My Dear Hazelton: I am writing in haste before sailing for Liverpool on theNorthumberland. As I thought, you were wrong about having seen Virginia in New York. She is in London, and in trouble. I’ve had a cablegram from her which, however, explains very little. She needs me, and I am going to her at once. If you should wish to communicate with me, my address will be the Cecil. As I know that both you and Mrs. Hazelton feel some anxiety about Virginia, I shall let you hear from me as soon as I have any news.Wishing you the success and good fortune you deserve as a baseball manager, I remain, sincerely yours,Franklin Parlmee.
My Dear Hazelton: I am writing in haste before sailing for Liverpool on theNorthumberland. As I thought, you were wrong about having seen Virginia in New York. She is in London, and in trouble. I’ve had a cablegram from her which, however, explains very little. She needs me, and I am going to her at once. If you should wish to communicate with me, my address will be the Cecil. As I know that both you and Mrs. Hazelton feel some anxiety about Virginia, I shall let you hear from me as soon as I have any news.
Wishing you the success and good fortune you deserve as a baseball manager, I remain, sincerely yours,Franklin Parlmee.
When he had finished reading, he stood staring at the letter in surprise.
“Well, now, what do you know about that?” cried Lefty. “Sailed for Liverpool! The man’s crazy!”
“But he says he has had a cable message from Virginia,” said Janet. “She is in trouble in London. You were mistaken.”
“Was I?” queried the southpaw, as if not yet convinced.
“You must have been. All along I have thought it likely, but you persisted–”
“I saw her distinctly in that passing limousine, which was brightly lighted. True, I obtained only one passing glance at her, but it was enough to satisfy me.”
“You are so persistent, Phil! That’s your one fault; when you think you’re right, all the argument and proof in the world cannot change you.”
“In short, I’m set as a mule,” he admitted, smiling. “Well, there are worse faults. A mistake may prove costly or humiliating to an obstinate person who persists in his error, but, when he is right, such a person is pretty well qualifiedto win over all opposition. If I did not see Virginia Collier in that car, she has a perfect double in New York. I have great confidence in the reliability of my eyes.”
Janet, however, thoroughly convinced that her husband had been deceived by a resemblance, made no reply.
Lefty had looked for some word from Kennedy, but had found nothing from him in his bundle of mail. It was possible, of course, that old Jack had found it inconvenient to make the trip to New York just then; but, naturally, if he could not come on he would have let Locke know.
Lefty and Janet had not dined on the train, preferring to do so after reaching their destination. As they were passing the desk on their way to the dining room, Locke stopped short, staring at the back of a slender, well-dressed young man who was talking to one of the clerks. Then the southpaw sprang forward and clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed impulsively.
The man turned quickly.
“If it isn’t Lefty Locke!” he cried, grabbing the pitcher’s hand. “And you’re the one man I’ve been palpitating to get hold of. You’re like the nimble flea. But I’ve got you now!”
“Murder!” said the southpaw. “My joy atspotting you caused me to forget. I should have passed you by, old man. For the moment I completely forgot your profession, and your knack of digging a column or so of sacred secrets out of any old ball player who knows anything he shouldn’t tell.”
Stillman was the baseball man of theBlade, a newspaper with a confirmed habit of putting over scoops. With the exception of Phil Chatterton, who was more of a special writer than reporter, Stillman was almost universally acknowledged to be the best informed pen pusher who made a specialty of dealing with the national game. He possessed an almost uncanny intuition, and was credited with the faculty of getting wise in advance to most of the big happenings in the baseball world.
“So you would have ducked me, would you?” said the reporter reprovingly. “Well, I didn’t think that of you!”
“I believe I should, if I’d stopped to figure out the proper play in advance,” confessed Lefty. “I don’t care to do much talking for the papers–at present.”
“Hang you for an ungrateful reprobate!” exclaimed Stillman, with a touch of earnestness, although he continued to laugh. “Why, I made you, son! At least, I’m going to claim the credit. When you first emerged from the tangled undergrowthI picked you for a winner and persistently boosted you. I gave you fifty thousand dollars’ worth of free advertising.”
“And made my path the harder to climb by getting the fans keyed up to look for a full-fledged wonder. After all that puffing, if I’d fallen down in my first game, Rube Marquard’s year or two of sojourning on the bench would have looked like a brief breathing spell compared to what would have probably happened to me.”
“But you didn’t fall down. I told them you wouldn’t, and you didn’t. Let the other fellows tout the failures; I pick the winners.”
“Modest as ever, I see,” said Locke. “Here’s Mrs. Hazelton waiting. We’re just going to have a late dinner. Won’t you join us?”
Janet knew Stillman well, and she shook hands with him. “Mrs. Hazelton!” he said, smiling. “By Jove! I looked round to see who you meant when you said that, Lefty. Somehow I’ve never yet quite got used to the fact that your honest-and-truly name isn’t Locke. I’ll gladly join you at dinner, but a cup of coffee is all I care for, as I dined a little while ago. Shan’t want anything more before two or three o’clock in the morning, when I’m likely to stray into John’s, where the night owls gather.”
When they had seated themselves at a table inthe almost deserted dining room, Lefty warned Janet.
“Be careful what you say before him, my dear,” he said. “He’s looking for copy every minute that he’s awake, and nobody knows when he sleeps.”
Stillman became serious. “Locke,” he said, “I’ve never yet betrayed a confidence. Oh, yes, I’m a reporter! But, all the same, I have a method of getting my copy in a decent fashion. My friends don’t have to be afraid of me, and close up like clams; you should know that.”
“I do,” declared the southpaw promptly. “I didn’t think you were going to take me quite so seriously. You have been a square friend to me, Jack.”
“Then don’t be afraid to talk. I’ll publish only what you’re willing I should. You can tell me what that is. And if you’ve seen theBladeright along you must be aware that it’s the one paper that hasn’t taken a little poke at you since you were tagged to manage the Blue Stockings. Nevertheless, here to your face I’m going to say that I’m afraid you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
Lefty shrugged his shoulders. “As to that, time will tell. For once your judgment may be at fault.”
“I don’t mean that you couldn’t manage the team successfully if you were given a half-decent show,” the reporter hastened to make clear. “I think you could. But I’m afraid you’re going to find yourself in a mess that no man living could crawl out of with credit to himself.”
