PATSY’S CLEVER WORK.
Gridley led the way into a large, square room. Like the exterior of the
grim stone house, it bore all the earmarks of antiquity. Great beams
crossed the faded ceiling. The discolored walls were partly wainscoted.
A smoldering log burned in a huge stone fireplace.
The furnishings in the room were old and threadbare. An oil chandelier
lighted the scene. It was suspended above a table, on which were several
newspapers and a few old books, also a telephone--the only modern
fixture in the room.
Kate Crandall was seated on an old sofa, still bound and gagged, and in
charge of Blink Morgan, but, apparently, nerved to meet whatever might
follow.
“Sit down, Dolan, till I am ready to talk with you,” Gridley commanded,
when all hands had entered the room. “Now, Turk, out with the whole
business. Where did you pick him up and why?”
“I’ll tell you where and why he----” Patsy began.
“You keep quiet,” Gridley sharply interrupted. “You’ll have your say,
Dolan, when the time comes. Sit down and close your trap till you’re
asked to open it.”
“Sure thing, if that’s the way you feel about it,” Patsy coolly
acquiesced.
He saw plainly that Gridley not only was the leader of the gang, but,
also, that he ruled with a rod of iron. He realized, too, that he might
not be able to blind Gridley as successfully as he had fooled Magill,
and Patsy immediately set about casting an anchor to the windward.
He had caught sight of the telephone on the table. He took a chair near
it. He knew that he could not use it in any ordinary way, yet he felt
that he might craftily turn it to some advantage.
He also knew, of course, nothing about the discoveries Chick had made
and the theory Nick was at that moment elucidating in his business
office in Madison Avenue, but he did know, at least, that any
communication to their office would speedily reach one of them, if not
both.
“There’s nothing for me in holding up this gang before I get wise to
their game,” he reasoned, while Magill was hurriedly explaining what had
occurred, which then held the entire attention of his three
confederates. “I’ll wait till I get next to the whole business, and then
decide what to do,” Patsy added to himself. “I can pick it up, all
right, when they begin to talk with this woman. Gee whiz! but I don’t
fancy that.”
Furtively watching Gridley, while Magill was stating how they had met
and what had followed, Patsy detected a steadily deepening frown on
Gridley’s hard-set face. It smacked of incredulity, of increasing
misgivings, and Patsy scented trouble.
“That infernal rascal is not going to swallow my story without something
to wash it down,” he thought, a bit grimly. “I must sharpen up my wits
and be ready for him, if he starts in to put me through the wringer. By
Jove, I’ll have something else ready, too. I reckon I can work it
undetected.”
Magill still was talking earnestly to his three confederates.
Patsy leaned nearer the table, resting one arm on it, and stealthily
placed three of the books in a pile and gradually drew them close to his
elbow. He accomplished this just as Magill ended his story, when Gridley
replied with a doubtful growl and a side glance at Patsy:
“It strikes me, Turk, that you have taken long chances.”
“Chances?” said Magill, frowning.
“Yes. You really know nothing about him.”
“Only what he told me.”
“That may not be true.”
“But the circumstances and what he has done----”
“All are right as far as they go,” Gridley curtly interrupted. “But they
are not enough. We must be dead sure of him. We must find out just who
he is and where----”
“Say, are you ginks talking about me?” Patsy cut in, with affected
resentment.
“Yes, we’re talking about you,” snapped Gridley. “You’re a stranger to
us. We might get in wrong, you know, in blindly relying upon a
stranger.”
“Oh, is that so?” Patsy retorted. “And I might throw a shoe, too, by
helping a strange gang in such a game as you guys are playing. What do
you want--my pedigree?”
“See here, Dolan----”
“Oh, I’m seeing all there is to see,” cried Patsy, frowning. “You’ll
find out, mebbe, that I’m a law-and-order spotter, or a central-office
sleuth.”
“It would cost you something, all right, if we did.”
