This was the night of the weekly meeting of the Friends of Freedom, Barbarossa's circle, of which Jack was now a full member. On his way to the meeting-place he stopped in at Harmon Evers' place according to custom, to be metamorphosed from Jack Robinson into Henry Cassels, the wild-haired young anarchist.
Jack enjoyed these visits to the wig-maker. Evers was an original. His philosophy never failed him—nor his common-sense. He was so conspicuous for the latter quality that Jack more than once had been tempted to confide in him fully, with the idea of profiting by his advice. It was only the general rule he had laid down for himself, not to tell a soul of his affairs, that had restrained him. As it was, he and Evers had talked over the situation in hypothetical terms. Evers never allowed himself to betray a vulgar curiosity.
Evers' wit and wisdom were usually expressed in terms of hair. His special knowledge was astonishing. He could tell you offhand the style of hairdressing favored by a great man at any stage of his career, and drew ingenious parallels between his hair and his policy. Napoleon's downfall he ascribed to the atrophy of his follicles.
As it was after shop-hours the work was done in Evers' apartment up-stairs, a model of neatness and comfort. Clearly Mrs. Evers' past triumphs on the boards had not unfitted her for the soberer business of housekeeping. Though they showed every evidence of being well-to-do they kept no servant.
"So to-night is lodge-night," said Evers facetiously, as he worked over Jack's hair. "Odd isn't it, how grown men love to club together and surround themselves with all manner of solemn nonsense. The original lodges were in the African jungle. The high officers in secret societies are nearly always bald. Yet hair plays a large part in many rituals. Consider the goat!"
"This is not exactly a lodge that I belong to," said Jack.
"I understand," said Evers. "That was just my little joke. I guess the risks you take, my young friend, and I admire your courage. You have the hair of a brave man. I am always delighted when you return to me in safety to have the make-up removed. It is a valuable work you are engaged on, too. These people are the weeds of our fertile soil; they should be rooted up."
"As to rooting them up I leave that to the police," said Jack carelessly. "I have a special object in view. There are worse things in the world than a lot of spouting anarchists."
"What could be worse?"
"Well, murder as a business proposition."
"Good Heavens! Can such things be possible!"
The meeting-place of the Friends of Freedom was very ingeniously contrived. You entered by the front door of a big double-decker tenement on Orchard street. So many people came and went by this door, that the arrival of the Reds singly and in couples was entirely unnoticed. You passed through the hall of the double-decker into a narrow paved court where a smaller rear tenement faced you.
Entering the latter building, you gave the password at a door on the left of the hall, and assembled with your fellow-members in a large bare room. But this was not the meeting-place. When all were present, and the scrutineers were satisfied, that all had a right to be present, the hall door was locked, a trap in the floor was lifted, and all present silently descended into the cellar. The last man let the trap fall behind him.
Though damp and moldy-smelling, the place was otherwise admirably fitted for its purpose. The walls were of thick rough stone without any openings. A special ceiling had been constructed to keep sounds from rising. In such a vault the speakers could shout themselves hoarse without any danger of giving anything away to the outside world. It is no easy task to find a safe meeting-place for anarchists. In this case the landlord was a member of the circle.
There was another stairway at the rear by which Barbarossa alone was privileged to enter. Jack understood that this stair led to a room in an adjoining house, whence you could gain the next street. It provided a means of escape in case of a surprise from the police.
It was a wild-looking crowd that gathered in the cellar. They specialized in original hirsute effects. Evers the wig-maker could have obtained many new ideas there. But Jack had not attended many meetings before he began to suspect that their wildness did not extend much further than hair. They were noisy, but not particularly dangerous. They seemed to Jack like a parcel of children making believe to be enemies of society. Some of the younger men spoke with a genuine fire, but they were generally squelched by their elders. These elders stood as pat on their formulas as an old guard Republican on his.
This was particularly true of Barbarossa their leader. Anarchy was Barbarossa's meal-ticket, and he worked it for all there was in it. Barbarossa's superb red beard and flaming aureole of hair were his principal stock in trade. He made a magnificent passionate figure on the rostrum. Every word he uttered was received as gospel, for loyalty to him had become a tradition. But to Jack who came to the meetings with a cool brain, Barbarossa's eloquence seemed a pumped-up affair.
To-night the proceedings were held up for ten minutes by the tardy arrival of a member Jack had not seen before, who had sent word in advance of his coming. This was an important man, Jack was told, too busy to attend every meeting. He proved to be a man in his forties, somewhat corpulent, with smooth jetty black hair and small moustache and the clear, pallid skin that goes with such hair. Unlike the others he affected the neat style of a business man. He was addressed as Comrade Wilde.
Jack apprehended a new quality in this man, a more dangerous quality than in any of the others. He watched him closely. Unfortunately the place was none too well lighted. Comrade Wilde held whispered conferences with different members, but took no part in the speechmaking.
Barbarossa harangued the gathering in fiery style on the subject of the iniquities of the Federal Reserve Banking system. Comrade Rado then arose and proposed that the New York branch be blown up as a protest. Barbarossa rebuked him for making such a suggestion in open meeting. It appeared there was a committee to act on such matters. Somebody said something about a "Star Chamber" and a violent dispute was engendered. It was thus at every meeting. Jack suspected Barbarossa of purposely throwing the meeting into disorder. Acts of violence threatened his livelihood. Comrade Wilde listened to the uproar with an ill-disguised sneer.
It was stilled by the speech of Comrade Berg, a mere slip of a youth whom Jack had not noticed before. He rose with trembling hands and ecstatic eyes, and spoke in a voice of soft intensity. His subject was the necessity of purifying themselves for the great sacrifice. The words were not extraordinary; it was the self-forgetfulness, the strange half-insane passion of the speaker that quieted the noisy, ordinary crowd.
"Hello!" thought Jack. "This is the real thing! This will bear watching." Out of the corner of his eyes he observed that Comrade Wilde was likewise attending sharply to the youth.
His speech bore no relation to what had gone before. He had reached such a state of exaltation as to be unaware of what was going on around him.
"We must give up father, mother, dear ones, friends; we must learn to do without love and affection; we must cast out all that makes life sweet to live, so that when the time comes to leave it there may be no unmanly hanging back. We must eat and drink no more than enough to keep life in the body. The world will never be saved by guzzlers. Gross eating obscures the finer spirit of man. In abstemiousness and solitude the true inspiration comes.
"I am young. I have no right to tell men older in the Cause what to do. I am speaking for myself only. I lived alone until the message came to me. I am ready now to give all. When you want an instrument I ask you to use me first."