The southpaw gave the waiter the order. Then he turned to Stillman.
“I thought I might hear something new from you, Jack,” he said, “but you’re singing the same old song. To be frank with you, it’s getting a bit tiresome. If I were dull enough not to know I’d been picked for a fall guy, I could have obtained an inkling of it from the newspapers. It’s plain every baseball scribe knows the fact that there’s a put-up job, although none of them has had the nerve to come out flat and say so.”
“They’ve said all they really dared to–without absolute proof of a conspiracy. If you know so much, take my advice, hand me the proof, and give me permission to publish it. But it must be real proof.”
“I can’t do it yet. Perhaps, when the time comes, I’ll pass you what you’re asking for. Just now, considering your statement that you never double cross a friend, I’m going to talk freely and tell you how much I know.”
Sipping his coffee, Stillman listened to Locke’sstory. That there was sufficient interest in it the attention of the reporter attested. Janet watched the newspaper man closely, and once or twice she caught the flicker of an incredulous smile that passed over his face, giving her the impression that Stillman had a notion that there were holes in Lefty’s narrative.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” asked the reporter, when dinner was over, and the dessert had been placed on the table.
Having received Janet’s permission, Stillman lit a cigarette, and for a few moments said nothing, being apparently engrossed with his thoughts.
Presently he said: “I wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Lefty wanted to know. “What I’ve told you is the straight fact. Weegman’s the crook. Kennedy knew it. I knew it when I took the position of manager. Garrity’s behind Weegman. What ails Collier, and why he was crazy enough to run away and bury himself while his team was wrecked, is the unexplained part of the mystery. But if we can block Weegman we may be able to put the whole game on the fritz.”
“I wonder,” repeated Stillman, letting the smoke curl from his mouth.
Locke felt a touch of irritation. “What are youwondering over? I’ve talked; now I’m ready to listen.”
The reporter gave Locke a steady look. “Evidently the possibility hasn’t occurred to you that you may not even suspect the real crook who is at the bottom of the affair.”
“Weegman conceived it,” replied Lefty. “He knew Garrity’s reputation. He was sure Garrity would jump at the chance to help, and to grab a fat thing at the same time, by stepping in and gobbling the Stockings when the moment came. Of course, Weegman will get his, for without his undermining work in our camp the thing couldn’t be pulled off. And Weegman’s looking to cop the big chief’s daughter when he gets the chief pinched just where he wants him.”
“Wheels within wheels,” said Stillman, “and Weegman only one of the smallest of them. He’s one of those egotistical scoundrels who can easily be flattered and fooled into doing scurvy work for a keener mind.”
“You mean Garrity?”
“I wasn’t thinking of him when I spoke.”
“Then who–”
“I had a man named Parlmee in mind,” stated the reporter.
His lips parted, his eyes wide and incredulous, Locke sat up straight on his chair and stared at Stillman. Janet, who had been listening attentively, gave a little cry, and leaned forward, one slim, protesting hand uplifted. The reporter drew his case from his pocket and lit another cigarette.
Presently Lefty found his voice. “You’re crazy, Jack!” he declared resentfully.
“Am I?” inquired Stillman.
“Oh, it’s impossible!” exclaimed Janet.
“Absolutely ridiculous!” affirmed the southpaw.
“Very likely it seems so to you both,” admitted the newspaper man, his calm and confident manner proclaiming his own settled conviction. “I listened to Lefty’s story, and I know he’s wise to only a small part of what’s been going on.”
“But Parlmee–Oh, it’s too preposterous! For once in your career, at least, you’re way off your trolley, Jack.”
“Prove it to me.”
“Why, it isn’t necessary. Franklin Parlmee is a white man, as square as there ever was, and as honest as the day is long.”
“There are short days in midwinter.”
“But his object–he couldn’t have an object, even if he were scoundrel enough to contemplate such a thing.”
“Couldn’t he?” asked Stillman, in that odd, enigmatical way of his. “Why not?”
“Why, he’s practically engaged to Virginia Collier.”
“But without the consent of her father.”
“Yes, but–”
“Bailey Weegman is said to have a great liking for Miss Collier. It was your theory that part of his object in seeking to wreck the Blue Stockings was to get old man Collier in a tight place and force his hand. Why couldn’t Parlmee make the same sort of a play?”
The persistence of the reporter began to irritate Locke, who felt his blood growing hot. Was his life beginning to tell on Stillman? Was it possible the pace he had traveled had begun to weaken his naturally keen judgment?
“Even if Parlmee had conceived such a foolish scheme, he was in no position to carry it out, Jack. On the other hand, Weegman was. Furthermore, it’s perfectly impossible to imagine Weegman actingas the tool and assistant of his rival, whom he hates bitterly. Forget it!”
Unmoved, Stillman shook his head. “Didn’t I say that Weegman was an egotistical dub, and an easy mark? He is naturally a rascal, and he thinks himself very clever, and so is just the sort to fall for a still cleverer rascal.”
Janet’s cheeks were hot and her eyes full of resentful anger. It was difficult for her to sit there and hear Parlmee maligned, and she was confident that that was what she was doing. She could not remain quiet.
“I know Frank Parlmee, Mr. Stillman,” she asserted, “and Lefty is right about him. There’s not a squarer man living.”
“How is it possible for Parlmee to use Weegman as a tool?” asked Locke.
“Through Garrity,” answered the reporter without hesitation.
“But I don’t see–”
Stillman leaned forward. “Listen: I am not at liberty to disclose the sources of my information, but it has come to me that this idea of wrecking the Blue Stockings originated in Parlmee’s brain. He saw himself losing out in the fight for Virginia Collier, and he became desperate. Conditions were ripe. Collier had hit the toboggan, financially and otherwise. A man of considerablestrength of will, he had begun to break down. Parlmee knew of his plan to go abroad for his health, and of the arrangement to leave Bailey Weegman in charge of affairs. Collier had a great deal of confidence in Weegman’s ability, and this would now be put to the test. If Weegman should make a grand failure, as Parlmee intended he should, Collier would lose all faith in him; and probably, in his disappointment, he would hand him the g. b. That, above all things, was most to be desired by Parlmee, as it would get out of the way the rival who threatened to defeat him. How to put the thing across was the question. I am willing to give Parlmee the credit of a long-headed piece of work. He knew Weegman must be kept in the dark, must never be permitted to suspect that he was being used as a tool by his hated enemy.”