“You guys give me a pain. I’ll tell you now. I’ll show you the way,”
Patsy forcibly added, seizing the telephone for a moment, but quickly
replacing it on the table.
“There is one man who can tell you all about me. He will give it to you
straight,” he quickly went on, now shouting with pretended resentment.
“Call up 47 Madison! 47 Madison! Here, I’ll write it for you on the edge
of this newspaper, so you’ll make no mistake. 47 Madison! Ask who Jack
Dolan is, and----”
“Dry up!” snapped Gridley, interrupting, while Magill, Morgan, and
Phelan stared from one to the other. “I’ll not telephone to anybody. You
keep cool, Dolan, and answer my questions. This is nothing for you to
get hot about. Who is the party, anyway?”
“He runs a barroom near Madison Avenue,” said Patsy curtly.
“What’s his name?”
“Jim Donovan. He knows all about me. He’ll tell you who I am and whether
you can bank on me.”
“Sure, Ginger, we can bank on him,” Magill now cried impatiently. “He’s
all right, or he wouldn’t have lent me a hand to get the skirt.”
“That’s right, too,” Morgan chimed in confidently.
“He’ll go the limit, Ginger, you can bet on that.”
“So he will, perhaps, but there was no harm in making sure of it,”
Gridley now said, less harshly, evidently impressed with these arguments
and the attitude Patsy had taken. “He ought not to kick at that.”
“Oh, he’s not kicking. He’s all right, Gridley, from his toes up,”
Magill insisted. “He knows what he’s doing.”
The blinded rascal never spoke more truthfully.
Patsy already had turned one of the cleverest tricks of his exceedingly
clever career.
All the while during the heated discussion, which had absorbed the
entire attention of the four crooks, Patsy had been tapping with his
lead pencil on the metal mouthpiece of the telephone.
He had so placed the instrument near the pile of books that they lifted
the receiver sufficiently to let its hook rise and make a connection
with the number he thrice had shouted--chiefly, of course, for the ears
of the exchange operator.
The position of the telephone was not suggestive of the ruse. One would
have observed only by chance that the books raised the receiver.
The tapping with a pencil was not noticed by either of the four crooks.
The quick, intermittent taps sped instantly over the wire. They were the
taps distinctly heard by Nick Carter in his business office. They
conveyed to him what Patsy could not vocally impart--this tapped
communication by the ordinary telegraphic code, with which Nick and all
his assistants were perfectly familiar:
“Cornered. Stone house. Baldwin Road, Westchester. Half mile east of
Granger settlement. Rush. Will hold up gang if----”
Patsy had ended it abruptly.
He saw Gridley’s evil eyes cast toward him. He dropped his pencil and
with his elbow, as if by accident, he quickly upset the telephone and
prevented the detection of his exceedingly artful ruse.
Turning quickly to catch the falling instrument, however, Patsy met with
a mishap that threatened to pervert all of the good work he had done.
His hasty movements caused something to drop from his vest pocket. It
fell to the floor near his chair. He did not see it, but it instantly
caught the eye of Turk Magill--the twenty-dollar bank note said to have
been used for automobile hire.
It gave Magill’s confidence a sudden, terrible jolt. His faith in Dolan
oozed out of his every pore. He flashed a swift, significant glance at
Gridley, then walked carelessly back of Patsy’s chair--only to turn
quickly and seize him from behind, confining his arms and crying
sharply:
“Sit quiet! If you are all right, Dolan, you have nothing to fear.
But----”
“Here’s the but!”
It was a big revolver in the hand of Ginger Gridley. He sprang up when
Patsy began to struggle, thrusting the weapon directly under his nose
and adding fiercely:
“Sit quiet, as you’re told, or I’ll put you in shape for an undertaker.
We’ll soon find out who you are and whether you’re on the level. Bring a
piece of rope, Phelan, and tie him to the chair. Be quick about it.”
“Oh, very well,” said Patsy coolly. “But what’s it all about? Have your
noodle boxes gone wrong? Why this sudden change of mind, Magill?”