Barbarossa had been growing more and more uneasy. He now interrupted the youth. "One moment, Comrade. You are out of order. There is some unfinished business from the last meeting. Afterwards we will be glad to hear you. The question that was held over to be put to the vote at this meeting is: Shall we take political action at the next election."
This was a favorite subject of controversy, and the meeting was instantly convulsed again. Berg sat down dazed. He was not allowed to speak again.
"Poor young devil!" thought Jack. "Looks half starved. I'll ask him out to supper."
When they were completely talked out the meeting broke up. The comrades mounted the stairs in amity all controversies forgotten. With their bosoms relieved of much perilous stuff, they yawned comfortably, and began to think of supper.
Jack attached himself to young Berg as they gained the street. "Say, that was a great speech," he said by way of ingratiating himself.
The youth pushed the lank hair out of his eyes and looked at Jack wildly. The light of incipient madness was in his eyes.
"Poor devil! Poor devil!" thought Jack. The sight hurt him. Aloud he said: "Let's go and have a bite of supper."
Berg shook his head.
"Oh,come on!" said Jack thrusting his arm through the other youth's.
The tone of genuine friendliness must have reached the cold breast. Berg gave in without further objection.
They entered one of the big bakery-restaurants on Grand street, and ordered coffee and hamburgers. The smell of cooking brought a faint color into Berg's livid cheeks, and his nostrils dilated.
But the hamburgers were not destined to be eaten by them. When he had given the order Jack went into a booth to telephone Evers not to wait up for him, as he could lodge outside in his disguise and come in to change in the morning. Mrs. Evers took the message. When he came out of the booth Berg had left their table.
"Where did my friend go?" Jack asked the waiter.
"I dunno. Guy come in and spoke to him private, and he took his hat and went with him."
"What kind of looking guy?"
"Fat. Real black hair, black moustache, pale face. Dressed neat. Derby and black Melton overcoat."
This was a good description of Comrade Wilde.
"Oh, Damn!" muttered Jack.
He put down the money for what he had ordered and left the place. He spent three hours wandering about the East Side, looking into such places as were still open, on the bare chance of running into his man. All in vain of course. Finally he sought out a cheap lodging and threw himself down exhausted. He was tormented by the sense of an impending disaster.
In the morning Jack called up the Madagascar to see if there was any message for him. It appeared that some one had telephoned him several times since the night before. No name had been left, but the telephone number was given.
The number suggested nothing to Jack. He called it, and a voice strange to him answered. He asked if there was anyone there who wished to speak to Mr. Robinson, and after a pause he heard another voice, a squeaky treble.
"This Mr. Robinson? Gee! I thought I'd never get hold of you!"
"Who is it?"
"Whitcomb. You know."
"Whitcomb? I don't know," said Jack perplexed.
"You know, your confidential agent that you gave orders to yesterday."
A light broke on Jack. "Sure!" he cried. "Didn't recognize the name."
"Well you never know who may be tapping the wire."
"Very wise precaution. What is it, Tommy—I mean Whitcomb?"
"I got a report to make."
"Fire away."
"Can't tell you over the phone. It's too important. Say, Mr. Robinson, I got what you sent me after all right."
"Good boy!"
"Want me to come to the hotel?"
Jack not knowing if Bobo and Miriam would be out of the way, said "No." He considered a moment. "Meet me at Harmon Evers' shop, number — East Twenty-Ninth street. In half an hour."
The half hour gave Jack time to get to Evers' and change his make-up. It was not yet eight o'clock.
Evers evinced a strong interest in Tommy when he arrived. "Comical little fellow, isn't he?" he said. "That wiry, blonde hair betokens an enterprising character. These boys of the street learn to think for themselves early."
Tommy and Jack did not discuss their business of course, until they had left the shop. Outside Jack said:
"Do you mean to say you have spotted the house where the old man lives?"
"Not where he lives, but where he changes his clothes."
"Good man! Where is it?"
"Forty-Eighth street, near Seventh avenue."
"We'll go there," said Jack, and looked up and down for a taxi-cab. "You can tell me the whole story on the way. We'll stop at the Madagascar for a gun and a pair of handcuffs in case we meet our friend."
When they were seated in the cab Tommy began his story. "I was thinking over everything you told me, and it seemed to me I wouldn't have a very good show to trail the old man by myself. Maybe he knew my face you see, and anyway the uniform was a give away. So I got my cousin to help me. He ain't working now. He's bigger'n me. We're going partners in the detective business when we get the coin to open up an office."
"I described him the man I was after, and placed him acrost the street from the office, with instructions to follow me if I come up, and pick up the trail if I had to drop it."
"Well, about half past two yes'day, old man come into the office for his package all right. Soon as I see him I slides out and waits for him outside. Say he was cagy all right. He had a hunch he was being trailed. Dodged in one door of the Knickerbocker and out again by another. In the Forty-Second street building he tried to shake me by riding in different elevators, but I stuck to him all right. Me cousin was right there too, with his tongue hanging out."
"He took to the Subway next. Got on an up-town local at Grand Central. I got in the next car because I thought he might reco'nize me, but me cousin sits down right opposite him. Well after we left Times Square station he comes into my car, gives me a hard look, and sits down beside me. Say, me heart was going like a compressed air riveter."
"He says to me: 'Don't you work at 1118 Broadway?' and I says: 'Yes, sir.' He says: 'I guess you worked for me sometimes,' and I looks at him hard and makes out to reco'nize him for the first, and says: 'Yes, sir.' He says: 'You carried a little package for me up to the Hotel Beanvenoo yes'day.' I says: 'Yes, sir. The lady was out, so I brung it back.'"
"'Hm!' says he, like that, and looks at me real hard for a minute, I guess. He's got blue eyes that make holes in you like bay'nits. But he didn't get any change off a me. Then he says real sudden-like: 'Has anybody been trying to fix you?' 'Why no sir!' I says with a baby stare. 'I dunno what you mean.'"
"'Where you going now?' says he. I hadda say somepin real quick. I says: 'I gotta deliver a letter up-town.' 'Where?' 'Seventy-Second street.' He says: 'Let me see it.' I says: ''Gainst the rules, boss.' He laughs sneery like."
"By this time the train was pulling into Fiftieth. 'Well I get out here' he says, sticking me with those eyes again. And there he left me flat. What could I do. But I look and I see me cousin is hep, so I know all ain't lost yet. As the train pulls out I see that kid foller him up the stairs."
