Complete weird tales of.., p.1098
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1098
“Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I’ll skin yeh, yeh dumb-faced, ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk! — —”
The telephone’s clamour silenced him. Jim answered:
“Who? Oh, long-distance. All right.” And he waited. Then, again: “Who wants him?... Yes, he’s here in the office, now.... Yes, he’ll come to the ‘phone.”
And to Skidder: “Shadow Hill wants to speak to you.”
“I won’t go. By God, if this thing is out! — Who the hell is it wants to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it’s Alonzo D. Pawling! — —”
“Shall I inquire?” And he asked for further information over the wire. Then, presently, and turning again to Skidder:
“You’d better come to the wire. It seems to be the Chief of Police who wants you.”
Skidder’s unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came over and took the instrument:
“What d’ye want, Chief? Sure it’s me, Elmer.... Hey? Who? Alonzo D. Pawling? My God, is he dead? Took pizen! W-what for! He’s a rich man, ain’t he?... Speculated?... You say he took the bank’s funds? Trust funds? What!” he screeched— “put ’em into my company! He’s a liar! ... I don’t care what letters he left!... Well, all right then. Sure, I’ll get a lawyer — —”
“Tell him to hold that wire!” cut in Jim; and took the receiver from Skidder’s shaking fingers.
“Is the Shadow Hill Trust Company insolvent?” he asked. “You say that the bank closed its doors this morning? Have you any idea of its condition? Looted? Is it entirely cleaned out? Is there no chance for depositors? I wish to inquire about the trust funds, bonds and other investments belonging to a friend of mine, Miss Dumont.... Yes, I’ll wait.”
He turned a troubled and sombre gaze toward Skidder, who sat there pasty-faced, with sagging jaw, staring back at him. And presently:
“Yes.... Yes, this is Mr. Shotwell, a friend of Miss Dumont.... Yes.... Yes.... Yes.... I see.... Yes, I shall try to communicate with her immediately.... Yes, I suppose the news will be published in the evening papers.... Certainly.... Yes, I have no doubt that she will go at once to Shadow Hill.... Thank you.... Yes, it does seem rather hopeless.... I’ll try to find her and break it to her.... Thank you. Good-bye.”
He hung up the receiver, took his hat and coat, his eyes fixed absently on Skidder.
“You’d better beat it to your attorney,” he remarked, and went out.
* * * * *
He could not find Palla. She was not at the Red Cross, not at the canteen, not at the new Hostess House.
He telephoned Ilse for information, but she was not at home.
Twice he called at Palla’s house, leaving a message the last time that she should telephone him at the club on her arrival.
He went to the club and waited there, trying to read. At a quarter to six o’clock no message from her had come.
Again he telephoned Ilse; she had not returned. He even telephoned to Marya, loath to disturb her; but she, also, was not at home.
The chances that he could break the news to Palla before she read it in the evening paper were becoming negligible. He had done his best to forestall them. But at six the evening papers arrived at the club. And in every one of them was an account of the defalcation and suicide of the Honorable Alonzo D. Pawling, president of the Shadow Hill Trust Company. But nothing yet concerning the defalcation and disappearance of Angelo Puma.
Jim had no inclination to eat, but he tried to at seven-thirty, still waiting and hoping for a message from Palla.
He tried her house again about half past eight. This time the maid answered that Miss Dumont had telephoned from down town that she would dine out and go afterward to the Combat Club. And that if Mr. Shotwell desired to see her he should call at her house after ten o’clock.
So Jim hastened to the cloak-room, got his hat and coat, found the starter, secured a taxi, bought an evening paper and stuffed it into his pocket, and started out to find Palla at the Combat Club. For it seemed evident to him that she had not yet read the evening paper; and he hoped he might yet encounter her in time to prepare her for news which, according to the newspapers, appeared even blacker than he had supposed it might be.
CHAPTER XXV
AS HE LEFT the taxi in front of the dirty brick archway and flight of steps leading to the hall, where he expected to find Palla, he noticed a small crowd of wrangling foreigners gathered there — men and women — and a policeman posted near, calm and indifferent, juggling his club at the end of its leather thong.
Jim paused to inquire if there had been any trouble there that evening.
“Well,” said the policeman, “there’s two talking-clubs that chew the rag in that joint. It’s the Reds’ night, but wan o’ the ladies of the other club showed up — Miss Dumont — and the Reds yonder was all for chasing her out. So we run in a couple of ’em — that feller Sondheim and another called Bromberg. They’re wanted, anyhow, in Philadelphia.”
“Is there a meeting inside?”
“Sure. The young lady went in to settle it peaceful like; and she’s inside now jawin’ at them Reds to beat a pink tea.”
“Do you apprehend any violence?” asked Jim uneasily.
The policeman juggled his club and eyed him. “I — guess — not,” he drawled. And, to the jabbering, wrangling crowd on pavement and steps: “ — Hey, you! Go in or stay out, one or the other, now! Step lively; you’re blockin’ the sidewalk.”
