that name。 It took her back almost three years； and since that
time； here in this sordid realm of crime and misery； the name of
Rhoda Gray； her own name； her actual identity； seemed to have
become lost； obliterated in that of the White Moll。 A 〃dip〃
had given it to her； and the underworld； quick and trenchant in its
〃monikers；〃 had instantly ratified it。 There was not a crook or
denizen of crimeland； probably； who did not know the White Moll；
there was； probably； not one to…day who knew； or cared； that she
was Rhoda Gray！
She went on； traversing block after block； entering a less deserted；
though no less unsavory； neighborhood。 Here； a saloon flung a
sudden glow of yellow light athwart the sidewalk as its swinging
doors jerked apart； and a form lurched out into the night； there；
from a dance…hall came the rattle of a tinny piano； the squeak of
a raspy violin； a high…pitched； hectic burst of laughter； while；
flanking the street on each side； like interjected inanimate
blotches； rows of squalid tenements and cheap； tumble…down frame
houses silhouetted themselves in broken； jagged points against
the sky…line。 And now and then a man spoke to her … his untrained
fingers fumbling in clumsy homage at the brim of his hat。
How strange a thing memory was！ How strange； too； the coincidences
that sometimes roused it into activity！ It was a man； a thief； just
like the man to…night； who had first brought her here into this
shadowland of crime。 That was just before her father had died。 Her
father had been a mining engineer； and； though an American； had been
for many years resident in South America as the representative of a
large English concern。 He had been in ill health for a year down
there； when； acting on his physician's advice； he had come to New
York for consultation； and she had accompanied him。 They had taken
a little flat； the engineer had placed himself in the hands of a
famous specialist； and an operation had been decided upon。 And
then； a few days prior to the date set for the operation and before
her father； who was still able to be about； had entered the hospital；
the flat had been broken into during the early morning hours。 The
thief； obviously not counting on the engineer's wakefulness； had
been caught red…handed。 At first defiant； the man had finally
broken down； and had told a miserable story。 It was hackneyed
possibly； the same story told by a thousand others as a last defense
in the hope of inducing leniency through an appeal to pity； but
somehow to her that night the story had rung true。 Pete McGee；
alias the Bussard； the man had said his name was。 He couldn't get
any work； there was the shadow of a long abode in Sing Sing that
lay upon him as a curse … a job here to…day； his record discovered
to…morrow； and the next day out on the street again。 It was very
old； very threadbare； that story； there were even the sick wife；
the hungry； unclothed children； but to her it had rung true。 Her
father had not placed the slightest faith in it； and but for her
intervention the Bussard would have been incontinently consigned
to the mercies of the police。
Her face softened suddenly now as she walked along。 She remembered
well that scene； when； at the end； she had written down the address
the man had given her。
〃Father is going to let you go； McGee； because I ask him to；〃 she
had said。 〃And to…morrow morning I will go to this address； and if
I find your story is true； as I believe it is； I will see what I
can do for you。〃
〃It's true； miss； so help me God！〃 the man had answered brokenly。
〃Youse come an' see。 I'll be dere…an'…an'…God bless youse； miss！〃
And so they had let the man go free； and her father； with a
whimsical； tolerant smile； had shaken his head at her。 〃You'll
never find that address； Rhoda…or our friend the Bussard； either！〃
But she had found both the Bussard and the address； and destitution
and a squalor unspeakable。 Pathetic still； but the vernacular of
the underworld where men called their women by no more gracious
names than 〃molls〃 and 〃skirts〃 no longer strange to her ears； there
came to her again now the Bussard's words in which he had paid her
tribute on that morning long ago； and with which he had introduced
her to a shrunken form that lay upon a dirty cot in the barefloored
room：
〃Meet de moll I was tellin' youse about； Mag。 She's white … all de
way up。 She's white； Mag； she's a white moll … take it from me。〃
The White Moll！
The firm little chin came suddenly upward； but into the dark eyes
unbidden came a sudden film and mist。 Her father's health had been
too far undermined； and he bad been unable to withstand the shock
of the operation； and he had died in the hospital。 There weren't
any relatives； except distant ones on her mother's side； somewhere
out in California； whom