“It sounds altogether too impossible,” said Locke. But, to his annoyance, in spite of his persistently expressed faith, a shadowy uncertainty, a tiny, nagging doubt, was creeping into his mind. Stillman seemed so absolutely confident of his ground.
“Through his long association with Miss Collier,” the reporter pursued calmly, “Parlmee had learned much about inside conditions in baseball. He had plenty of opportunities to get at thingsentirely hidden from, or merely suspected by, the general public. He knew Garrity was a grasping scoundrel, who had long regarded the Blue Stockings with a covetous eye, and that, being utterly unscrupulous, he would do anything, as long as he could keep in the background, to break Collier’s grip and get his own soiled paws on the property. Therefore, Garrity was the man to deal with, and to Garrity Parlmee went. They met under cover in Chicago, and the deal was fixed up between them. Then Garrity got at Weegman, the real stool pigeon and the fall guy of the whole plot.”
Locke was listening without protest now. In spite of his desire not to believe, Stillman’s theory seemed possible; he would not yet admit, even to himself, that it was probable. Janet, too, was silent. The color had left her face, and beneath the table her hands were tightly clenched.
“Weegman was just ass enough to fall for it,” continued Stillman contemptuously. “What Garrity promised him I can’t say, but certainly it must have been a satisfactory percentage of the loot–maybe an interest in the team when Garrity got control; and Weegman would sell his soul for money. The moment Collier was out of the way he got to work. You know as well as I do what success he’s had. In order to cover his tracks asfar as possible, he has picked you for the goat, and he’ll try to shunt all the blame on you.”
Lefty’s face was grim. He was endeavoring to look at the matter fairly and without bias. To himself he was compelled to admit that his knowledge of Parlmee had been obtained through casual association with the man, not through business dealings, and in no small degree, he, as well as Janet, had doubtless been influenced by the sentiments of Virginia Collier. A girl in love may be easily deceived; many girls, blinded by their own infatuation, have made heroes of thoroughbred scoundrels. It was practically impossible, however, for Locke to picture Parlmee as a scoundrel.
“You have made a statement, Jack,” he said, “without offering a particle of corroborating proof. How do you know all this to be true?”
“I have the word of a man I trust that Parlmee and Garrity had that secret meeting in Chicago, just as I have stated. A few days ago Parlmee made a flying trip to Indianapolis, and–”
“I know that,” interrupted Lefty. “I was in Indianapolis at the time. I met him there and had a brief talk with him.”
“On his way back,” resumed Stillman, “he stopped off at Cleveland to see Garrity, who happened to be in that city.”
“How do you know that?”
“My own business chanced to call me out to Cleveland at that time, and I saw Parlmee and Garrity together at the American House.”
Locke took a long breath, recalling the fact that Parlmee, although professing to be in great haste when in Indianapolis, had not returned to his New York office as soon as expected.
“That may have been an accidental meeting,” said the southpaw. “Your proof has holes in it.”
The reporter lighted a fresh cigarette. “How does it happen,” he asked, “that Parlmee is buying up all the small blocks of the club stock that he can get hold of?”
Lefty started as if pricked by the point of a knife. Parlmee, an automobile salesman, a man who had found it necessary to get out and show that he could make good in the business world, buying the stock of the club!
“Is he?” asked the pitcher.
“He is,” asserted Stillman positively. “I know of three lots that he has purchased, and in each instance he has paid a little more than it was supposed to be worth.”
“He–he may have bought it as an investment,” faltered Janet.
The reporter smiled at her. “As far as I can learn, Franklin Parlmee is not situated, financially,to invest much money in stock of any kind. With his stock depreciating, and bound to go lower in value, he would be a chump to purchase it as an investment. The man who pays more than its market value in order to get hold of it knows something about the doings behind the scenes that is not known to the general public. Apparently that man is Parlmee. Who’s furnishing him the money to buy the stock? My own guess is that it is the man who’s looking to get control of the club, and that man is Garrity.”
Still Janet protested that it was impossible, but she looked questioningly at Lefty, the doubt that she was fighting against was now beginning to creep into her eyes.
“Parlmee,” said the southpaw, “has gone to Europe. I have a message from him stating that he would sail on theNorthumberland. If he’s behind the plot to wreck the Blue Stockings, why should he leave the field of action at this time?”
“If I’ve got his number,” returned Stillman, “he’s a liar in various ways. Perhaps he has sailed for Europe; perhaps he hasn’t. His message may be nothing more than a little dust for your eyes. But if he has sailed, there’s only one answer to that.”
“Out with it!” urged Locke. “Of course, you think it another move in the rotten game?”
“Sure as death and taxes. He believes the time is ripe to get at Collier. He’s gone across to get at him and twist the control of the club out of his hands. Probably he’ll appear before Collier in the guise of a friend anxious to save him from complete financial disaster. He’s got just about enough time to make the trip comfortably, get that business through with, and return before the regular meeting of the league magnates here in New York. Then, at the meeting, Tom Garrity will bob up serenely as the real owner of the Blue Stockings.”
Tired out, Janet went to bed shortly after Stillman left, but Locke, knowing he could not sleep, sat up to think the situation over. The difficulties and problems of his own position seemed greater than ever. If the plot was as deep and intricate as the reporter believed, and if the men behind it were moving with haste and certainty to the accomplishment of their designs, there seemed scarcely a ghost of a chance for him, practically alone and unaided, to block them.
For Lefty now felt that, in a way, he was standing alone. Even Kennedy, having no power, could do little more than offer advice. And where was Kennedy?
The southpaw had fancied that he would be given more time to muster his opposing forces for the battle. He had even imagined, at first, that the man he would need to contend against and defeat was Weegman. But now Weegman, the blind tool of craftier creatures, looked insignificant and weak. In order to defeat him it would be necessary to strike higher.
How was he to strike? That was the question. Locke had suggested to Stillman complete exposure of the plot by newspaper publicity. And right there the reporter, who had seemed so confident of his ground, had betrayed that, after his usual method, he was working by intuition, and had no positive and unassailable verification of his conclusions. It would not do for his paper to charge criminal conspiracy without proper evidence to back up such an indictment.