A number of people mounted the steps and went in with Jim. As the doors to the hall opened, a flare of smoky light struck him, and he pushed his way into the hall, where a restless, murmuring audience, some seated, others standing, was watching a number of men and women on the rostrum.
There seemed to be more wrangling going on there — knots of people disputing and apparently quite oblivious of the audience.
And almost immediately he caught sight of Palla on the platform. But even before he could take a step forward in the crowded aisle, he saw her force her way out of an excited group of people and come to the edge of the platform, lifting a slim hand for silence.
“Put her out!” shouted some man’s voice. A dozen other voices bawled out incoherencies; Palla waited; and after a moment or two there were no further interruptions.
“Please let me say what I have to say,” she said in that shy and gentle way she had when facing hostile listeners.
“Speak louder!” yelled a young man. “Come on, silk-stockings! — spit it out and go home to mother!”
“I wish I could,” she said.
Her rejoinder was so odd and unexpected that stillness settled over the place.
“But all I can do,” she added, in an even, colourless voice, “is to go home. And I shall do that after I have said what I have to say.”
At that moment there was a commotion in the rear of the hall. A dozen policemen filed into the place, pushing their way right and left and ranging themselves along the wall. Their officer came into the aisle:
“If there’s any disorder in this place to-night, I’ll run in the whole bunch o’ ye!” he said calmly.
“All right. Hit out, little girl!” cried the young man who had interrupted before. “We gotta lot of business to fix up after you’ve gone to bed, so get busy!”
“I, also, have some business to fix up,” she said in the same sweet, emotionless voice, “ — business of setting myself right by admitting that I have been wrong.
“Because, on this spot where I am standing, I have spoken against the old order of things. I have said that there is no law excepting only the law of Love and Service. I have said that there is no God other than the deathless germ of deity within each one of us. I have said that the conventions and beliefs and usages and customs of civilisation were old, outworn, and tyrannical; and that there was no need to regard them or to obey the arbitrary laws based on them.
“In other words, I have preached disorder while attempting to combat it: I have preached revolution while counselling peace; I have preached bigotry where I have demanded toleration.
“For there is no worse bigot than the free-thinker who demands that the world subscribe to his creed; no tyrant like the under-dog when he becomes the upper one; no autocracy to compare with mob rule!
“You can not obtain freedom for all by imposing that creed upon anybody by the violence of revolutionary ukase!
“You can not wreck any edifice until all who enjoy ownership in it agree to its demolition. You can not build for all unless each voluntarily comes forward to aid with stone and mortar.
“Anarchy leaves the majority roofless. What is the use of saying, ‘Let them perish’? What is the use of trying to rebuild the world that way? You can’t do it, even if you set fire to the world and start your endless war of human murder.
“If you were the majority you would not need to do it. But you are the minority, and there are too many against you.
“Only by infinite pains and patience can you alter the social structure to better it. Cautious and wary replacement is the only method, not exploding a mine beneath the keystone.
“The world has won out from barbarism so far. It must continue to emerge by degrees. And if beliefs and laws and customs be obsolete, only by general agreement may they be modified without danger to all. Not the violent revolt of one or a dozen or a thousand can alter what has, so far, nourished and sustained civilisation.
“That is the Prussian belief. Bolshevism was sired by Karl Marx and was hatched out in the shaggy gloom of the Prussian wilderness.
“It does not belong anywhere else; it does not belong on the plains of Russia or in her forests or on her mountains. It is a Prussian thing — a misbegotten monster born of a vile and decadent race, — a horrible parasite, like that one which carries typhus, infects as it spreads from the degraded race that hatched it, crawling from country to country and leaving behind it dead minds, dead hearts, dead souls, and rotting flesh.
“For order and disorder can not both reign paramount on this planet! The one shall slay the other. And Bolshevism is disorder — a violent and tyrannical and autocratic attempt to utterly destroy the vast majority for the benefit of the microscopic minority.
“You can not do it, you Terrorists! Prussia tried terrorism on the world. Where is she to-day? You can not teach by frightfulness. You can not scare beliefs out of anybody.
“Method, order, education — there is no other chance for any propagandist to-day.
“I have stood here night after night proclaiming that my personal conception of right and wrong, of truth and falsehood, of law and morals was the only intelligent one, and that I should ignore and disregard any other opinion.
“What I preached was Bolshevism! And I was such a fool I didn’t know it. But that’s what I preached. For it is an incitement to disorder to proclaim one’s self above obedience to what has been established as a law to govern all.
“It is an insidious counsel to violence, revolution, Bolshevism and utter anarchy to say to people that they should disregard any law formed by all for the common weal.
“If the marriage law seems unnecessary, unjust, then only by common consent can it be altered; and until it is altered, any who disregard it strike at civilisation!
“If the laws governing capital and labour seem cruel, stupid, tyrannical, only by general consent can they be altered safely.
“You of the Bolsheviki can not come among us dripping with human blood, showing us your fangs, and expect from us anything except a fusillade.