"Well I chases home, and changes me clo'es. I puts on the toughest rig I got. Then I went down to Mis' Harvest's store and waited 'round. Mis' Harvest keeps a little candy and stationery store under my house. Me cousin and me, we never plague her like the other kids does, and she lets us sort of stick around. We use her phone in our business. We had agreed if we got separated, the one who lost the trail was to go to Mis' Harvest's and wait for a call."
"Me cousin calls me up about four o'clock. He says the old man is sitting in the Knickerbocker bar, drinking and talking to a feller, and if I hustle maybe I can git there before he leaves. Well, I meets me cousin outside the door of the bar, and he says the old man is still inside. He patrols the Broadway side, and I takes the Forty-Second street entrance, and we meet at the corner, and exchange signals.
"Bye and bye old man comes out my cousin's door, and the two of us take after him down Broadway. At Fortieth street, old man turns real sudden and grabs hold me cousin. There was a cop there. Old man says: 'Officer, this boy has been follerin' me all afternoon!' Cop takes a grip on me cousin; say, maybe that kid wasn't scared! Cop says: 'What do you want to annoy this gen'leman for?' but me cousin was mum as a dummy! Cop says: 'Do you want to lay 'a complaint, sir?' Old man says: 'Haven't time. Just warn him, and let him go.' So the cop boots me cousin down the side street, and old man goes on down Broadway. But I was right there steppin' on his heels. He never thought of looking at me in me old clothes."
"Well now he thought he was clear of us all, and he didn't bother about coverin' his tracks no more. He crosses Broadway, and comes back tutter side. He only made one stop. That was in a cigar store. He telephoned from the booth. Then he led me straight to the house on 48th near 7th, an old private house it was, that's been turned into stores and offices. There was no elevator nor nothing.
"I couldn't foller him inside, so I waits acrost the street. He come out in half an hour. Say, I almost missed him then. He's a rapid change artist for fair! Had a big trust on him now——"
"Trust?" interrupted Jack.
"You know, corporation, bow-window——" Tommy illustrated.
"I see, go on."
"But he looked twenty years younger. Real black hair now, little black moustache, white face—like a dude Eyetalian. Had a neat derby on, and black overcoat."
"Good God!" cried Jack. "Comrade Wilde! You're sure it was the same man."
"Certain sure! But it was a peach of a make-up. I wouldn't of got on to it, only he didn't walk like a fat man. He didn't lean back far enough to balance his load if it was bona-fide."
"Pretty good!" said Jack. "I never thought of that."
"Well, I took after him again, but he give me the slip at Sixth Avenue. There was a car waiting for him there—big black limousine——"
"I know it!" said Jack ruefully.
"He hopped it, and went off down-town. There was a taxi there too, but the shover only laughed at me, when I wanted to hire him. By the time I satisfied him I had the price, the black car was out of sight."
"I went back to the house on Forty-eighth. There's a lady's hat store in the basement, and a beauty parlor on the first floor. Up-stairs is mixed offices and unfurnished rooms. It's one of those old style walk-up houses that you can go in and out of, without being noticed. I made out to be looking for a Mr. Webster. By asking round I found out the old man has the third floor rear. There's no sign on the door nor nothing. The other tenants thinks it's a traveler that just keeps his samples there. None of them don't know him."
With a brief stop at the Madagascar for the purpose mentioned, Jack and his diminutive assistant were carried to the house on Forty-Eighth street. Tommy led the way to the third floor rear. Above the parlor floor no changes had been made in the old-fashioned residence, beyond letting a few panes of glass in the door panels to light the hall. But the door Tommy indicated was of the original solid wood. Jack knocked without receiving any answer. There was no sound of any movement within.
Jack had made up his mind that the boldest way of entering would be the simplest. He therefore sent Tommy in search of a locksmith while he remained silently on guard in the hall. When the workman appeared Jack explained that he had inadvertently locked his keys in his room, and instructed him to pick the lock. When the man set to work, Jack privately dispatched Tommy down into the yard to keep an eye on the rear windows.
Opening the door was no great task. Jack looked inside with a fast beating heart. His first general impression was of a simply furnished office. He dismissed the locksmith, and recalled Tommy by a signal from the window.
The principal object in the room was an old-fashioned flat-topped desk so placed between the windows that the light would fall over the user's shoulders. The desk was covered with papers, and the merest glance was enough to show Jack that he had here the conclusive evidence that he had been so long in search of. He decided to call in official help now. There was a telephone on the desk, but he hesitated trusting his secret to it. Instead, he wrote a note to the Deputy Commissioner, asking for two plain clothes men to be sent him at once. This he entrusted to Tommy, instructing him to take a taxicab to police headquarters.
The door was fitted with a spring lock of the usual pattern. It had not been injured, and when the door closed it locked itself. As soon as he was left alone Jack set about making a careful examination of the place. He figured that should the owner return, the sound of the key in the lock would give him sufficient warning. He laid his automatic ready to his hand on the desk. He was careful to make no sound that would warn any one who might stop to listen at the door before entering.
First he took a general survey. The two windows of the room looked out on an array of back yards and on the rear of a long row of similar buildings in the next street. One of the windows opened on a fire escape. At one's right as one faced the windows was an old-fashioned fireplace: across the room were two doors, the lower giving on the stair hall, the upper presumably on the hall room adjoining. The latter door was screwed to its frame.
At the other end of the room from the windows was a large closet. Jack, fearful of being trapped by the return of the owner merely looked in here. It was set out with a bureau and mirror, and from pegs around the walls depended an extraordinary assortment of clothes. Jack saw that there was a complete separate outfit on each peg; fine clothes and mean, native and foreign; a policeman's uniform, and a complete turn-out for a woman. Above the pegs a shelf ran around, and over each peg was a box which presumably contained the smaller articles to complete each make-up.
Interesting as was this exhibit, the papers in connection with the desk quickly drew Jack away from it. Behind the desk there was an object which whetted his curiosity to the highest degree. This was an oaken cabinet with drawers of the kind that are used to contain modern card index systems. Jack eagerly pulled out the top drawer.
Inside was a set of large cards, each headed by a name in the usual manner, and with various particulars as to that individual entered beneath. As the scheme became clear to him Jack's heart beat fast. He could scarcely credit the evidence of his senses. It appeared that he held in his hands a complete record of the operations of "Mr. B." What strange freak of vanity could have led the criminal to collect such a mass of damning evidence!
Here was one card chosen at random.
BLAKELY, CHARLES EVANS
Office: Blakely Bros. & Co., 47 Wall St.
Town house: No. 9 East — St. (Dec. 1st to May 1st.)
Country home: Scarborough-on-Hudson. (Goes up week-ends all year.)
Income: $200,000. (Principally stocks and bonds.)
