_Macklin's Library_
Robert Macklin, Pullman conductor, had risen to that eminent position
so early in life that the glamour of it had not yet passed away. He
was large enough to have passed for a champion wrestler or a burly
pugilist, and he was small enough to glory in the smallest details of
his work. Having at the age of thirty, through a great deal of luck
and a touch of accident, secured his place, he possessed, at least,
sufficient dignity to fill it.
He was one of those rare men who carry their dignity with them past
the doors of their homes. Robert Macklin's home, during the short
intervals when he was off the trains, was in a tiny apartment. It was
really one not overly large room, with a little alcove adjoining; but
Robert Macklin had seized the opportunity to hang a curtain across
the alcove, and, since it was large enough to contain a chair and a
bookshelf, he referred to it always as his "library."
He was this morning seated in his library, with his feet protruding
through the curtains and resting on the foot of his bed, when the
doorbell rang. He surveyed himself in his mirror before he answered
it. Having decided that, in his long dressing gown, he was imposing
enough, he advanced to the door and slowly opened it.
He saw before him two sun-darkened men whose soft gray hats proclaimed
that they were newly come out of the West. The one was a fellow whose
face had been made stern by hard work and few pleasures in life. The
other was one who, apparently, had never worked at all. There was
something about him that impressed Robert Macklin. He might be a young
Western millionaire, for instance. Aside from his hat he was dressed
with elaborate care. He wore gray spats, and his clothes were
obviously well tailored, and his necktie was done in a bow. On the
whole he was a very cool, comfortable looking chap. The handkerchief,
which protruded from his breast pocket and showed an edging of red,
was a trifle noisy; and the soft gray hat was hardly in keeping, but,
on the whole, he was a dashing-looking chap. The bagging trousers
and the blunt-toed shoes of his companion were to Robert Macklin a
distinct shock. He centered all of his attention instantly on the
younger of his two visitors.
"You're Mr. Macklin, I guess," said the handsome man.
"I am," said Macklin, and, stepping back from his door, he invited
them in with a sweeping gesture.
There were only two chairs, but the younger of the strangers
immediately made himself comfortable on the bed.
"My name's Doone," he said, "and this is Mr. William Gregg. We think
that you have some information which we can use. Mind if we fire a few
questions?"
"Certainly not," said Robert Macklin. At the same time he began to arm
himself with caution. One could never tell.
"Matter of fact," went on Ronicky smoothly, lighting a tailor-made
cigarette, while his companion rolled one of his own making, "we are
looking for a lady who was on one of your trains. We think you may
possibly remember her. Here's the picture."
And, as he passed the snapshot to the Pullman conductor, he went on
with the details of the date and the number of the train.
Robert Macklin in the meantime studied the picture carefully. He had a
keen eye for faces, but when it came to pretty faces his memory was a
veritable lion. He had talked a few moments with this very girl, and
she had smiled at him. The memory made Robert Macklin's lips twitch
just a trifle, and Ronicky Doone saw it.
Presently the dignitary returned the picture and raised his head from
thought. "It is vaguely behind my mind, something about this lady," he
said. "But I'm sorry to say, gentlemen, I really don't know you and--"
"Why, don't you know us!" broke in Bill Gregg. "Ain't my partner here
just introduced us?"
"Exactly," said Robert Macklin. And his opinion of the two sank a full
hundred points. Such grammar proclaimed a ruffian.
"You don't get his drift," Ronicky was explaining to his companion. "I
introduced us, but he doesn't know who I am. We should have brought
along a letter of introduction." He turned to Macklin. "I am mighty
sorry I didn't get one," he said.
It came to Macklin for the fraction of a second that he was being
mocked, but he instantly dismissed the foolish thought. Even the rough
fellows must be able to recognize a man when they saw one.
"The point is," went on Ronicky gently, "that my friend is very eager
for important reasons to see this lady, to find her. And he doesn't
even know her name." Here his careful grammar gave out with a crash.
"You can't beat a deal like that, eh, Macklin? If you can remember
anything about her, her name first, then, where she was bound, who was
with her, how tall she is, the color of her eyes, we'd be glad to know
anything you know. What can you do for us?"
Macklin cleared his throat thoughtfully. "Gentlemen," he said gravely,
"if I knew the purpose for which you are seeking the lady I--"
"The purpose ain't to kidnap her, if that's your drift," said Ronicky.
"We ain't going to treat her wrong, partner. Out in our part of
the land they don't do it. Just shake up your thoughts and see if
something about that girl doesn't pop right into your head."
Robert Macklin smiled and carefully shook his head. "It seems to be
impossible for me to remember a thing," he asserted.
"Not even the color of her eyes?" asked Ronicky, as he grinned. He
went on more gravely: "I'm pretty dead sure that you do remember
something about her."