Magill did not reply immediately. He waited until Phelan came with a
piece of rope, with which Patsy’s arms were quickly bound to the back of
the chair. He then picked up the bank note, quickly displaying it and
crying:
“You have lied to me once, Dolan, and your whole story may be a string
of lies, as Gridley suspects. You said you paid for the car with this
money. You lied! This is the same bank note I gave you.”
“So ’tis,” said Patsy, with dry terseness. “But don’t let that worry
you, Magill. Never worry over picking up a twenty case. You’re dead
lucky to get it back.”
Patsy now saw plainly enough what had occasioned this sudden
aggressiveness. He saw, too, that the moment was fast approaching when
subterfuge would be utterly futile, when even his identity might be
discovered, and he at once took the only course left open for him--that
of prolonging the conversation and staving off any desperate move of
these rascals, until his combination telephone-and-telegraph appeal
could be answered.
For though the telephone receiver was muffled by its position on the
books, Patsy had faintly heard Nick’s repeated hello and recognized his
voice, and he felt reasonably sure, from his succeeding silence, that
the tapped message had been received and rightly interpreted.
Magill’s face, like that of every man of the gang, had taken on a frown
as black as midnight. He shook the bank note in Patsy’s face, retorting
fiercely:
“Lucky to get it back, am I? Well, you’ll be mighty lucky to get out of
here with your life, if we find that you have tricked us.”
“Oh, I have not tricked you,” Patsy calmly asserted. “You’re getting all
haired up over nothing. I’ll explain to your entire satisfaction,
Magill, if you give me time.”
It was for time, indeed, that Patsy then was playing.
“Out with it, then,” snarled Gridley, again taking the ribbons. “What do
you mean? How came you with this money?”
“Magill gave it to me.”
“But you said you hired the touring car with it.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Patsy. “He only thought I did. The truth is, Mr.
Gridley, I hated to let go of twenty bucks that had come so easy. So I
hung on to the long green, instead, and stole the touring car from in
front of a house.”
“I ordered you not to steal one,” cried Magill.
“I know it,” said Patsy, with a grin. “But I ain’t much on obeying
orders. I reckoned a stolen car would serve as well for the job we had
framed up, and since I was going into a thieving game, I thought I might
as well swipe a car and be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
“He’s lying!” Gridley said sternly. “See what else he has in his
pockets. Search him from head to foot and--what’s that?”
Magill had quickly obeyed, thrusting his fingers into Patsy’s vest
pockets. From one of them he drew out a crumpled scrap of paper,
thoughtlessly put there by Patsy after having read it.
“It’s a leaf from a notebook,” he cried. “Here’s writing on it.”
“Writing on it?”
“Thundering guns! Whom are we up against?” Magill added, with a growl.
“Listen, Gridley, listen!”
Magill straightened up with lips viciously twitching and read it
aloud--the communication from Nick Carter to Patsy:
“‘Kate Crandall knows, but will not speak. Shadow her constantly until
otherwise directed. Be governed by circumstances. I’m off for home.
Phone me there of any discoveries.’”
“Gee whiz, it’s all off now, for fair,” thought Patsy. “I’m booked for
all I’ve invited, unless the chief shows up.”
There certainly were indications of it. Gridley snatched the paper from
Magill and read it himself, then uttered a terrible oath.
“This does settle it,” he fiercely muttered. “A detective--that’s what
he is!”
“Sure thing,” snarled Magill.
“Search him from head to foot, Phelan. We must find out who he is and
where we stand. See if that hair is his own and--ah, it’s not his own,
eh? Off with it, Phelan, the whole business.”
Phelan set to work with vicious zest, and in a very few moments he not
only had Patsy stripped of his disguise, but also the contents of his
pockets spread upon the table--handcuffs, searchlight, two revolvers, a
well-filled pocketbook, a handkerchief, keys, and other minor articles.
None of them bore his name and address, however, nor did Nick’s brief,
though very significant note, bear his signature.