Personal description: 41 years old; short, fat all over, bald, rosy; known as "Kewpie Blakely." Brown hair and eyes. Wears large, square-cut emerald on left hand pinky. Agent C.D. reports: Blakely is one of thebon vivantsof the Millionaires' Club, a jolly, open-handed, good-natured fellow, enormously popular. Is a well-known collector of Persian faience. Is happily married and has four children, but is reputed to be somewhat gay. N.B. Reports from female agents do not bear this out. Q. reports Blakely employs a body-guard to ride beside him in his car. Says Blakely never walks in the street. Has a watchman in the corridors of his house at night.
On the other side of the card was a series of chronological entries, some of which were obscure, though the main story was clear enough.
April 17th 19-- Sent form AA.18th Instructed Anderson to follow up.19th Anderson reports nothing doing.23rd Sent form AB.25th Anderson reports his solicitorthrown out of Blakely's office.26th Instructed Anderson let B. alone forpresent. Sent G. M. to Mrs. Cleaver'swith orders to get next to Blakely.May 3rd G. M. reports nothing doing.Blakely's in love with his wife.4th Tried a man instead. Instructed J. L. towin Blakely's friendshipthrough his love of art.June 11th J. L. reports success. Is on intimatefooting with Blakely. SentJ. L. capsule with instructions foradministering.15th J. L. reports success. Blakely apparentlyvery ill.16th Wrote Blakely that he had beenpoisoned, and next time he'd get afatal dose.17th Blakely sent his secretary to EurekaAgency to subscribe.
The story told by this card was typical. Some of the victims had required more pressure; some had given in easier. Some had fallen behind in their payments, and had required to be "persuaded" anew. Two of the cards Jack turned over, those of Ames Benton and Silas Gyde, were significantly underlined: "Account closed." Jack shuddered.
From the card index he turned to the litter of papers on the desk. On top lay a typewritten communication which bore neither address nor signature, but from the contents was unmistakably to be identified as a report from one of "Mr. B's" agents. It read as follows:
"I cannot give you any definite data as to X's movements around his country place, because his habits are very irregular. He comes out from town sometimes by motor, sometimes by train, and at any hour. Sometimes he stays up in the country for several days at a time, transacting his business over a private telephone wire.
"I understand he laughs at the idea of danger to himself, and is averse to taking any special precautions. I have learned though, that Mrs. X on her own responsibility has engaged guards to patrol their place very thoroughly. It is well known that the Green Hollow Club where he plays golf has long been guarded by a small army under the guise of 'gardeners,' 'green-keepers,' etc.
"I have not been able to win the confidence of any of the servants in the country. They're a crabby lot. It seems Mrs. X has taken them into her confidence regarding a 'danger threatening their master' and they're all making a great brag of their loyalty, etc. I don't think anything can be successfully pulled off up there.
"But here's a plan. Mr. X sleeps in his town house whenever he is detained late in town. The house is closed of course, and is under the care of two old servants, Tom Monahan and his wife. I learned that Tom was a member of the — district Democratic Club, and I scraped acquaintance with him there. We are now good friends. I have the entrée to the X house (when the master is not there) and can describe it to you fully.
"Yesterday I was sitting in the kitchen with the Monahans, when I noticed that the house in the next street which backs up against the X house is in the hands of painters and decorators. That gave me my idea. It would be useless to try to enter the X house from the front. Monahan has orders not to admit any one whatsoever while Mr. X is there. But there is a door from the kitchen into the back yard which is never locked except at night. I suppose they think that the high board fence around the yard is sufficient protection.
"When X spends the night in town, Mrs. Monahan cooks his breakfast for him, and at half past nine (she is very methodical) carries it up to the dining-room and puts it on the steam table. She does not call her master. He comes down when he is ready. Another thing, Mrs. Monahan does not allow her husband in the kitchen while she is cooking. At this hour he will be in the servants' hall in the front of the basement, reading the paper.
"Here's my plan. Let your man go to the house where the painters are at work—it is No. — East 65th Street, and let him ask the boss painter for a job. The painters are working on the fourth and fifth floors now. He'll be turned down of course, or referred to the office. Now when he comes down-stairs instead of leaving the house, let him go into the dining-room to get the lay of things. The dining-room is the first floor rear. The windows overlook the kitchen and dining-room of the X house.
"When he sees Mrs. Monahan go up to the dining-room with X's breakfast, let him slip down-stairs and out through the yard of the vacant house. He will have a good five minutes or more while Mrs. M is arranging the things, etc. He will find plenty of ladders. Let him plant a short ladder against the back fence and drop into the X's yard. He cannot be seen from the X house unless Mrs. M just happens to be at the dining-room window, which is very unlikely.
"I will enclose a little plan of the X house. Your man enters from the yard by door A, crosses kitchen and goes out by door Z into passage; opens door C into housemaid's closet, where he conceals himself until Mrs. M returns to kitchen. He then goes up the stairs D which brings him to the pantry above. There is a swing door into the dining-room. In front of this door is a tall leather screen. If he waits behind this screen until X gets fairly inside the room, he will be between him and the only exit. If X is already in the room he will have him dead to rights.
"After the accident the chances of your man making a getaway are slim. The entrance hall to the house lies just in front of the dining-room. There are two stairs from the basement. If Monahan runs up through the pantry your man may get out by the front door, if he can open it in time, but if M comes up the front stairs he will meet him in the hall. However, I understood from you that the matter of the getaway was not of the first importance.
"P.S. I have opened this to add that I have just learned X is booked to speak at the A.B.A. dinner at the Astor on Tuesday night. He will stay in town. If you think my plan is good enough you'll have to pull the trick Wednesday morning. The next time X stays in town the painters in the vacant house will be finished."
Jack sat scowling at this document. Another ghastly assassination scheduled! His skin crawled with horror. How to discover the identity of the victim and warn him in time was the problem. It was planned for Wednesday morning——
Suddenly Jack sprang to his feet electrified. This was Wednesday morning. And it must be about nine-thirty now! He pulled out his watch with trembling fingers. The hands pointed to twenty minutes past nine. He had ten minutes! And he had yet to find out whom they planned to kill!
He searched frantically among the other papers on the desk for a possible clue. He uncovered a card which had been removed from the index temporarily. A glance at it was sufficient.
DELAMARE, WALTER DE COURCY.
Of course! Delamare had threatened to defy the blackmailers! Delamare's house was on the North side of East Sixty-fourth Street: Delamare had been the principal speaker at the bankers' dinner the night before: Jack thought of the man's fine courage, his humanity, his humor, his unfailing kindness to himself, and turned sick with horror.
