ON THE TRAIL OF A COTTON THIEF
“How did you do it?” demanded Willie, the minute Sheridan stepped
from the door of the Old Slip police-station, whither he had taken
Larsen and where Willie had followed him. “I was scared to death
about you. I was sure they had murdered you when you went down in
the hold of that barge to pay for the wool. So I ran to get a cop,
but I couldn’t find one.”
Sheridan chuckled. “I reckon they would pretty nearly have murdered
me if they had found out who I was. They had a pretty good chance,
down in that barge.”
“But how did you ever get Larsen out without a struggle? I heard him
ask you to come inside and settle for the wool.”
“That was easy enough,” explained the Secret Service man. “I asked
him to go have a drink and said I’d pay him in the saloon.”
“Oh! Of course,” said Willie, chagrined at his own dullness. “But
what was all that noise I heard in the barge? It was like the sound
of blows.”
“So it was. But they were blows of a hatchet that Larsen was using
to break open some hogsheads. He even took the trouble to wrap a rag
around his hatchet, so as to deaden the noise.”
“That must be what fooled me. The noise didn’t sound like hatchet
blows. But what were the hogsheads he was knocking to pieces, and
why did he do it?”
“You don’t suppose he was going to carry that stolen wool in plain
sight on his boat, do you? He had to hide it somewhere, and he was
pretty slick about it, too. He had some hogsheads in the rear end of
his boat, with false tops in them. There was about a foot of coal
and then came the false tops. Under that was the wool. Nobody would
ever have guessed that there was anything but coal in the
hogsheads.”
“Slick, wasn’t he?” said Willie.
“These longshoremen are no fools. You have to get up pretty early to
be ahead of them.”
“How did you ever get track of this smuggling, anyway?”
“That was easy enough. The wool bales were inventoried at so many
pounds each, when they left Australia. But when they reached the
bonded warehouse, they weighed less. There had been a leak
somewhere. All we had to do was to find it. We simply had to keep
hunting until we found where that leak was. That was an easy matter,
for the wool had been transported in certain boats and handled by
certain crews. It was just a question of time until we’d run down
the thief.”
“But what I’d like to know,” said Willie, “is how you knew these
fellows were going to gather on that pier and arrange for this wool
auction. I’ve been wondering about it ever since I met you
yesterday.”
The Secret Service agent laughed. “That was a piece of luck,” he
said. “I’ve been on this wool business for several days and the
scent was getting pretty close to Larsen. I tried to get aboard his
boat by applying for a job as a deckhand.”
“You did?”
“Sure. But there was nothing doing. He’s a fly guv, all right, and I
didn’t dare fool around his boat. So I changed my clothes and hung
around the neighborhood until I saw a chance to get out on the pier
unnoticed. Then I wandered out and hid among the boxes. I was
expecting to stay there most of the night, hoping I might overhear
something that would give me a line on the thief.”
“Why did you hide in the box pile?”
“Because these boatmen gather on that pier every evening. And they
know pretty well what’s going on. But I played in luck. It happened
that the tip had gone out for a wool sale last evening, though I
didn’t know it. But Larsen saw a chance to get a little more wool
to-day, so he put the auction off until to-night. I overheard the
whole scheme.”
“Gee! You sure were in luck. Did you learn anything more when you
followed those fellows to the coffee-house?”
“Not a thing.”
They walked on in silence for a time. “What will you do next, now
that you have solved the problem of the wool theft?”
“Oh! We aren’t done with that business yet. We’ve got to get the
wool from Larsen’s boat, and then find the rest of what was stolen.
Larsen’s wool is only a part of the stuff.”
“When will you go after the wool?”
“We’ll get that to-night. If we left it until morning, there
wouldn’t be any wool there. We’ll have to act quick before they get
wise to Larsen’s arrest. I got him out of there so quietly that I
don’t think any of his pals know about his arrest yet. But he’ll get
word to them quick enough. I told the warden to hold up any messages
for two or three hours. That will give us time to grab the wool.
Then Larsen can send out all the alarms he wants to.”
“May I go with you when you get the wool?”
“Oh! I’m not going myself,” said Sheridan. “I’ve already telephoned
the office to hustle a truck down there, and McCarthy will go along
with it. If I went down on that pier when the barge is raided, every
bargeman on the waterfront would have me spotted. I’m supposed to
keep on with this job until we get all the wool, and I don’t want
those pirates to get wise to me.”
“Won’t I have any more chances to help you?” asked Willie, and his
voice was so sorrowful that Sheridan laughed outright.