Recalling this, Lefty remembered that Stillman, having heard all the southpaw could tell, had ended by giving his own theory, and had offered proof to substantiate it. And then he had been compelled to acknowledge that the proof he had to offer was not sound enough to base exposure and open action upon.
If Stillman were right, doubtless Parlmee had gone abroad with full knowledge of Charles Collier’s whereabouts. That knowledge being denied Lefty, he could not warn Collier, and the plot would be carried through as arranged. Then, as the reporter had predicted, at the annual meeting of the magnates, shortly to be held, Garrity would appear as owner of the Blue Stockings. When that happened, the fight would be over, and the conspirators would be triumphant.
With the door to Janet’s chamber closed, Lockewalked the floor, striving for a clear conception of what ought to be done. He felt like a man bound hand and foot. Of course, he could go on with his project to strengthen the team, but the harvest of his success would be reaped by the plotters, if they, too, were successful. There was little uncertainty about what would happen to him, for he knew that his conscience would not permit him to become an understrapper for Garrity. He had left Fernandon with courage and high hope to do battle; but now the helplessness of the situation threatened to appall him.
If there were only some way to get into communication with Collier. Again he thought of his somewhat shaken conviction that Virginia was in New York. If that were true, some of her family or friends must know it, and, of course, Virginia would know how to communicate without delay with her father.
With this thought came the conviction that in Virginia lay his only hope. If he had been mistaken, and she were not in the United States, his chance of doing anything to foil the conspirators was not one in a thousand. His work for the morrow was cut out for him; he must learn positively if Charles Collier’s daughter was on American soil, and, if so, he must find her.
The telephone rang, and when he answered ithe was informed that Kennedy was calling. The faithful old veteran had come, after all! Lefty said that he was to be sent up at once.
“Well, son,” said old Jack, as he came in, “how are things moving?”
“None too well,” answered Lefty, shaking his hand.
“So?” grunted Kennedy. “I wondered just what was up, and I came right along in answer to your call, but my train was delayed. What are the new developments?”
“Sit down,” said Locke, “and I’ll tell you. Since I sent you that message I’ve heard something that’s got me guessing–and worried.”
“The contracts?” questioned old Jack, sitting down. “The boys signed up, didn’t they?”
“Every one of them. That’s not the trouble. I’ve had a talk with Jack Stillman.”
“The only reporter I know with a noodle screwed on right,” said Kennedy. “His bean’s packed with sound sense. When he gets an idea it’s generally correct.”
“In that case, unless he’s made a bobble this time, the situation’s worse than we suspected, Jack.”
“Give me the dope,” urged Kennedy.
The old man listened to Locke without comment, and when Lefty had finished, he sat thoughtfullyplucking at his under lip with his thumb and forefinger.
“Well,” he said, after a time, “Stillman usually puts them in the groove when he shoots.”
“Then you think he’s hit it right in this case?”
“I haven’t said so. If anybody else had passed this one up, I’d have said it missed the plate by a rod. With Stillman doing the pitching, I’m not so ready to give a decision against him. But you say he finished a lot more confident than he began?”
“Yes. Instead of seeking information, he finished up by giving it.”
“Just as though he had talked himself into a settled conviction as he went along?”
“That’s it.”
“Then we won’t accept his statement as fact until he gets some kind of proof, son. You know more about Parlmee than I do, and you’ve always figured that gent on the level, haven’t you?”
“Yes; but I’m compelled to admit that I haven’t had sufficient dealings with him to feel certain that my estimation of his character is correct. Furthermore, my first impression was unfavorable.”
“First impressions are sometimes the best.”
“But at that time, as you know, my judgment could hardly be unprejudiced. It was when Collier first took over the team and I had trouble withCarson, the manager he put in your place. Everything seemed going wrong then.”
A grin broke over Kennedy’s face, and he chuckled softly, a reminiscent expression in his keen old eyes.
“Those were some stirring times, boy,” he said. “Collier fired me for Al Carson, and Carson made a mess of it. He’s managing a dub league team now. He thought he could get along without you, just as Collier reckoned he could dispense with me; but at the finish it was you and me that came back and saved the day for the Stockings. You pitched the game of your life that last day of the season. Now it’s up to you to come back again, and I’ve got a hunch that you will. You’ll return, better than ever. You’re going to make the wiseacres that think you’re down and out look foolish.”
Locke shook his head. “Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn’t have the heart to work for that scoundrel. Back in the time we’re speaking of, it was Stillman’s cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake.”
“Right you are,” admitted old Jack.
“All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can’t dodge that fact. To-morrow I’m going to make every effort to find some method of getting into communication with Charles Collier. It’s my only play in this game. If it fails–good night!”
Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy’s advice on other matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and prestige could be solved later.
Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man’s habit when perplexed. “Yes, son,” he said, after a time, “that’s what you’re up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn’t look like you have.”
All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He ’phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.
It was a little after noon when he called the office of theBlade. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship’s sake Stillman would attempt it.
Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of theBlade. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw’s call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.
Returning the card to his pocket, the man pretended to busy himself again over one of the directories, keeping his back partly turned toward the pitcher. Soon he heard the switchboard girl repeat Lefty’s number, and direct him to booth No. 1.
The man closed his book and turned round slowly. The southpaw was disappearing into a booth at the end of one of the rows, and, in closing the door behind him, he unintentionally left it slightly open. The watching man moved quietly forward until he was close to this booth, through the glass of which he could see that Lefty’s back was partly turned toward him. There he paused,taking some letters and papers from his pocket and running them over as if searching for something. While appearing to be absorbed in his own affairs, he could hear every word that the pitcher spoke into the receiver.
Getting the editorial rooms of theBlade, Locke asked for Stillman. After a slight delay, he was informed that the reporter was not there. No one could say just when he would be in.
“This is important,” stated Lefty; “a matter in which he is greatly interested. I must talk with him as soon as possible. Will you ask him, as soon as he comes in, to call Philip Hazelton at the Great Eastern? Yes, Hazelton; that’s right. Why, yes, I’m Lefty Locke. All right; don’t fail to tell him immediately he arrives.”