"I have not time!" he groaned.
He fell on the telephone book. Delamare's address was not listed there. Like many a prominent man he did not care to subject his home to the annoyance of calls from cranks and strangers. It is useless to ask Information for such numbers. Jack tried the bank but it was before the opening hour and he could get no answer. Meanwhile the precious moments were slipping.
He snatched up his hat, and ran out of the room careless if all his work was destroyed, so he might save his friend. He had to run half a block before he met a taxicab. That took him swiftly enough to Delamare's house. The inexpressive blind windows told him nothing of what was happening within. It was exactly nine-thirty when he rang the bell. He prayed that Delamare might oversleep to-day.
The door was opened by a middle-aged caretaker, with a somewhat forbidding look, evidently Monahan.
"I must see Mr. Delamare at once!" said Jack breathlessly.
"Not at home. You'll have to go to his office," was the stolid response.
Jack could stand no more. "Good God, man! His life is threatened. I must warn him!"
Monahan was sure then that he had a crank to deal with. He barred the way with his great bulk. "Take yourself off!" he growled. "Or I'll call the police."
Jack almost despaired. "Shut the door and leave me here if you want," he said, "but for God's sake go to your master quickly. Keep him out of the dining-room until you search it. There's a murderer hidden there!"
Monahan's mind moved slowly. He stood staring at Jack full of sullen suspicion.
"Go! Go!" cried Jack.
A shot rang out in the house, seemingly right behind Monahan.
"Too late!" cried Jack.
The sound of the shot galvanized the heavy-witted one into action. Turning, he ran from the door, leaving it open. Jack followed him. The dining-room as he already knew adjoined the hall. As Monahan opened the door there was flashed on Jack's brain the picture of a man standing with a gun in his hand, and another lying face down on the floor.
"Seize him!" he cried instinctively.
But at the sound of their coming, the erect man turned, and Jack saw that it was Delamare with face pale but composed.
"Oh, you're all right! Thank God!" cried Jack. The suddenness of the reaction almost unmanned him. He had to support himself against the door frame.
"You, Robinson?" said Delamare in a low steady voice. "Were you warned of this?"
"Just ten minutes ago. I came as quickly as I could."
"Do you know him?" asked Delamare pointing to the figure on the floor.
"I think so. Turn him over."
Monahan obeyed, and as Jack had expected, he saw the livid, drawn face of the half mad youth he had tried to befriend. The eyes were closed.
Jack nodded. "His name is Berg. Is he dead?"
Delamare shook his head smiling. "Not much. Stunned only. I cracked him on the head with his own gun. He had no strength."
A wave of compassion swept over Jack. "Poor devil! Poor devil!" he murmured. "He isn't the real criminal!"
"I expect not," said Delamare.
Jack suddenly became aware of a dark stain spreading on Delamare's coat sleeve above the elbow. "You're wounded!" he cried.
"Nothing serious. A flesh wound. I can move my arm freely."
"You must have a doctor."
"All right. Monahan, telephone for Doctor McArdle. Then for the police."
By this time Berg's eyes were open. He was muttering incoherently, and rolling his head from side to side on the floor. As Monahan was leaving the room, Jack was struck by an idea.
"Wait a minute!" he said. To Delamare: "If I might make a suggestion——?"
"Go ahead."
"Couldn't we keep this affair to ourselves for the present?"
"Certainly, if it will further your plans."
"This young fellow is mad—or the next thing to it. If we could put him in the hands of a good brain specialist, and have his senses restored by proper treatment, he might make an invaluable witness against the man we really want."
"Good!" said Delamare. "We'll call Doctor Watkins Kent. Monahan, never mind the police. First call Doctor McArdle, and say I have had a slight accident. Say no more than that. Then call Doctor Watkins Kent. Say that Mr. Delamare presents his compliments, and wants to know if he can make it convenient to come to his house at once on a matter of importance."
Jack, remembering the critical stage at which he had left matters in Forty-Eighth street, did not wait for the doctors, but left Berg in Mr. Delamare's care, and hastened back. He found that Tommy and the two plainclothes men had arrived in the meantime, but finding him gone, they were hanging around outside the door of the room, at a loss what to do.
This time they broke in the door without ado. At his first glance inside Jack saw that the room had been visited. Though he had been away but little more than half an hour, a clean sweep had been made of the cards and papers. A still smoldering fire in the grate showed the manner of their disposal. The window on the fire escape was open.
"He was inside when you got here!" cried Jack. "He heard you outside. Now he's given us the slip again. Why didn't you watch the back windows!"
The city detectives looked distinctly aggrieved. The spokesman for the pair said: "How did we know what your game was?"
"You knew!" said Jack to Tommy.
Tommy hung his head. "When I came back, and found you gone, I didn't know rightly what to do," he muttered.
Jack saw that it was really nobody's fault. "Oh, well, we'll have to try again," he said.
"You should have called on us sooner," said the principal detective condescendingly.
"Sorry, I didn't," said Jack dryly.
The other missed the note of irony. "Well, lay out your case to us now, and we'll give you some experienced advice."
Somehow the manner of this well-meaning gentleman did not inspire Jack with overmuch confidence as to his perspicacity. Moreover, since his man and his evidence were both gone, he saw nothing to be gained by consulting the police.
"I'm not quite ready to do that," he said good-naturedly. "Sorry to have troubled you for nothing."
The two detectives exchanged a look of scorn. "These amateurs think they know it all!" it said. Only the fact that they knew Jack was a great man's secretary, and therefore a person to be propitiated, restrained them from audible comment.
However, when they found that Jack was disposed to reward them liberally, they changed their opinion of him. Ten dollar bills are wonderful sweeteners.
"How about me?" asked Tommy anxiously.
"Back to the mines," said Jack. "In other words, 1118 Broadway."
Tommy's face fell piteously.
"Mind you," said Jack quickly. "I'm not blaming you for our failure. You did wonderful work. I'll send for you when the trail gets hot again."
He likewise presented Tommy with a green testimonial of his appreciation.
Before any of them got out of the room the telephone bell most surprisingly rang. They all stopped and stared at the instrument as if they expected an apparition to issue from the mouthpiece.
"Wait!" said Jack. "Perhaps there's something here."
He took down the receiver. "Hello," he said ingratiatingly.
The reply came in a tone no less dulcet: "How do you do, Mr. Robinson."
Jack almost dropped the receiver. "Why—what—who—" he stammered.
He heard a light laugh on the wire. "You are surprised. But I was sure I would find you there."