“The only way you can help me now,” he said, “is to join me in a
bite to eat. I didn’t have time to get supper, and I’m hungry as a
spring bear.”
“Haven’t you had anything to eat since noon? You must be nearly
starved.”
“I had a sandwich and a cup of coffee just before I came for you,
but that doesn’t stay by a fellow very long. Come on. We’ll go back
to South Street and get a bite. It’s only a step and there are some
sailors’ hangouts you might like to see. We’ll just keep our eyes
and ears open and we might pick up something interesting. In this
business you never can tell when you’ll stumble on something.”
Back to South Street they went, and along that forbidding
thoroughfare. Gone were the bustle and activity of the daytime, that
lent so much charm to the scene. Only the dirt and squalor remained.
No longer could one see inland the towering shafts of granite and
marble, that thrust their heads into the very clouds. Invisible now
was the swelling river, with its stirring life and stately vessels.
Only the grimy fronts of ancient, battered houses, the foul gutters,
and the rough pier sheds were visible. But dimly could one discern
the vessels in the docks. And the water-front, that sunlight made so
fascinating, with its extended panorama of ships and shipping, now
appeared dull, dark, and forbidding.
Down the dingy street they went, their footsteps echoing in the
deserted thoroughfare; though here and there little knots of
longshoremen were congregated about the piers. Occasional saloons,
but poorly disguised as coffee-houses, sent shafts of yellow light
and the noise of revelry out into the night. And into one of these
Sheridan presently led his young companion.
It was a rather roomy place, with a low, dingy ceiling, and a bar at
one side; but the bar now held stacks of oysters piled on cakes of
ice. Swinging doors led to the kitchen. Little round tables filled
the floor space. About these sat, lounging, a considerable number of
longshoremen and other rough-visaged frequenters of the water-front.
Practically all of them were smoking pipes, and the air was so dense
with tobacco smoke that Willie almost choked. The room was hazy with
it, and every new current of air drew the smoke out in thin
horizontal clouds. The odor of the place was indescribable. With the
smell of the tobacco was mingled the sickening odor of grease, from
the kitchen, and the smell of the steaming dishes on various tables;
for some of the men in the place were eating. But most of those
present sat smoking and sipping “coffee” from the cups before them.
But the coffee was cold and strangely suggestive, in its odor, of
old rye.
The Secret Service man led the way to a little table in a corner,
where they would be partly hidden from observation. As they crossed
the floor, Willie felt as though a hundred eyes were fairly boring
through him. Instantly he became self-conscious and embarrassed. But
he kept his eyes on the back of his companion, and noticing the
appearance of utter unconcern with which Sheridan walked along,
Willie tried to imitate him, and to appear as though unconscious
that there was anybody in the room except himself and his companion.
More and more he admired the big Secret Service man. Nothing seemed
to fluster him or excite him. Apparently Sheridan had walked through
the room without glancing to right or left; and yet Willie felt very
certain his companion could pass an examination on the men in that
room and describe every one of them perfectly. He hoped the time
would come when he would be able to do the same thing. Willie was a
great deal nearer being able to do that than he understood.
Sheridan’s first question after they were seated at their table
showed that. “Did you notice that fellow by the door, as we came
in?” he asked very quietly.
“Which one—the man with the blue cap or the one with the red
necktie? There was a man on each side of the door.”
Willie could not see either man as he spoke. He had remembered how
they were dressed. Sheridan was quick to appreciate this fact.
“You’ve got an eye like a hawk’s,” he commented. “I meant the fellow
with the red necktie. Get a good look at him when you go out. He’s
one of the toughest nuts on the water-front. And he’s about the only
man that wears a necktie, too. That’s a bug of his—red neckties.
Whenever there’s any crooked work along the water-front, you can be
sure he’s got a hand in it.”
“What’s his name?” asked Willie.
“They call him ‘Red’ Anderson. I don’t know what his real name is.”
Sheridan ordered some hot oyster soup and when the waiter brought a
steaming tureen and lifted the cover, the smell that rose was so
savory that Willie was glad enough to “help” Sheridan with his
supper. When they had finished the soup, and some other good things
besides, Sheridan lighted a cigar and lounged back in his chair.
A waiter promptly came. “Did you want some coffee?” he asked with
one eye closed.
Willie did not comprehend what the waiter really meant, even though
he noticed the wink. But when Sheridan nodded, and the waiter
brought a coffee-cup containing whiskey, Willie understood quickly
enough.
“Where did it come from?” said Sheridan indifferently. “Is it all
right?”