A cry of increasing rage broke from Magill when the truth thus was
forced upon him, but Gridley checked him with a gesture, saying sternly:
“You keep quiet, Turk, and let me handle this fellow.”
“But, blast him----”
“There aren’t any buts,” snapped Gridley. “I’m chief of this gang, and
what I say goes. I’ll wring the truth out of him, you can bet on that,
and we then shall know where we stand. Tell me at once--who are you?”
The last was fiercely addressed to Patsy, but Patsy was undisturbed by
his ferocity. He met his fiery gaze with a frigid stare, replying
indifferently:
“Jack Dolan, just as I’ve told you.”
“That’s a lie,” snapped Gridley.
“You’d say that if I told you the truth. So I might as well hand you one
name as another.”
“Oh, is that so? You mean, then, that you won’t tell me?”
“I already have told you.”
“Let it go at that, then, for the present,” said Gridley, with ominous
severity. “Who gave you this note?”
“The party who wrote it,” said Patsy dryly.
“What’s his name?”
“I dunno, Mr. Gridley, on the dead. It has slipped my mind.”
“Hang him!” cried Magill impatiently. “He’s giving us the laugh. String
him up and force him to answer.”
“You keep quiet,” Gridley again commanded; then to Patsy: “Why were you
told to shadow this woman? That hasn’t slipped your mind?”
“No; sure thing,” said Patsy, with a glance at Kate Crandall. “I can
remember that, all right.”
“Out with it, then. Why were you told to shadow her?”
“To find out where she went,” Patsy dryly admitted.
“By Heaven, if you don’t loosen up and tell me, I’ll find a way to make
you!” Gridley thundered. “Who gave you this note? To whom are you to
telephone any discoveries you may----”
He broke off abruptly, hit with a sudden idea, and turned sharply around
to his listening confederates.
“What was the number he mentioned?” he cried. “Can you remember it?”
“Sure!” cried Blink Morgan. “Four, seven Madison!”
“Get that telephone book.” Gridley pointed to the table. “Look for the
police headquarters. See if that’s their number.”
“Rats!” growled Phelan. “He ain’t a police sleuth. He’s no plain
clothsie. I know that push.”
“Try the private agencies, then,” snapped Gridley. “Look up--stop a bit!
Begin with Nick Carter. Try him. Look up his number.”
“Holy smoke!” thought Patsy. “Here’s where the cat makes her final jump.
She’ll come clean out of the bag this time. But the rascals do not
suspect the trick I’ve put over on them. That sure is my only anchor to
the windward.”
Morgan and Turk Magill had turned pale when Nick Carter’s name was
mentioned, and their fears were completely verified.
For Phelan, suddenly starting up from the telephone book he was
hurriedly inspecting, cried excitedly:
“I’ve got it! Here’s the name and number. Four, seven Madison! It’s a
telephone in Nick Carter’s business office.”
“Last jump is right,” thought Patsy.
Gridley swung round and gazed at him with murder in his eye.
“So Nick Carter wrote this note, did he?” said he, through his teeth.
“You’re to telephone your discoveries to him, eh? What have you
discovered? What has he got on us?”
“Nothing on you that I know of,” said Patsy, unruffled. “I was not
directed to shadow you fellows.”
“What on this woman, then?”
“I don’t know for sure, and I don’t think he does,” Patsy truthfully
answered, not yet informed of Nick’s deductions and suspicions. “That’s
dead-straight goods, Gridley, on my word.”
Gridley vented an oath and shaped another course.
“Make sure that he is securely tied, Phelan,” he cried sternly. “We’ll
settle his hash a little later. Our first move must be to get the
coin--and get it mighty quick, if Carter is dipping into this business.”
“That’s right, too,” Magill declared, glaring at Patsy. “Get the coin
and bolt--that’s our only safe course.”
“We’ll take it, too, and take it on the jump,” Gridley forcibly added.
“Free that woman, Morgan, and be quick about it. She shall tell us what
she knows, or--God help her!”