"No one I know," announced Grant, as the two went on after the first glance.
He spoke in a matter-of-fact way, but Durkee perceived that he was really much relieved.
The train got under way after a very short stop and sped on, finally coming to journey's end under the mammoth shed of South Station.
Durkee and Grant descended promptly from the smoker and went up to the shed with the crowd. The tide of people converged and narrowed as it approached the gate of the shed and, passing through the entrance, spread out into the open space and began immediately to lose its entity among the throng scurrying here and there in every direction.
As Durkee and Grant passed through the gateway and bore off to the left, neither hurrying nor lagging, a burly, ruddy-faced man in dark clothes came from the fence — noting them as soon as they issued from the shed.
"Well, well — hello, Kelly," he said, mockingly jovial, but with an under-note of real and intense satisfaction, and as he gave the greeting he grasped Mr. Grant by the arm, apparently ready for trouble, as if he knew something about the peculiar light that could shine in the other's eyes.
At the same moment he noticed Durkee and the bond between him and the stout man he addressed as Kelly. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise and favored Durkee with a steady and half-hostile look.
As this man accosted and touched Grant, another big man of the same cut approached from another direction and joined the trio, a little grin coming to his face as he saw Grant.
"Hello, Kelly," said this newcomer, speaking very much as the other stranger had spoken. "At last!"
"Hello, Moran," returned Mr. Grant, with composure.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," put in Durkee, promptly and courteously, "but it's hands off for you. Nothing doing at all. I got Kelly for the First National break in Portland two years ago. Lighted on him in Worcester by accident. Sorry" — a tantalizing slight grin came on his hawk-like face — "but you can come up and have him in just about twelve years."
The first burly man drew back a pace, scowling. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders resignedly and used strong language feelingly.
Kelly, for his part, shot a quick glance at the man whose fare he had paid, his blue eyes like rapier points; but after that look he glanced at the disappointed Boston men and laughed at them.
"Tough luck, boys," said Durkee, "but you can have him when we're through. Come on, old bird."
He gave Kelly a slight tug, and, Kelly grinning queerly, they walked elbow to elbow through the throng and out of the station.
Durkee secured a taxicab and, having given his direction — North Station — entered the designated cab with his captive.
When they were in the vehicle, Durkee pulled the curtain on his side half way down, Kelly following suit at his request.
"Well, I'll be confounded!" exclaimed Kelly as they crossed the tracks and went into Atlantic Avenue. "You got a quick wit, my friend."
He looked steadily at his companion through half-closed lids. Producing a key, he reached over to insert it.
As his right hand came down, Durkee's left hand, with long, sinewy fingers, closed over it with a grip of steel and suddenly twisted the key from the other's possession.
Kelly, protruding his head bellicosely, glared at Durkee, his eyes now green and glinting; and Durkee met his glare with a dancing light in his eyes.
"Come across now, Kelly," said Durkee coolly, a grin coming to his face.
"So you're the real thing, are you," exclaimed Kelly with a vicious sneer — "a real bull, eh? Walked right into you, didn't I? Funny, too, 'cause I had a feeling before we got to Boston that there was something off about you. Well, well." He spoke evenly and smoothly now, and settled back a little.
Durkee held his free hand to the window and kept his eye upon the other man.
"Don't you pull that gun, Kelly," he said, quietly, in a quick warning, "or I'll drop the key and smash you. And come across!"
"That's your game, eh?"
"That — or delivery in Portland. I knew you were Kelly two minutes after we began to talk?"
"How much? — a hundred?"
Durkee laughed mirthlessly, and dexterously released his right hand from the cuff and slipped the key in his pocket.
"All you got on you now," he answered, sitting tense like a coiled spring.
As he spoke, Kelly — having hesitated just long enough to let Durkee free his hand, although noting his action — drew back with a jerk; and at the instant he drew back, his hand whipping behind, Durkee fell upon him like a bolt of lightning.
III
Kelly was a hard man and a fighter; but the younger man, trim and lithe, was a tiger, and in less than two minutes he had him half throttled and had his right hand in the hold of the cuff he himself had worn.
He took Kelly's automatic from the hip pocket and placed it upon his own person and then, ruthlessly bearing the stubborn, undaunted bank robber down, made an exceedingly rich haul from various parts of Kelly's clothes — thousands of dollars in notes of large denominations — all of which he placed in his own pockets, despite the other's vicious struggling.
As soon as he had convinced himself that he had taken all the money Kelly had, Durkee signaled the taxi chauffeur to stop, and when the car had come to a standstill at the curb he opened the door and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and the atmosphere of fish and dirty water.
"Kelly," said he with a grin, "I'll give the key to his nibs here and tell him to unlock you at the North Station. From there you may go anywhere you please."
"Who the blazes are you, anyway?" demanded Kelly, after delivering a volley of vituperation — the only effect of which was to make the other man's grin broaden.
"See here, Kelly," said Durkee, calmly, making no response to the question, "you haven't any kick coming. I got you through the line all right, saved you from a lot of trouble, and I know you got a lot of stuff somewhere. I kept my word not to squeal, and you can afford to pay. So quit your growling."
"Well, who are you?"
"Really like to know?"
"Yes," returned Kelly with a savage, almost frenzied growl.
"Well," said Durkee, smoothly, with great gravity — mock, maddening gravity — "I'll tell if you think it will make you feel better. My name is Ricker H. Tucker in real life. By profession I am, like you yourself — a bank robber; but an unfortunate one, mediocre, and until two days ago I was incarcerated in a New Hampshire retreat. I had just worked down to Worcester, and there, as you know, fortune brought me face to face, side by side, with the master of our craft — Aloysius Kelly — fortune at the same time giving me an opportunity to run the Boston lookout and to fill an empty pocket. I admire you, Kelly — I take off my hat to you" — the tall, eagle-faced rascal who had indulged himself in the luxury of several truthful statements took off his hat with an ironical bow — "and as one who has done time, I admiringly admit that you're the better man, and — I thank you."
Durkee slammed the door, gave the handcuff key to the chauffeur and told him to drive to North Station and there release Kelly. He was sport enough to pay for the ride, too, — with a bit to spare.
As the cab darted from the curb with the frantic Kelly, he looked after it for a moment with a smile, then, turning, walked swiftly back in the way he had come.
That same night Mr. Durkee sat smoking contentedly on the deck of a barkentine passing the Graves en route for Rio de Janeiro. He was thinking of the stout man whom he had helped as desired — the king of bank robbers who had never served a sentence, whose reputation he himself had that day saved — but was not worrying about him or his welfare. It was natural that he should think of him, for he had secured from brother Kelly the snug sum of $15,000 plus. But mostly he was letting his mind dwell virtuously upon reform under comfortable conditions, upon a life of strict obedience to the law — at least while the money lasted.