"Who is this?" asked Jack sparring for time—he knew very well.
"Need you ask?" replied the mocking voice. "This is the owner of the desk at which you are now seated."
Jack said to himself, "Mustn't let him think he's putting it over you!" He answered in the same mocking tone. "How do you do. So glad you called me up."
Clapping a hand over the transmitter, he whispered swiftly to the leading detective: "This is the man. Trace the call back. If he's anywhere near, get him. I'll keep him talking."
The detective took a note of the number on the transmitter, and ran out followed by Tommy.
Meanwhile the voice on the wire was saying: "Sorry I was out when you called."
"Very glad to wait until you can get back," said Jack.
"That's nice of you. But I'm mighty sorry, I've been called out of town."
As on a former occasion Jack's recollection was vaguely stirred by something familiar in the man's voice. He supposed that this was the man who had appeared as Comrade Wilde the night before, but as Wilde had not spoken aloud within Jack's hearing, it must have been on some other occasion he had heard this voice. But he could not place it.
When the exchange of ironical civilities began to pall, Jack asked politely: "What can I do for you, Mr. B.?"
"I just wanted a little chat with you. I wanted to congratulate you on your game."
"Thanks!"
"It's been a mighty interesting game that you and I have been playing the last few weeks; a sort of chess game with human pawns, eh?"
"That's right."
"Well, you've won. You have checkmated me."
"Do you mind telling me what you mean by that exactly?"
"I have quit. Burned my records as you see; closed up Anderson and the other agencies; paid off and called in all my operatives."
"Going to retire on your winnings, eh?"
"Quite so," was the calm reply. "But do me the credit of believing that it was not the money I was playing for, but the joy of the game. It was a great game! For three years I have pitted myself single-handed against the combined wealth of this country. I have taken my toll of the millionaires, and not all the power that wealth commands was able to stop me!"
"True enough," said Jack grimly. "I could admire you myself, if you had only left murder out of your calculations."
The man at the other end of the wire chose to ignore the ugly word. He resumed: "I'm counting on the fact that your head is strong enough not to be turned by what I'm telling you."
"I don't quite get you there," said Jack.
"In other words you're too good a man I hope, to be unduly puffed up by the fact that I salute you as the victor, and retire from the game. You will not be foolish enough to think that you have me altogether at your mercy."
"Oh, I hope I know a good player myself when I see one."
"Good! Then you will be content with your victory, which I assure you is no mean one for a man of your years. So long as you have stopped me you will not feel that it is necessary to your triumph to have me apprehended."
"Oh, I didn't say that," Jack answered quickly. "I should have to consider that carefully. I couldn't promise anything offhand."
"Promise?" said the voice quickly, with a touch of pique. "I want no promise. It is nothing to me what you decide. I like you for your sportsmanlike qualities, and therefore I give you fair warning. It is for your own good that I suggest you go no further."
"Much obliged," said Jack dryly, "I'll consider it."
There was still pique in the voice. "Don't get a swelled head, my young friend. It is fatal to clever youths. I've been playing with you the last few weeks. It amused me to see how near I could let you come to me, and still evade you. But if I wished to keep out of your way, you could never get within miles of me!"
"Then why bother about the matter?"
"Because I am tired of the chase. I'm going to settle down into a nice hum-drum life of respectability. I'm not going to put myself to the trouble of running away from you."
"And if I should still keep after you?"
"I'd be awfully sorry," drawled the voice, "but I should really have to put a quietus on you. I could, you know. I've had a dozen chances within the past ten days."
Jack had no reason to doubt the truth of the last statement. He shivered a little. After all, life was sweet.
"I should hate to do it," the voice went on, "you're too good a sport."
"Much obliged," put in Jack.
"But I'd have no choice, really. I must have rest. My doctor orders it."
Jack smiled grimly at the thought of a crook threatened with nervous prostration as a result of overwork. These are rapid times that we live in! He cast about in his mind for the means to prolong the conversation.
"How do I know you're on the square?" he asked. "About quitting, I mean."
"Go see your friend Anderson to-morrow. You'll find him closed up. Mail your employer's check to the Eureka Protective Association. It will be returned to you by the post-office."
It seemed wise to Jack to appear to fall in with the other's suggestions. "I appreciate your friendliness in warning me," he said. "Do you mind if I ask you a question or two. Just natural, human curiosity, you know."
"Ask them and I'll see."
"How did you know I had been here in your office when you came. I had disturbed nothing."
"Perhaps I was there myself at the time."
"Impossible! I made sure of that."
The laugh sounded again. "Nothing is impossible! Think it over!"
"What first put you on to the fact that I was after you?"
"Oh, you want to know too much," was the laughing reply. "Answer me a question."
"Go ahead."
"What first made you suspect the Eureka Association?"
"Mr. Gyde left his heir a statement of their dealings with him."
"Hm! I never thought of that possibility."
"Now answer my question."
"You'd like to keep me here, wouldn't you, until you have time to trace this call back, and send a man to nab me. Sorry I can't oblige. I'm at Grand Central and my train is leaving. Good-bye!"
The detective had not sufficient time, of course, to get his man. Oddly enough the humorous "Mr. B" had told the truth as to where he was. The call had come from the Grand Central station.
Locked in his own room, Jack went over and over that telephone conversation, regarding it from every angle, and seeking to establish a new plan of campaign upon his conclusions. He was inclined to believe that "Mr. B" was sincere in his intentions of quitting the game. His dealings with the man had shown him that like all really able liars he used as much of the truth as he could. At any rate he would soon know whether or not he had quit.
But that "Mr. B" would now settle down to a life of respectability, Jack did not credit for a moment. It was all very well for him to talk about being "tired," excitement gets into the blood and one finds onesself unable to live without it. The thing was to figure out in advance what new direction his villainy would take.
Looking at the matter in the whole, Jack could not be very much cast down. It was no small feat that he had accomplished in bringing this man to sue for a truce. For that's what it was, let him make believe all he liked. He, Jack, had stopped him in mid-career, and Mr. B was no ordinary vulgar crook, but a really stupendous figure in his way. And Jack told himself if he could stop the man, he ought to be able to catch him.
He had not the slightest intention of giving up the chase, of course. His adversary's threats had the effect of stiffening his resolution. His present problem was, how to make "Mr. B" think that he had abandoned all measures against him, while he prepared a new surprise. Jack was well assured that he would be closely watched.
Jack's last remaining line of approach to the old man lay through Miriam. True, he had said over the wire that he had called in and paid off all his agents; but that this applied to Miriam, Jack doubted. Miriam would never be allowed to enjoy the pickings of so rich a goose as Bobo was supposed to be, alone. One way or another demands for money would be made. Surely he could find openings here.