There was just the shade of a threat in the voice of this slender
youngster, and Robert Macklin had been an amateur pugilist of much
brawn and a good deal of boxing skill. He cast a wary eye on Ronicky;
one punch would settle that fellow. The man Gregg might be a harder
nut to crack, but it would not take long to finish them both. Robert
Macklin thrust his shoulders forward.
"Friends," he said gruffly, "I don't have much time off. This is my
day for rest. I have to say good-by."
Ronicky Doone stood up with a yawn. "I thought so," he said to his
companion. "Mind the door, Gregg, and see that nobody steps in and
busts up my little party."
"What are you going to do?"
"Going to argue with this gent in a way he'll understand a pile better
than the chatter we've been making so far." He stepped a long light
pace forward. "Macklin, you know what we want to find out. Will you
talk?"
A cloud of red gathered before the eyes of Macklin. It was impossible
that he must believe his ears, and yet the words still rang there.
"Why, curse your little rat-face!" burst out Robert Macklin, and,
stepping in, he leaned forward with a perfect straight left.
Certainly his long vacation from boxing had not ruined his eye or
stiffened his muscles. With delight he felt all the big sinews about
his shoulders come into play. Straight and true the big fist drove
into the face of the smaller man, but Robert Macklin found that he had
punched a hole in thin air. It was as if the very wind of the blow had
brushed the head of Ronicky Doone to one side, and at the same time he
seemed to sway and stagger forward.
A hard lean fist struck Robert Macklin's body. As he gasped and
doubled up, clubbing his right fist to land the blow behind the ear
of Ronicky Doone, the latter bent back, stepped in and, rising on the
toes of both feet, whipped a perfect uppercut that, in ring parlance,
rang the bell.
The result was that Robert Macklin, his mouth agape and his eyes dull,
stood wobbling slowly from side to side.
"Here!" called Ronicky to his companion at the door. "Grab him on one
side, and I'll take the other. He's out on his feet. Get him to that
chair." With Gregg's assistance he dragged the bulk of the man there.
Macklin was still stunned.
Presently the dull eyes cleared and filled immediately with horror.
Big Robert Macklin sank limply back in the chair.
"I've no money," he said. "I swear I haven't a cent in the place. It's
in the bank, but if a check will--"
"We don't want your money this trip," said Ronicky. "We want talk,
Macklin. A lot of talk and a lot of true talk. Understand? It's about
that girl. I saw you grin when you saw the picture; you remember her
well enough. Now start talking, and remember this, if you lie, I'll
come back here and find out and use this on you."
The eyes of Robert Macklin started from his head, as his gaze
concentrated on the black muzzle of the gun. He moistened his white
lips and managed to gasp: "Everything I know, of course. Ill tell you
everything, word for word. She--she--her name I mean--"
"You're doing fine," said Ronicky. "Keep it up, and you keep away,
Bill. When you come at him with that hungry look he thinks you're
going to eat him up. Fire away, Macklin."
"What first?"
"What's she look like?"
"Soft brown hair, blue eyes, her mouth--"
"Is a little big. That's all right. You don't have to be polite and
lie. We want the truth. How big is she?"
"About five feet and five inches, must weigh around a hundred and
thirty pounds."
"You sure are an expert on the ladies, Macklin, and I'll bet you
didn't miss her name?"
"Her name?"
"Don't tell me you missed out on that!"
"No. It was--Just a minute!"
"Take your time."
"Caroline."
"Take your time now, Macklin, you're doing fine. Don't get confused.
Get the last name right. It's the most important to us."
"I have it, I'm sure. The whole name is Caroline Smith."
There was a groan from Ronicky Doone and another from Bill Gregg.
"That's a fine name to use for trailing a person. Did she say anything
more, anything about where she expected to be living in New York?"
"I don't remember any more," said Macklin sullenly, for the spot where
Ronicky's fist landed on his jaw was beginning to ache. "I didn't sit
down and have any chats with her. She just spoke to me once in a while
when I did something for her. I suppose you fellows have some crooked
work on hand for her?"
"We're bringing her good news," said Ronicky calmly. "Now see if you
can't remember where she said she lived in New York." And he gave
added point to his question by pressing the muzzle of the revolver
a little closer to the throat of the Pullman conductor. The latter
blinked and swallowed hard.
"The only thing I remember her saying was that she could see the East
River from her window, I think."
"And that's all you know?"
"Yes, not a thing more about her to save my life."
"Maybe what you know has saved it," said Ronicky darkly.
His victim eyed him with sullen malevolence. "Maybe there'll be a new
trick or two in this game before it's finished. I'll never forget you,
Doone, and you, Gregg."
"You haven't a thing in the world on us," replied Ronicky.
"I have the fact that you carry concealed weapons."
"Only this time."
"Always! Fellows like you are as lonesome without a gun as they are
without a skin."
Ronicky turned at the door and laughed back at the gloomy face, and
then they were gone down the steps and into the street.