The man outside slipped the letters and papers into his pocket, and turned away after the manner of a person who has suddenly decided upon something. He had not walked ten steps, however, before he turned back. The southpaw was paying for the call. The man watched him now without further effort to avoid notice, and when the pitcher turned from the switchboard he stepped forward deliberately to meet him.
“Hello!” said the man in a voice distinctly husky and unpleasant. “How are you, Locke?”
Lefty stopped short and stared. It was Garrity,coarse, complacent, patronizing. The owner of the Rockets grinned, showing the numerous gold fillings in his teeth. His features were large, and his jaw was square and brutal. His clothes were those of a common race-track follower.
“Quite well, thank you,” answered Lefty coldly, thinking of the pleasure it would be to tell Garrity his private opinion of him.
“Seems to me you look worried. I don’t wonder, though, considering the job they’ve handed you. Some job piecing together the tattered remnants, hey? It’s going to make you a busy little manager.”
“I’m busy now,” said the southpaw, moving as if to pass on; but Garrity detained him. “You’ve got some positions to fill. The Feds got at you hard. Shame to see a team like the Stockings shot to pieces. You’ve got three or four bad holes, and I’d like to help you.”
“Youwould?”
“Sure. I’ve got the very lads you need, too–Mundy and Pendexter. Both fast men. They work together like two parts of a machine. Mundy covers the short field like Maranville, and Pendexter sure can play that keystone cushion. They’re the boys for you.”
“How’s it happen you are willing to let go of them?” asked Locke, feeling some curiosity toknow what lay behind this particular proposition.
“Well, this is between us, mind? I’d just about as soon give up an eye as part with either Mundy or Pendexter, but it’s easier to lose them than dispense with Pressly, my third sacker. That’s been the trouble with my team. Pressly loves Mundy and Pendexter as he loves aconite, and they reciprocate. You know what a feud like that means. It knocks the bottom out of any team. I can’t fill Pressly’s place, but I’ve got a couple of youngsters that I can work in at short and second. I’m not going through another season with those three scrapping. You need the very players I’m willing to part with, and there we are.”
Locke knew the man was not honest, and that he was holding something up his sleeve. In order to make him show his hand, the southpaw asked:
“What do you want for Mundy and Pendexter?”
Garrity considered for a minute. “Well,” he answered slowly, “I’ll trade them with you for Spider Grant–and cash.”
Lefty stared at him in amazement. Was it possible the man could think he was such a soft mark? He laughed loudly.
“You don’t want much, do you, Garrity? The ‘and cash’ was a capper! Man, I wouldn’t tradeyou Spider Grant for your whole team–and cash!”
The owner of the Rockets scowled, glaring at Locke, the corners of his thick-lipped mouth drooping.
“Oh, you wouldn’t, hey?” he growled huskily. “I suppose you think that’s a joke?”
“Not at all; it’s serious. I couldn’t use the players you offer, anyhow. Mundy does cover the short field like Rabbit Maranville–sometimes; but he’s got a yellow streak, and he quits. Pendexter knows how to play second, and at the beginning of last season he hit like old Sockalexis when the Indian first broke into the league. But the pitchers all got wise to his weak spot, close and across the knees, and from a three-hundred-and-sixty batter he slumped into the two-hundred class. You were thinking of asking for waivers on him. Spider Grant–and cash–for that pair! I didn’t imagine that even you could think me such a boob.”
As he listened, Garrity’s face showed his anger; his breath came short and quick; his eyes were blazing with the fury of a wild animal.
“Have you got that all out of your system?” he asked, when Lefty stopped. “You’re a wise gazabo, ain’t you? You know all about baseball and players and such things! You’ve got a head bigger than a balloon. But it’ll shrink, give ittime. It’s plain you think you really know how to manage a team. By the middle of the season, and maybe considerable before that, your head will be about the size of a bird shot. And you’ll know a lot more then than you do now, believe me!”
The southpaw laughed in his face. “Don’t lose your temper,” he advised, “just because you couldn’t put a raw one over on me. Go ahead and ask waivers on Pendexter. You’ll get mine. I wouldn’t carry him on my team if you agreed to pay his season’s salary for me. My trade with Frazer gave you the notion that you could pick another good man off me, and weaken the Stockings still more. You fooled yourself that time, Garrity. Perhaps you’ll find out before long that you are fooling yourself in other ways.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ll let you guess. But just remember what Bobby Burns said about ‘the best-laid plans o’ mice and men.’”
With this, Locke passed on, leaving the wrathy owner of the Rockets glaring after him.
“You poor fool!” muttered Garrity. “I’ll have you whimpering like a whipped dog before I’m done with you. Your head’s liable to roll into the basket before the season opens. When the time comes, I’ll lift my finger, and the ax’ll fall.”
Janet had let some friends know that she was in the city, and had been invited out to a matinée performance at one of the theaters. Lefty urged her to go. “That’s better than sitting around the rooms alone,” he said, “and I’ll be so busy that I can’t be with you.”
So when, shortly after lunch, her friends appeared in a comfortable limousine, they had little trouble in persuading her to join them.
Kennedy dropped in a little later, and Locke told him of Garrity’s proposed trade.
“He sure did pick you for a mark,” said the ex-manager. “You handed it to him straight about Mundy and Pendexter. You’re going to need a pair of fast boys to stop the holes, but there’s better men in the minors than those two. You’ve got better ones on the reserve list. Besides that, I’m doin’ a little free scouting on my own hook. I’ve got friends scattered all over the country. Whenever an old player, gone to the scraps, has touched me up for a five or a ten, I’ve stood for the touch, asking him to keep his eyesopen for anything good he might run across in the sticks. That way I’ve got a good deal of inexpensive scouting done for me. Maybe it’ll be worth something in this pinch. I’m going to interview an old friend over in Jersey this afternoon.”
“I’m not worrying over players just now,” said Lefty. “I’m anxious to get hold of Stillman.”
“You’ll hear from him in time–and Weegman, too. What Garrity knows Weegman knows, and so he’s wise that you’re right here. Be ready for him when he shows up.”
Kennedy had only just gone when Weegman appeared. He laughed when he saw Locke, but it was an ugly laugh.
“What do you think you’re trying to do?” he demanded. “Didn’t you get my telegram ordering you to report at the office of the club?”
“Yes.”