“From Bermuda, I guess, and it’s the real stuff.” And the waiter
withdrew.
“We’re going to have a good deal of trouble before we are done with
that stuff,” said Sheridan. “The fellows that are bringing it into
the country are a dangerous gang. They stick at nothing.”
He did not drink the stuff, however, but surreptitiously emptied his
cup in a spittoon. “A fellow would be taking a long chance to drink
any of this South Street booze,” he said. “More than likely it’s
wood alcohol.”
“What did you buy it for if you didn’t intend to drink it?” asked
Willie, in astonishment.
“When you’re in Rome,” said Sheridan, “you must do as the Romans do.
These fellows have come here for booze and nothing else. A fellow
that came in here and didn’t order a drink would attract attention
right away. You and I are not looking for attention. Now we’ll get
out, and we’ll try to slip out without attracting any more attention
than we can help. These longshoremen are mighty suspicious.”
He paid his reckoning and the two started for the door. Willie was
all eyes. He tried to see everything and yet not seem to be looking.
Right away his eye was attracted by that flaming red necktie of
Anderson’s, and he noticed that its owner had moved away from the
door and joined a knot of men, who had their heads close together
over a table. One of them had evidently been drinking too freely,
for his voice was plainly raised above the general hum of
conversation.
“I’ve got a fine jag of cotton to sell,” Willie heard him say.
“Shut up. Not so loud. Keep quiet,” came the protesting voices of
his fellows.
Sheridan was already out of the door and did not hear the remark.
Willie caught it plainly, but did not understand its significance.
He shut the door and followed Sheridan down the steps.
“What did that fellow mean about having a jag of cotton to sell?” he
asked Sheridan.
“Who said he had cotton to sell?” asked Sheridan instantly.
“Why, a fellow at that table with Red Anderson.”
“I didn’t hear anybody say anything about cotton.”
“You were already out of the door. But I heard him distinctly. The
others told him to keep quiet.”
“They had more reason to than they knew,” said Sheridan. “I suppose
the guy has been stealing cotton and is ready for a little cotton
auction.”
“What will you do about it?” demanded Willie, afire in a moment at
the suggestion of another adventure.
“Don’t know whether I’ll do anything. All we are interested in is
smugglers. The cotton comes from the South, you know, so there is no
question of smuggling. It’s simply a case of larceny.”
“Then I suppose you’ll report the case to the police and let them
arrest the man.”
Unwittingly Willie had touched a sore spot. He had yet to learn
about the power of professional jealousy. But he had his first
lesson at once.
“Not on your life,” said Sheridan. “We’ll grab him ourselves. The
cops would bungle the whole business and give out a fine fairy story
of how they discovered the theft. We’ll just keep an eye on that
bird and see who he is.”
“What are you going to do? Go back into the restaurant?”
“No, we’ll just trail him after he comes out. This time you’ll have
to help me, for I don’t know which one of the gang it was who said
he had the cotton.”
“You bet I’ll help you,” said Willie, delighted to be of real
assistance at last.
As luck would have it, there was an electric light almost in front
of the coffee-house door. Diagonally across the street was a pile of
timbers, close to the string-piece of a dock. The timbers were in a
shadow, and at the end of the pile was a hollow space, formed by
some projecting beams, that was inky black. Glancing hastily up and
down the street to make sure they were not observed, Sheridan
slipped across the street, followed by Willie, and in a second they
were securely hidden in the recesses of the lumber pile.
Fortunately they did not have long to wait. Soon the door of the
coffee-house opened and a group of men came out. One of them was
singing noisily.
“That’s the fellow,” said Willie.
“I don’t know who he is. But we’ll soon find out.”
The men from the coffee-house parted on the sidewalk, and the
roistering one started off alone, the others going in the opposite
direction.
“That’s luck,” muttered Sheridan.
When the man was half a block down the street, the watchers slipped
from their retreat and trailed the man until he crossed the road and
disappeared in the darkness. The trailers hurried along and were
just in time to see him crawling unsteadily over the side of the
pier to the deck of a barge. Returning a little later, they found
everything dark and deserted about the pier. So they ventured out on
it and made a swift examination of the barge.
“She’s the _Dixie_,” muttered Sheridan, studying the name on the
stern of the boat. “And she belongs to the Coastwise Steamship
Company. They operate between here and the South. We’ll have a look
at her to-morrow.”
“May I go along?” demanded Willie.
“Surest thing you know. Why, you’re a material witness in this case.
You meet me at Bowling Green at eight o’clock to-morrow morning, and
we’ll have a look at the _Dixie_.”