“And your propaganda, also, is not human. It is Prussian. Do you suppose, you foreign-born, that you can come here among this free people and begin your operations by cursing our laws and institutions and telling us we are not free?
“Because we tolerate you, do you suppose we don’t know that in most of the larger cities there are now organised Soviets, similar to those in Russia, that anarchists are now conducting schools, and that the radical propaganda which has taken on new life since the signing of the armistice is gaining headway in those parts of the country where there are large foreign-born populations?
“Do you suppose we don’t know Prussianism when we see it, after these last four years?
“Do you suppose we have not read the Staats-Zeitung editorial of December 8, which in part was as follows:
“‘Hundreds of thousands of our boys are standing now over there in the old homeland, which for nineteen months was enemy country and is that still, but which, as President Wilson promised, will soon be a land of peace again, rich in diligent work, rich in true and good people.... As the whole happy life of this blessed region presents a picture to the spectator, it is to be wondered whether his (the American soldier’s) memory will awaken on what he read of this country (Germany) at home long ago, whether he will feel a slight blush of shame in his cheeks and anger for those who, not from their own knowledge but from doubtful sources, branded a whole great people, 70,000,000, as barbarians, huns, murderers of children and church robbers. And whether he (the American soldier) will at the same time make a pledge in his heart to combat those lies and rumours when he is back home again, and to tell the truth about those (the Germans) living behind those mountains.’”
Palla’s face flushed and she came close to the edge of the platform:
“I have been warned that if I came here to-night I’d have trouble. The anonymous writers who send me letters talk about bombs.
“Do you imagine because you murdered Vanya Tchernov in Philadelphia the other day that you can frighten anybody dumb?
“I tell you you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re dazed and scared and bewildered by finding yourselves suddenly in the open world after all those lurking years in hiding. As a forest wolf, his eyes dazzled by the sun, runs blindly across a field of new mown hay, dodging where there is nothing to dodge, leaping over shadows, so you, emerging from darkness, start out across the fertile world, the sun of civilisation blinding you so that you run as though stupefied and frightened, shying at straws, dodging zephyrs, leaping a pool of dew as though it were the Volga.
“What are you afraid of? You have nothing to fear except yourselves out here in the sunny open!
“Behold your enemies — yourselves! — selfish, defiant, full of false council, of envy, of cowardice, of treachery.
“For there would be no sorrow, no injustice in the world if we — each one of us — were true to our better selves! You know it! You can not come out of darkness and range the open world like wolves! Civilisation will kill you!
“But you can come out of your long twilight bearing yourselves like men — and find, by God’s grace, that you are men! — that you are fashioned like other men to stand upright in the light without blinking and slinking and dodging into cover.
“For the haymakers will not climb and stone you; the herds will not stampede; no watch-dogs of civilisation will attack you if you come out into the fields looking like men, behaving like men, asking to share the world’s burdens like men, and like men giving brain and brawn to make more pleasant and secure the only spot in the solar system dedicated by the Most High to the development of mankind!”
There was a dead silence in the place.
Palla slowly lifted her head and raised her right hand.
“I desire,” she said in a low, grave voice, “to acknowledge here my belief in law, in order, and in a divine, creative, and responsible wisdom. And in ultimate continuation.”
She turned away as a demonstration began, and Jim saw her putting on her coat. There was some scattering applause, but considerable disorder where men in the audience began to harangue each other and shake dirty fingers under one another’s noses. Two personal encounters and one hair-pulling were checked by bored policemen: a girl got up and began to shout that she was a striking garment worker and that she had neither money, time, nor inclination to wait until some amateur silk-stocking felt like raising her wages.
On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward, and his icy, incisive, menacing voice cut the growing tumult.
“You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle of a rich young girl—” he began. “Now it is a poor man who speaks to you out of a heart full of bitterness against this law and order which you haff heard so highly praised.
“For this much-praised law and order it hass to-night assassinated free speech; it has arrested our comrades, Nathan Bromberg and Max Sondheim; it hass fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if there iss, perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world, und iff vielleicht, there may be too many policemen as vell as capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.
“Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve do not kill a few — —”
“That’ll do!” interrupted the sergeant of police, striding down the aisle. “Come on, now, Karl; you done it that time.”
An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to his men:
“Run in any cut-ups,” he said briefly; climbed up to the rostrum, and laid his hand on Kastner’s arm.
At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the place and plunged it into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked blackness burst an uproar of shrieks and screams; plaster and glass fell everywhere; police whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling mass of humanity fought for escape.
As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning against the wall, with blood on her face.
Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he had caught her by the arm and had led her down the steps to the street.
“They’ve blown up the — the place,” she stammered, wiping her face with her gloved hand in a dazed sort of way.
“Are you badly hurt?” he asked unsteadily.
“No, I don’t think so — —”
He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing with the clang of fire engines and the police patrol. And out of the darkness, from everywhere, swarmed the crowd that only a great city can conjure instantly and from nowhere.
Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple. A tiny triangular bit of glass still glittered in the wound; and he removed it and gave her his handkerchief.