“Well, why didn’t you obey? What did you mean by coming right through without even sending me word?”
“I had immediate business here in New York.”
“Business! I had business for you to attend to. You’ve been doing a lot of things without consulting me. Why didn’t you wait until I gave you the contracts for the old players?”
“There had been too much waiting, and timewas precious. Kennedy had plenty of blanks, so I got them from him, filled them out, and sent them to the boys without further delay. It was the proper thing to do.”
“Don’t tell me what’s proper to do! I’ll tell you. That was the distinct understanding, and you know it. Sent out the contracts, did you? Well, some of them ought to be coming back by this time.”
“They’ve all come back.”
“What?”
“Every one of them. The Federals’ll get no more players off us this year.”
Weegman choked, and the sound that came from his lips was not a laugh.
“I haven’t seen anything of them. They didn’t come to the office.”
“No, certainly not.”
“Certainly not! Then where–where are they?”
“I have them in my pocket.”
Lefty said it quietly, not at all disturbed by the wrath of the outraged schemer. It gave him much satisfaction to see Bailey Weegman shake and squirm.
“In your pocket!” spluttered the rascal. “You had them returned to a different address? Confound your crust! How’d you ever have the nerveto do a thing like that? Let’s see them. Hand them over!”
Locke made no move to obey. “I think I’ll keep them a while,” he answered coolly. “I’ll deliver them personally to be locked in the club safe.”
For a moment it seemed that Weegman would lose all control of himself and attack the southpaw.
“You fool!” he raged. “Do you think you’re going to get by with this stuff?”
“I’ve made a pretty fair start at it.”
“So you never meant to stand by the private agreement between us when you signed as manager? That’s it, eh?”
“There never was any private agreement between us. I signed to handle the team, but I did not agree to become your puppet.”
“You did. You said that–”
“That I understood the conditions you had proposed, but I did not say that I consented to them. I had no intention of letting you dictate to me.”
“Fool! Fool!” snarled Weegman. “How long do you think you’ll last? And you made that crazy trade with Frazer! Do you know what I’ve done? Well, I’ve notified Frazer that the deal was irregular, and won’t be recognized by the club. Not a dollar of that five thousand will he ever get.”
“You know better than that. The trade was legitimate, and it will stand. Frazer can collect by law. Any other deal that I make will go through, too, whether you are aware of it at the time or not. Until Charles Collier himself takes away my authority, I’m manager of the team with the legal right to carry out my own plans, and I intend to do so. I shall ask no advice from you, and any suggestion you may make I shall look upon with distrust.”
They fought it out, eye to eye, and presently Weegman’s gaze wavered before that of the unawed southpaw. The man he had sought to make his blind tool was defying him to his face.
“I see your finish!” he declared.
“And I see yours,” countered Locke. “You think you’re a clever crook. You’re merely an instrument in the hands of a bigger and cleverer scoundrel who doesn’t care a rap what happens to you if he can put his own miserable scheme over. Your partnership with him will be your ruin, anyhow. If you had half the sense you think you possess, you’d break with him without losing any time.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve only planned to do my best to save a team that has been raided by the Feds. You’re killing the last chance for the Blue Stockings.”
“Tell it to Sweeny!” exclaimed Lefty. “You’re trying to deliver the team into the hands of Tom Garrity. Deny it if you wish, but it isn’t necessary to lie. You’ve played Judas with Collier.”
“Be careful! Better take that back!”
Lefty laughed. “I’m ready to add more to it. I haven’t told you half what I know. If I were to do so, you’d realize what a dumb fool you have made of yourself. You think you’re wise to all that was planned, but you’ve been let in on only a very little of it. You’ll tear your hair when you get a squint at the foundation stone of this neat little conspiracy.”
“I–I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s right, you don’t; but you will know in time. You’ll be kept in the dark as long as it suits Tom Garrity.”
“What’s Garrity got to do with it?”
Locke smiled on him pityingly. “Don’t be childish, Weegman. That sort of a bluff is too thin. I was wise when I signed to manage the team.”
In vain the man stormed, threatened, coaxed, cajoled; he could not bend Lefty in the least, and at last he realized that he had made a big blunder in estimating the character of the southpaw.
“So it’s war between us, is it?” he finally asked.
“I have looked for nothing else,” answered the pitcher.
Weegman snapped his fingers in Locke’s face. “All right!” he cried. “You would have it! Just you wait! You’re going to regret it! We’ll see how long you last!” And, turning round, he strode away, muttering to himself.
Lefty had defied Weegman. Henceforth it was to be open war, and he was glad of it. What the rascal would attempt to do he did not know, and cared less. It did not seem likely that he could do much, if anything, that he had not already made preparations to do. Of course, he might call Collier into the affair, and that, should it bring the owner of the Blue Stockings back to his own country, was something earnestly to be desired. Could he but get Collier in private for twenty minutes, Locke felt sure he could make him realize that he was the victim of a conspiracy, and that his trusted private secretary had sought to sell him out into the hands of a rival owner.
The telephone rang, and, thinking Stillman was calling at last, he hastened to answer. It was not the reporter’s voice that he heard, but he was informed that some one was speaking from the office of theBlade, and that, after making a fruitless effort to get Locke on the wire, Stillman had foundit necessary to hustle away to keep an important appointment.
“But where can I find him?” asked the disappointed pitcher. “How can I get hold of him?”
“He wants to talk to you as much as you do to him,” was the answer. “Said it was absolutely necessary. That’s why he had me call you. Says he has something to tell you, personally and privately. He’ll try to be at Mike’s saloon, Thompson Street, near Broome, at three o’clock. If you get there first, wait for him. And don’t fail to come, for he’ll have important information. Got that straight?”
“Yes, but–”
“All right. I’ve done my duty. Good-by.” There was a click, and the wire was silent.
Lefty looked at his watch as he left the phone. It was twenty-two minutes to three.
“Just about time enough to make it comfortably,” he decided. “Stillman must be on the track of something.”
The subway being convenient, he chose it instead of a taxi, getting off at Spring Street. Five minutes ahead of time, he found Mike’s saloon, a somewhat disreputable-looking place when viewed from the exterior. The neighborhood, likewise, seemed sinister. However, a reporter’s business, thought Locke, carried him into all sorts of places.
