CHAPTER XXTHE MYSTERY DEEPENS
That the broker’s poise was badly shaken was undeniable. He was not talking now to one of the meek lambs that he had been accustomed to shear with such adroitness and dispatch. In the steely glitter of Joe’s eyes he thought he read disaster. In those curt, crisp accents he heard the tolling of what might prove the knell of doom.
He abandoned his suavity of manner and took refuge in bluster.
“All that is tommyrot!” he declared, with a fine pretense of outraged virtue. “My books will show——”
“I know what they would show,” broke in Joe. “They would show that you have been matching orders right along on Mr. Varley’s account. That’s a felony under the law. We could subpœna your books and bring them into court but that would give you immunity. We’ll prove it in another way, for you’re going to get no immunityat our hands, Mr. Harrish. And if you get indicted here, you won’t get off so easily as you did in Chicago.”
A dull flush crept into Harrish’s cheeks.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Never mind what I mean,” replied Joe. “I’ve had tabs kept on you. I’ve known what you are ever since the night you tried to bribe me to throw games.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” declared Harrish. “I never tried to bribe you to do anything.”
“That adds another to the final score you’ll have to pay,” declared Joe. “Tompkinson’s had his licking and you’ll get yours before I’m through with you. But that isn’t the question just now. Come across with those stocks that belong to Mr. Varley.”
“They don’t belong to him,” asseverated Harrish. “They’re mine. If you get them you’ll have to sue for them.”
“That’s your final word, is it?” demanded Joe.
“My final word,” asserted Harrish.
“All right, Harrish,” Joe said as he rose. “You’ve had your chance, and you’re too big a fool to take it. You’d better begin practicing the lockstep. We’re on your trail, and we’re going to run you down. Come along, Reggie.”
Baseball Joe and his brother-in-law left theoffice, followed by a look in Harrish’s eyes in which hate strove for the mastery over fear.
“My word, old man!” exclaimed Reggie when they were once more in the street, “you’ve got my bean whirlin’. How did you ever know so well what the rascal had been doin’?”
“I didn’t,” said Joe. “I was simply bluffing him to a showdown. But I happen to know how bucketing is worked, and I went on the conviction that that was what he had been doing. If you had been dealing with a reputable broker I’d have gone at things in quite another way. But I already knew Harrish for a crook, and a man who is crooked in one line will be crooked in another. And I studied his eyes all the time I was talking, and saw fear and falsehood in them. I’m convinced in my own mind that I hit the truth.”
“Now, what next?” asked Reggie.
“The next thing,” Joe replied, “is to put the matter into the hands of a lawyer. I’m going to go over the whole thing again with Bigelow, the assistant district attorney you heard me mention. Of course he can’t do anything until and unless the case comes before him in a criminal action, but he can recommend some shrewd lawyer, and we’ll have him take up the case. In the meantime, you can give me your power of attorney so that I can act for you in thematter. Just leave the whole thing to me, Reggie, and you go back to Goldsboro and stop worrying. I have a hunch that we’re going to give Harrish a good lively time before we get through with him.”
That Reggie was only too glad to do this goes without saying. The last thing he wanted was to have his father learn of his speculations. In the course of the next few days Joe had taken up the matter with an able lawyer, a Mr. Haworth, and set a train of inquiries in motion calculated to cause still more uneasiness to the already badly agitated Mr. Harrish.
On the afternoon of the day that he had visited Harrish, Joe told McRae in the clubhouse of the events of the morning. McRae knew Reggie well and liked him, and he was sincerely sorry to hear of the loss that threatened him.
“That fellow’s bad medicine,” he remarked. “He’s rotten through and through. Keep right after him, Joe, and in the meantime I’ll have O’Brien on the job and do all I can to put a spoke in his wheel. I can see Sing Sing yawning for him. But how are you feeling now, Joe? How’s the old soup bone?”
“Pretty fair,” replied Joe. “Most of the time it feels as well as ever, but at times I have a strange tingling sensation in it. I guess it will be all right pretty soon.”
“I’m afraid we’ve been overworking you,” said McRae. “Riding a willing horse to death. You’d better let up for a few days and let the other pitchers bear the brunt of the work.”
As Jim had pitched only a few innings on the preceding day, McRae put him in for the second game with the Bostons and he justified his choice. He gave a superb exhibition of pitching and turned in a victory with an ample margin.
Merton, Bradley, and Markwith were called on to a much greater extent than usual in the games that followed. They did fairly good work, but the absence of Joe was severely felt. The team did not play behind the other twirlers with the confidence they showed when Joe was in the box, and the Giants began to lose games with a frequency that was profoundly disturbing to McRae.
With the eastern teams they scored little more than an even break. And as the Chicagos and Pittsburghs were playing at the top of their form, the commanding lead that the Giants had enjoyed was rapidly diminished.
On one of the days that the Phillies were scheduled to play in New York the day was dark and lowering, and as rain began to fall about noon the game was called off. As it developed, the game could have been played after all, for the rain ceased and the sun shone out brightlyabout two o’clock, but it was then too late to change the arrangements.
Jim had taken advantage of the unexpected vacation to go downtown on a business errand and Joe had taken his favorite seat in the bay window of his apartment with a book in which he was interested.
Two hours later Jim returned. He entered the apartment in his usual breezy manner.
“What do you think, Joe—” he began, and stopped.
Joe’s book had dropped to the floor and he himself was sprawled out in the chair fast asleep.
“By the great horn spoon!” exclaimed Jim. “You lazy old galoot!”
He pranced up to his friend and shook him vigorously.
“Snap out of it, old boy!”
Joe remained absolutely inert. Jim shook him harder this time, but failed to elicit any response.
Now Jim was frightened.