The one trump card that Jack still held was that "Mr. B" with all his astuteness still believed that Jack was an obscure and ambitious youth whose sole motive in this affair was to make a name for himself.
Upon these two facts, the connection between Miriam and "Mr. B," and the latter's ignorance of his real identity, Jack built his new plan. It was inspired by the old maxim: "Give a thief rope enough and he will hang himself." After several hours of hard thought, he had it roughed out, but one great difficulty remained to be solved. Supposing he dropped out of sight for awhile, how could he inform himself of what went on in his absence?
After lunch Bobo called him up on the long distance. Bobo and Miriam were honeymooning at Rodney Farms, that exclusive and extremely expensive country resort.
Bobo's honeymoon was probably not of unalloyed joy. His voice was abjectly apologetic. "That you, Jack? How's things?"
"Pretty good."
The friendliness of Jack's tone heartened the other. "I just called up to tell you we were coming back to-morrow for a day or so. Miriam wants to."
"That so?"
"Yes, she fired her maid to-day, and has to get another."
"Yes?" said Jack with more attention. Something stirred in the back of his brain. "Has she got anybody in view?"
"No, she's going to Miss Staley's Employment Bureau. Seems all the women up here get their maids from her. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing."
"It's all right for us to come?"
"Sure!"
"Well, I didn't want to take you by surprise."
"That's all right. As it happens, I want to have a talk with you."
Bobo's voice faltered. "Oh—! You're not going to—— You're not going to——"
"Not yet," said Jack encouragingly. "In fact, I was thinking of loosening the purse strings a bit on certain conditions."
"Oh, if you would! She drives me nearly crazy with her questions, why I can't get more money."
"Well, we'll talk about it to-morrow—while Miriam is out."
Jack's next move was to seek out Kate. To do this it was necessary to don the Pitman make-up, that he was heartily sick of now; he vowed it should be Mr. P.'s final appearance. He found her in her little sitting-room, and first he had to tell her of the exciting events of the morning, concluding with the astonishing telephone conversation. Her face blanched a little, when she heard of the threat.
"Well, you are satisfied, aren't you?" she asked in an offhand tone, "I mean if it's true that he's quit."
"Let him get away?" said Jack surprised. "Oh, Kate!"
Kate hung her head blushing.
"The point is, are you satisfied to have me stop?" Jack demanded. "You know what you said."
"I don't think you ought to take unnecessary risks," she murmured.
This was sweet to Jack. In order to get more of it he made believe not to see her drift. "As to that," he said carelessly, "the risk is no greater than it's been right along."
She shook her head. "No, I feel he means what he says. It was a warning. He has a queer sense of fair play."
The enraptured Jack forgot Mr. B. and all else. "Kitty, do you realize what you're saying!" he cried. "Do you mean you are satisfied I've done my job, and are willing to marry me now? You blessed darling! We could get a license this afternoon. We don't need any further preparations, do we? Oh, what happiness!"
"I wouldn't marry you at an hour's notice—or any man!" said Kate with an indignation, somewhat weakened by the consciousness of her inconsistency. "I need weeks to get ready in!"
"Weeks!" echoed Jack with falling countenance.
"Well, days, anyway."
"But will you, in a week?"
"Will you give up the chase of this man? Turn your case over to the police now. After all it's their business."
A reaction took place in Jack. "Oh, Kitty!" he said in distress. "How can I? All my life I'd feel as if I'd left my job half finished. I'd feel as if I'd been scared off. How could I respect myself? How could you respect me?"
She snatched her hand out of his. At first he thought he had offended her, but presently he perceived that she was moved by quite a different feeling. She was ashamed. She lifted an humble glance to his.
"You're right," she whispered. "It was just a moment of weakness. I wouldn't have let you give it up really, when I had had time to think. How will you be able to respect me now?"
He rapturously repossessed himself of her hand. "Kitty, you silly! Do you think I will be blaming you for loving me a little! How many times have I come to you ready to give up, and had you send me back into the fight again! This just equalizes things a little." He smiled at her teasingly. "You won't be able to be so superior, that's all!"
She looked at him with an odd shy light in her eyes that he had not seen before. "You goose! If you knew!"
"Let's get married anyway," he pleaded. "There's no manner of sense in putting it off any longer."
She shook her head "No. We set a task for ourselves. Let's accomplish it first."
"Well, tell me you love me, and I'll be satisfied."
"You know it. You've always known it."
"But tell me in plain downright English."
She did.
After an interval of divine foolishness, they came down to earth again, and Jack recollected his new plans.
"I've got a difficult and disagreeable job for you," said he.
"What's that?"
"Did you ever hear of Miss Staley's Employment Bureau?"
"Certainly. It's the best-known in town. All the fashionable women patronize it."
"Miriam's going there to-morrow morning to engage a maid."
"Well?"
"I want you to get the job."
"Good Heavens! Let me collect my wits! Lady's maid, I!"
"Look what I've been!"
"Oh, it isn't that I mind! But could I get away with it?"
"Why not? She wants a maid to do for her, I suppose, what you ordinarily do for yourself."
"How will I land the job?"
"Simply go there and register, and pay the fee, and turn down any other offers you may get. I guess they don't get many applicants that could compete with you."
"Silly! There are references to be thought of."
"That's easy. Mrs. Delamare will provide one, and get others if necessary."
"What is the object of my doing this?"
"I'm going to drop out of sight for a while, and I must have somebody to keep me informed of what goes on in Bobo's establishment while I'm away."
"Very well. I'll do it."
The agreement was sealed.
Jack spent the rest of the afternoon in arranging for the necessary references for Kate, in making certain inquiries at the steamship offices, and finally in looking up a friend of the old poverty-stricken days, one Stanley Larkin. He chose this friend because of a general resemblance they were said to bear each other.
Larkin worked in the freight office of a railway. At the sight of Jack his eyes widened in amazement. "Good Lord! if it isn't Jack——"
"Robinson," put in Jack quickly, "for the present."
Larkin was anything but slow. "Sure, Robinson! It certainly was decent of you to look me up in this hole."
"Look here," said Jack, coming to the point at once, "what kind of a job have you got here?"
"Rotten!"
"Is there any reason why you shouldn't give it up for awhile?"
"None whatever, if I could meet my board bill without it."
"Will you make a trip down to British Guiana for me?
"British Guiana! Am I dreaming?"
"Not that you'd notice," said Jack grinning. "Boat leaves Saturday. I'm going with you part way."