Within the saloon a single patron, who looked like a vagrant, was picking at the crumbs of a sickly free lunch in a dark corner. A husky-looking, red-headed bartender was removing an emptied beer schooner and mopping up the counter. He surveyed the southpaw from head to foot with apparent interest.
“I’m looking for a man named Stillman who made an appointment to meet me here at three,” explained Lefty. “I was to wait for him if I got here first.”
“Jack’s here,” stated the man behind the bar, in a manner that bespoke considerable familiarity with the reporter. “Came in three or four minutes ago. Reckon you’re Lefty Locke?”
“That’s right.”
“He told me you might come round. He’s in the back room. Walk right in.” The speaker jerked a heavy thumb toward a closed door at the far end of the bar.
At the sound of Locke’s name the vagrant, who had been picking at the free lunch, turned to look the famous pitcher over with apparent curiosity and interest.
“Lefty Locke,” he mumbled huskily. “Lemme shake han’s. Ruther shake han’s with Lefty Locke than any man livin’.”
Locke pushed past him and placed his handon the knob of the door. The fellow followed, insisting upon shaking hands, and, as Lefty opened the door, the vagrant staggered, lurched against the pitcher, and thrust him forward, the door closing behind him with the snap of a spring lock.
It is remarkable how seldom any one ever heeds premonitions. Even as he opened that door, Lefty was aware that ever since the telephone call had come to him some subtle intuition, thus far wholly disregarded, had been seeking to sound a warning. It had caused him to hesitate at last. Too late! The push delivered by the vagrant had pitched him forward into the snare, while the sound of the clicking spring lock notified him that his retreat was cut off.
Through a dirty skylight above another door that probably opened upon a back alley some weak and sickly rays of daylight crept into the room. A single gas jet, suspended from the center of the cracked and smoky ceiling, gave a feeble, flickering light, filling the corners with fluttering shadows. The furniture in the room consisted of a table and a few chairs.
At the table three men were sitting, drinking and smoking. Locke, recovering from the push he had received, stepped back against the closed door, and looked at them.
“Hello!” said Mit Skullen. “Don’t hurry away, Lefty. Folks that come in by that door sometimes go out by the other one.”
He was grinning viciously, triumphantly. The look upon his face was one of satisfaction and brutal anticipation, and amply proclaimed his purpose.
Skullen’s companions were tough characters, fit associates and abettors of such a man. That they were thugs of the lowest type, who would not hesitate at any act of violence, there could be no question. One looked like a prize fighter who had gone to the bad, his drink-inflamed face and bleary eyes advertising the cause of his downfall. The other had the appearance of a “coke” fiend, and the criminally bent habitual user of that drug has neither scruples nor fear of consequences.
Locke regarded them in silence. His pulses were throbbing somewhat faster, yet he was cool and self-possessed, and his brain was keenly active. He knew precisely what he was up against. Slipping one hand behind him, he tried the knob of the door; but, as he had expected, the door held fast.
Skullen continued to grin gloatingly, fancying that Locke’s inactivity was evidence that he was practically paralyzed by amazement and fear.
“Your friend Stillman was too busy to come,”he said, “and so I kept the appointment for him. Maybe I’ll do just as well. Anyhow, I’ll do–for you!”
He had risen to his feet, and the light of the flickering gas jet played over his evil face. Lefty flashed another look around, taking in the surroundings. To his ears came the distant, muffled sound of an elevated train rumbling along the trestle. Behind him, in the front of the saloon, all was still. Probably the door leading to the street was now also locked to prevent any one from entering and hearing any disturbance that might take place in the back room. The jaws of the trap held him fast.
“Oh, it ain’t any use to think about runnin’ away, Lefty,” croaked Mit. “Not a chance in the world. I fixed it so’s we could have our little settlement without any one buttin’ in to bother us. You remember I told you I had a score to settle with you?”
As Locke spoke, his voice was calm and steady. “And you engaged a pair of worthy pals to assist you! You’re a brave man, Skullen!”
“Aw, these lads are only here to see fair play, that’s all. They won’t mix in. They won’t have to. Last time we met you reckoned you put it all over me, didn’t you? Maybe I ought to thank you for keepin’ me from gettin’ a rotter on mehands, for that’s what you got in Dummy Jones. You’re welcome to that piece of cheese.”
The southpaw made no retort. He was measuring his chances against all three of the ruffians, having no doubt that he must soon find himself pitted against such odds.
“Some baseball manager, that’s what you are!” scoffed Mit, taking keen delight in prolonging the suspense that he fancied must be getting the nerve of the intended victim. “You’re rattlin’ around like a buckshot inside a bass drum. A busy little person, you are, but you won’t be so busy after I finish with you. You’ll find it convenient to take a nice long rest in a hospital.”
“You fight a lot with your mouth, Mit,” said Locke contemptuously.
“Go ahead an’ sail inter him, Skully,” urged the ruffian who looked like a broken-down prize fighter. “You been itchin’ fer him to show up so you could get inter action. Go to it!”
“Plenty of time, Bill. I enjoy seein’ him try to push that door down with his back. Wasn’t he a mut to walk right into this? I’m goin’ to change the look of his face so that his handsome wife won’t know him when she sees him next.”
He began to remove his coat, and Lefty knew the time for action had come. For an instant his imagination had sought to unnerve him by presentinga vivid picture of himself as he would appear, battered, bleeding, beaten up, if the trio of thugs carried out their evil design; but he put the vision aside promptly. In cases where a smaller force is compelled to contend with a greater, the advantage is frequently obtained through swift and sudden assault. Knowing this, Locke did not wait to be attacked. He hurled himself forward with the spring of a panther and the force of a catapult.
Skullen, in the act of removing his coat, was caught unprepared. Before he could fling the garment aside Locke was upon him, aiming a well-meant blow for the point of Mit’s jaw.
Skullen realized that it was no trifling thing to stop such a blow as that, and he jerked his head aside, as he dropped his coat. The blow caught him glancingly and sent him staggering, upsetting the chair from which he had recently risen. Locke grabbed the edge of the table and pitched it against the ruffian’s two companions, who had hastily started to get up. They fell over, with the table on top of them.
