Alleys of Darkness | Page 2

with a sigh and hauled on my duds. They was no sound outside. Apparently I was alone in the building except for Spike, my white bulldog. All at once I noticed him smelling of a closed locker. He whined, scratched at it, and growled. With a sudden suspicion I strode over and jerked open the door. Inside I seen a huddled figger. I jerked it rudely forth and set it upright. It was Jed Whithers. He was pale and shaking, and he had cobwebs in his hair. He kind a cringed, evidently expecting me to bust into loud cusses. For once I was too mad for that. I was probably as pale as he was, and his eyes dilated like he seen murder in mine.
"Jed Whithers," I said, shoving him up against the wall with one hand whilst I knotted the other'n into a mallet, "this is one time in my life when I'm in the mood for killin'."
"For God's sake, Dorgan," he gurgled, "you can't murder me!"
"Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't put you in a wheel- chair for the rest of your life?" I demanded. "You've rooint my friends and all the fans which bet on me, lost my skipper his ship--"
"Don't hit me, Dorgan!" he begged, grabbing my wrist with shaking fingers. "I had to do it; honest to God, Sailor, I had to do it! I know you won--won by a mile. But it was the only thing I could do!"
"What you mean?" I demanded suspiciously.
"Lemme sit down!" he gasped.
I reluctantly let go of him, and he slumped down onto a near-by bench. He sat there and shook, and mopped the sweat offa his face. He was trembling all over.
"Are the customers all gone?" he asked.
"Ain't nobody here but me and my man-eatin' bulldog," I answered grimly, standing over him. "Go on--spill what you got to say before I start varnishin' the floor with you."
"I was forced to it, Sailor," he said. "There's a man who has a hold on me."
"What you mean, a hold?" I asked suspiciously.
"I mean, he's got me in a spot," he said. "I have to do like he says. It ain't myself I have to think of--Dorgan, I'm goin' to trust you. You got the name of bein' a square shooter. I'm goin' to tell you the whole thing.
"Sailor, I got a sister named Constance, a beautiful girl, innocent as a newborn lamb. She trusted a man, Sailor, a dirty, slimy snake in human form. He tricked her into signin' a document--Dorgan, that paper was a confession of a crime he'd committed himself!"
Whithers here broke down and sobbed with his face in his hands. I shuffled my feet uncertainly, beginning to realize they was always more'n one side to any question.
He raised up suddenly and said: "Since then, that man's been holdin' that faked confession over me and her like a club. He's forced me to do his filthy biddin' time and again. I'm a honest man by nature, Sailor, but to protect my little sister"--he kinda choked for a instant--"I've stooped to low deeds. Like this tonight. This man was bettin' heavy on Leary, gettin' big odds--"
"Somebody sure was," I muttered. "Lots of Leary money in sight."
"Sure!" exclaimed Whithers eagerly. "That was it; he made me throw the fight to Leary, the dirty rat, to protect his bets."
I begun to feel new wrath rise in my gigantic breast.
"You mean this low-down polecat has been blackmailin' you on account of the hold he's got over your sister?" I demanded.
"Exactly," he said, dropping his face in his hands. "With that paper he can send Constance to prison, if he takes the notion."
"I never heered of such infermy," I growled. "Whyn't you bust him on the jaw and take that confession away from him?"
"I ain't no fightin' man," said Whithers. "He's too big for me. I wouldn't have a chance."
"Well, I would," I said. "Listen, Whithers, buck up and quit cryin'. I'm goin' to help you."
His head jerked up and he stared at me kinda wild-eyed.
"You mean you'll help me get that paper?"
"You bet!" I retorted. "I ain't the man to stand by and let no innercent girl be persecuted. Besides, this mess tonight is his fault."
Whithers just set there for a second, and I thought I seen a slow smile start to spread over his lips, but I mighta been mistook, because he wasn't grinning when he held out his hand and said tremulously: "Dorgan, you're all they say you are!"
A remark like that ain't necessarily a compliment; some of the things said about me ain't flattering; but I took it in the spirit in which it seemed to be give, and I said: "Now tell me, who is this rat?"
He glanced nervously around, then whispered: "Ace Bissett!"
I grunted