The young clerk balanced the stultifying monotony of life in a railway office against the lure of the tropics. His eyes became dreamy. "Will I go!" he said. "Only give me the chance! It's like a fairy tale!"
"Good!" said Jack. "Let's have dinner together, and we'll arrange everything. It will have to be some out of the way place because I have to take precautions against being followed. Say Pezzi's on West Thirty-Fourth. I'll meet you there at seven."
Bobo and the lovely Miriam arrived at the Madagascar next morning. Miriam promptly sallied forth to Miss Staley's to pick a maid, giving Jack and Bobo an opportunity to have a long talk undisturbed. When Bobo learned that Jack's new plans included unlimited funds for himself for the time being, he hastened to agree to everything. Jack rehearsed him carefully in the part he was to play. The principal danger was that Bobo in his enthusiasm might overdo it.
"For Heaven's sake don't look so smug and expectant," said Jack, "or she'll smell a rat before we begin!"
Bobo, it should be mentioned, knew nothing of the part Kate was to play. Bobo had never seen Kate.
Miriam returned successful from her quest, and so far as such a great lady might deign to her slaves, almost good-tempered.
"Yes, I found a girl," she said languidly. "Quite a superior creature. Her name is Mary Dean. She has worked for Mrs. Walter Delamare and Mrs. Willis Estabrook. She'll be here with her things in time to dress me for dinner."
Mary Dean was the name chosen by Kate. "So far so good," thought Jack.
The three of them lunched together in the Dutch room of their suite. Bobo as the meal progressed, became visibly nervous, and scarcely did justice to the timbales of chicken and asparagus tips. Jack watching him, and fearful that Miriam might notice something, gave him the sign to open the comedy, though he had intended to wait until after the meal.
"I want some more money," said Bobo.
"Huh!" said Miriam scornfully. "One would think it was his money you were asking for."
This put Bobo out a little; Jack hastened to give him the next cue. "But I've been sending you a thousand a week."
"What's a thousand a week!" said Miriam. "Our bill at the Rodney Farms was half of that."
"Why didn't you buy the place?" queried Jack sarcastically.
"Is that for you to say?" demanded Miriam.
"I've got to have more!" shouted Bobo—according to previous instructions.
"A thousand was all you said you wanted."
"That was before I married. I need more now."
"Yes, and a whole lot more!" put in Miriam.
This was just what Jack wanted from her. He sought to irritate her still further by addressing himself pointedly to Bobo. "You said it was part of my job to save you from your own extravagance."
"You needn't remind me of that now," said Bobo. "The money's mine, isn't it?"
"You put the management of it in my hands."
"Did he engage you as his nurse?" suggested Miriam.
"You said I was not to give you any more no matter how hard you begged for it," said Jack affecting a stubborn air.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake! This is ridiculous!" cried Miriam. "Are you compelled to go down on your knees to beg your own money?"
"No, I'm not!" cried Bobo, banging the table. "I want money, and I want it quick!"
Jack looked more stubborn than ever. "I'll talk to you afterwards," he said. "We can't discuss business at meals."
"Look here, you'd better understand you'll talk business whenever we want!" said Miriam.
Jack frowned. Still addressing Bobo he said: "We got along all right till she began to butt in."
Miriam turned pale with anger. This, as Jack intended it to be, was an outrageous affront to the dignity she now affected.
"Are you—going to—sit there—and let him insult me!" she stammered to Bobo.
Bobo banged the table again. That table was of inestimable support to him. "No, I'm not! You apologize to her!"
"I won't!" muttered Jack, feigning the sulks.
"Apologize to her!" shouted Bobo.
"Oh, I apologize," said Jack gracelessly.
"That's no apology!" said Miriam.
Jack sprang up and made a sweeping bow, one hand on his breast. "I humbly beg your ladyship's pardon," he said ironically.
Miriam was almost ready to cry now. "Don't you see he's insulting me more than ever!"
Bobo banged the table again. "You treat her with proper respect or I'll fire you!"
"You don't dare fire me," said Jack threateningly.
Miriam caught him up as quick as lightning. "Don't dare fire you! Why not, I'd like to know!" Turning to Bobo: "Has he got something on you? Is that why we've had to put up with his cheek all this while! Oh, I see it all now!"
Jack, while preserving his defiant front, was quivering with laughter inside. The thing was working better than he had dared hope.
"What do you care what he's got on you!" continued Miriam. "Aren't you worth a hundred millions? A millionaire can do anything he wants and get away with it!"
"You're right!" cried Bobo banging the table. "I'm tired of having it thrown up to me. I'm tired of being under the thumb of my own secretary. I can do what I want! I can spend my money the way I want! You're fired, do you hear!"
Miriam smiled an unpleasant smile. Her dearest wish was coming true.
Jack made out to be much taken aback. "You don't dare," he muttered.
"We'll see whether I dare! You pack up your things and get out before night, see? I'll pay you a month's salary to be rid of you!"
"I won't go," said Jack.
"Then you'll be thrown out!" said Miriam.
"I'll tell what I know!"
"Go ahead and tell it," said Bobo. "I'm sick of hearing about it!"
"I'll tell her!"
"Tell me," said Miriam. "I guess I can stand it."
"When we worked in the sash and blind factory together," said Jack with the air of one delivering damning evidence, "he used to swipe his lunch money out of the petty cash, and make phony entries in the cash book to hide it. I caught him at it!"
Bobo hung his head in simulated shame. It was good comedy.
Miriam shouted with laughter. "Is that all!" To Bobo: "You poor idiot! Do you mean to say that was all he had over you to set him up so!"
"Well, I've fired him, haven't I?" said Bobo with an aggrieved air. To Jack he added: "Now you've done your worst, get!"
Jack put on an air of swaggering bravado. "Oh, all right! I'm sick of the job anyhow! I wouldn't work for you now for ten times the salary!"
Miriam laughed insultingly.
Jack arose. He still had to make a good exit. "It's hard enough to take all the work and the responsibility," he said with assumed bitterness, "but when your boss marries a——"
"You'll leave her out of it, or I'll smash you!" cried Bobo.
"Come on! Let's settle it man to man," said Jack. "I'm ready any time!"
"You get out of here!" shouted Bobo. "Or I'll call the house detective!"
Jack went, slamming the door. He proceeded to his own room, chuckling.
Later, while he was packing, he heard a timid knock. Bobo was standing outside with a deprecating air.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure! Where's Miriam?"
"We're safe. She's gone out to see about getting me another secretary."
Jack laughed. "Poor Bobo!"
"It went off all right," said Bobo. "She doesn't suspect a thing!"