Lefty followed up his advantage, and kept right on after Skullen. Uttering a snarl of astonished rage, the latter sought to grapple, but the southpaw knew that he could not afford to waste time in that sort of a struggle. Whatever he did must be done swiftly, effectively, and thoroughly. Delay meant only disaster to him. Avoiding the clutchinghands of his antagonist, he struck Mit on the neck, below the ear, staggering him again.
Skullen had not looked for such a whirlwind assault. He had fancied the trapped man would wait until set upon, and he had believed he would have little trouble in beating Lefty to the full satisfaction of his revengeful heart. He was strong and ponderous, and he could still strike a terrible blow, but years had slowed him down, his lack of exercise had softened his muscles, his eye had lost its quickness, while indulgence in drink and dissipation had taken the snap and ginger out of him. He had not realized before how much he had deteriorated, but now, witnessing the lightning-like movements of Lefty Locke, he began to understand, and sudden apprehension overcame him.
“Bill! Snuff!” he roared. “Get into it! Get at him, you snails! Soak him!”
His appeal to his companions was an unintentional admission that he suddenly realized he was no match for the man he had attempted to beat. The flickering gaslight had given him a glimpse of a terrible blazing look in Locke’s eyes. Once, in the ring, he had seen a look like that in the eyes of an opponent who had apparently gone crazy. And he had been knocked out by him!
Scrambling up from beneath the capsized table, Bill and Snuff responded. Lefty knew that in amoment they would take a hand in the fight, and then the odds would be three against one, and none of the three would hesitate at any brutal methods to smash the one. Once he was beaten down, they would kick and stamp him into insensibility; and later, perhaps, he would be found outside somewhere in the back alley, with broken bones, possibly maimed and disfigured for life.
The knowledge of what would happen to him, if defeated, made him doubly strong and fierce. He endeavored to dispose of Skullen first, believing that by doing so he would have half the battle won.
Skullen’s howls to his companions came to an abrupt termination. Like an irresistible engine of destruction, Locke had smashed through the defense of the ruffian, and, reaching him with a terrible blow, sent him spinning and crashing into a corner of the room. At the same instant, Bill, joining in, was met by a back kick in the pit of his stomach, and, with a grunt, he doubled up, clutching at his middle with both hands.
This gave the southpaw a chance to turn on Snuff, who had not, so far, shown any great desire to help his pals. The creature had seemed physically insignificant, sitting at the table, but now, in action, he moved with the quickness of a wild cat, in great contrast to the ponderousness ofSkullen. And he had a weapon in his hand–a blackjack!
The southpaw realized that, of his three antagonists, the creature springing at him like a deadly tarantula was the most to be dreaded. Insanity blazed in the fellow’s eyes. He struck with the blackjack, and Lefty barely avoided the blow.
Locke snapped out his left foot, and caught the toe of the man plunging past him, sending him spinning to the floor. Snuff’s body struck a leg of the overturned table and broke it off short, but the shock of the fall seemed to have absolutely no effect upon him; for he rebounded from the floor like a rubber ball, and was on his feet again in a flash, panting and snarling.
“Get him, Snuff–get him!” urged Skullen, coming up out of the corner where he had been thrown.
Bill, recovering his breath, was straightening up. All three of the thugs would be at the southpaw again in another jiffy. Lefty darted round the table, avoiding the blackjack, but realizing what a small chance he had with his bare hands. He could not keep up the dodging long. Then he saw the broken table leg, and snatched it up. With an upward swing, he landed a blow on Snuff’s elbow, breaking his arm. The blackjackflew to the smoky ceiling, and then thudded back to the floor.
Feeling sure he had checked his most dangerous antagonist, Lefty turned, swinging the table leg, and gave Skullen a crack on the shoulder that dropped him to his knees. He had aimed at Mit’s head, but the fellow had partially succeeded in dodging the blow.
Another blow, and the cry of alarm that rose to Bill’s lips was broken short. Bill went down, knocked senseless.
But Snuff, in spite of his broken arm, was charging again. He was seeking to get at the southpaw with his bare left hand! The pitcher, however, had no compunction, and he beat the madman down instantly.
Groaning and clinging to his injured shoulder, Skullen retreated hastily to the wall, staring in amazement and incomprehension at the breathless but triumphant man he had lured into this trap. In all his experience he had never encountered such a fighter.
There being no one to stop him now, Lefty walked to the door leading into the alley, found the key in the lock and turned it. One backward look he cast at the two figures on the floor and the man who leaned against the wall, clutching at his shoulder.
Policemen seemed to be scarce in that neighborhood, and Locke found one with difficulty. The officer listened incredulously to Lefty’s story. “Mike’s is a quiet place,” he said. “Didn’t make a mistake about where this happened, did you? Well, come on; we’ll go round there and see about it.”
The saloon was open when they reached it. The red-headed bartender was serving beer to an Italian and a Swede. The vagrant had vanished. The man behind the bar listened with a well-simulated air of growing indignation when the policeman questioned him. He glared at the pitcher.
“What are you tryin’ to put across, bo?” he demanded fiercely. “You never were in here before in your life. Tryin’ to give my place a bad name? Nothin’ like what you say ever happened around here. Nice little yarn about bein’ decoyed here by some coves that tried to beat you up! Say, officer, is this a holdup?”
“I’ve told you what he told me,” said the policeman.
“In my back room!” raged the barkeeper. “There ain’t been nobody in there for the last two hours. Come here an’ have a look.” He walked to the door and flung it open.
Skullen and his partners were gone. Even the broken table had been removed. There was nothingto indicate that a desperate encounter had taken place there a short time before.
“You cleaned up in a hurry,” said Lefty.
At this the barkeeper became still more furious, and was restrained by the officer, who scowled at the pitcher even as he held the other back.
“You don’t look like you’d been hitting the pipe, young feller,” growled the representative of the law; “but that yarn about being attacked by three men looks funny. Don’t notice any marks of the scrap on you. They didn’t do you much damage, did they? Say, you must have had a dream!”
Locke saw the utter folly of any attempt to press the matter. “As long as you insist upon looking at it in that way, officer,” he returned, with a touch of contempt that he could not repress, “we’ll have to let it go at that. But I’ll guarantee that there are three men somewhere in this neighborhood who’ll have to have various portions of their anatomies patched up by a doctor as the aftermath of that dream.”