IRON NERVE
I just stood in the doorway, staring. Couldn't say a word, my throat was
that paralyzed. First time, you know, I'd ever seen a real burglar or
jolly hold-up man, and he looked so different from what I had expected.
But I knew now, of course, that the policeman was right and that the
respectable-looking old gentleman was no other than the desperate
criminal described as "Foxy Grandpa." But for the intervention of
outside assistance doubtless Billings and I might have had our throats
cut by the conscienceless old geezer.
He was so absorbed that he did not see me, nor the two helmets piking
above my shoulder.
"Up to his old tricks," O'Keefe whispered. "We've got him in the act,
Tim!"
"Great!" breathed Tim. "What won't the captain say!"
O'Keefe's breath tickled my ear again and swept my nose. I've never seen
beer or sauerkraut since but what I think of it!
"Got your stick ready?" he was saying. "Best not take any chances;
Braxton's a quick shooter, they say. When we jump him, better give him
the club right off."
Tim whispered an impatient demur. "That's all right; but I'm for coaxing
him out here first. I don't want to tap him on the gentleman's rugs; if
I do, I can tell you, it'll ruin 'em, that's all."
He swept his hand across his tongue and gripped his stick tighter.
Jenkins, at one side, bobbed his head up and down and smiled his
admiration of this sentiment. He leaned nearer to me.
"Just beckon him out, sir," his whisper advised. "Just tell him you want
to show him something in the hall--cat, or anything will do. Just so you
get him past the furniture and rugs, sir."
I advanced a step into the room. I expected the old knave to be a bit
dashed, don't you know. Not he; it never disquieted him a bit. Just gave
me a careless leer and went back to the ruby. Somehow I began to feel
riled. I'm not often taken that way, but this old scamp's persistent
audacity and impudence went beyond anything I had ever heard of.
"What in thunder's the matter with you, son?" he murmured, squinting
hideously at the jewel. "You prowl around like you had a pain." Then he
went right on:
"Say, did you ever see anything so corking fine?" He looked up, holding
the ruby in the light. "And to think how little I dreamed of scooping
anything like that when I came in here to-night!"
By Jove, this was a little too much, even for an easy-going chap like
myself! The jolly worm will turn, you know.
Dash me, before I knew what I was doing even, I had moved to his side
and jerked the ruby from his hand. My face felt like a hot-water bottle
as I did it.
"You haven't got it yet," I said, "and I'll take devilish good care you
don't get it."
He fell back as though from a blow.
"Why--why, old chap! Why, Lightnut!" he gasped. "What's the matter--what
makes you look at me like that?"
"Your liberties have gone just a bit too far, don't you know," I said,
looking steadily in his fishy old eye. "I've had enough of you, by Jove,
that's all!"
He stared at me, and I could hear him breathing like a blacksmith's
bellows. I would never have thought he had such lungs.
Slowly his hand came out, and dash me if it wasn't shaking like he had
the delirium what's-its-name. But for his tan, his face would have been
as white as his hypocritical old whiskers.
"Is this some infernal joke?" His face summoned a sickly smile that
almost instantly faded. His hand fell back to his side. "Why, old
fellow, you don't think that way about me, do you? As for the ruby, I--I
don't want it now--I just want you to accept my apology for anything
I've done, and--and let me get away."
There was a short laugh from the doorway.
"Likely enough," said Officer O'Keefe, his big figure swinging forward
with long strides. "Keep him covered, Tim!"
He planted himself between us with a grin.
"You're 'it' again, Foxy! Jig's up. Will you go quietly?"
It did me good to see how completely the old scoundrel was taken back.
His wide distended bleary eyes shifted from O'Keefe to me and back
again. It was a perfect surprise.
I motioned to Jenkins to close the door of my friend's bedroom. So far,
he had evidently slept serenely through all the trouble, and, if
possible, I wanted to avoid arousing him now. For a fat man, Billings
had the deuce of a temper when stirred up over anything like an
imposition upon him, and it would only add to the confusion for him to
appear on the scene and learn about his wallet and his treasured ruby
that I had rescued.
Foxy Grandpa's face had been rapidly undergoing a change. From pallor to
pink it went; and then from pink to red. Now it was becoming scarlet. He
threw his head back and faced me angrily.
"Lightnut, will you tell me what the hell this means?" And his heavy
voice thundered.
"Here! Here! That'll be enough o' that," cried Officer O'Keefe sharply.
"None of your grand-stand play here, or it'll be the worse for you. And
no tricks, Braxton, or--"
He clutched his stick menacingly.
"Braxton!" snorted the old fellow. "Why, you born fool, my name's not
Braxton!"
"Not now," grinned O'Keefe. "Say, what _is_ your name now, Foxy?"
"My name--" roared Foxy Grandpa, and paused abruptly. He looked rather
blankly from one officer to the other.
"See here; do I understand I'm under arrest?" he inquired.
"You certainly are talking, Foxy," chuckled O'Keefe.
"Then my name's Doe--John Doe," and I thought the fellow's quick glance
at me held an appeal. Of what sort, I had no idea.
"And what, may I ask, is the charge?" he asked again, with what was
apparently a great effort at calmness.
"Oh, come now, Braxton," said the officer in a tone of disgust, "stop
your foolery; you're just using up time. Ain't it enough that you're in
this building and in this gentleman's rooms?"
"In his rooms!" exploded Foxy Grandpa. "Why, you lunkhead, this
gentleman will tell you I am his guest!" He turned to me with a sort of
angry laugh.
"Tell him, Lightnut," he rasped. "I've had enough of this!"
The big policeman's features expanded in a grin, while Tim doubled
forward an instant, his blue girth wabbling with internal appreciation
of the Foxy one's facetiousness; and the janitor snickered.
Jenkins looked shocked. As for me, dash it, I never so wished for my
monocle, don't you know!
O'Keefe's head angled a little to give me the benefit of a surreptitious
wink.
"Oh, certainly," he said, his voice affecting a fine sarcasm; "if the
gentleman says you're his _friend_--"
"He's no friend of mine," I proclaimed indignantly. "Never saw him
before in my life."
Instead of being confounded, the artful old villain fell back with a
great air of astonishment and dismay. By Jove, he managed to turn fairly
purple.
"Wha-a-t's that?" he gasped stranglingly and clutching at the collar of
his pajamas. "Say that again, Dicky."
I looked at him severely.
"Oh, I say, don't call me 'Dicky,' either," I remonstrated quietly.
"It's a name I only like to hear my intimate friends use."
He kind of caught the back of a chair and glared wildly at me from under
his bushy wintry eyebrows. The beefy rolls of his lower jaw actually
trembled.
"Don't you--haven't you always classed me as that, Dic--er--Lightnut?"
he sort of whispered.
By Jove, the effrontery of such acting fairly disgusted me. I looked him
over from head to foot with measured contempt. "I don't know you at
all," I said coldly, turning away.
"Ye gods!" he wheezed, clutching at his grizzled hair.