That sudden attack was a big surprise to Clancy. Sure that Hibbard and
Long Tom had turned the tables on him, he tried to yell and arouse the
house and convey a warning to Fortune. A hand was clapped over his
mouth, however, and outcry was impossible.
“Stop your struggling!” a voice hissed in Clancy’s ear. “And don’t try
to call out. It will be the worse for you, if you do. I am holding a
revolver to your breast, and, if I have to, I will use it.”
Here was another surprise for Clancy. A refined voice, although with a
crisp, businesslike ring, had done the talking. Certainly it was not
Hibbard’s voice, and it could not possibly be Chantay Seeche Tom’s.
Whose, then, was it?
The hand was withdrawn from Clancy’s lips.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“That’s none of your affair,” came the sharp answer. “How many of your
pals are in this house? I heard them, a while ago, and came downstairs.
What are you after, anyhow?”
The man, whoever it was, evidently belonged in the place.
“I’m not one of the thieves,” protested Clancy. “I----”
“That’s a likely story! What are you doing in here if you don’t belong
to the gang?”
“I came here to do what I could to prevent the villains from robbing
the judge. Judge Pembroke knows me. A friend of mine and I blundered
upon a tip that something was going to happen here to-night. There
wasn’t time to call the police, and we came to see what we could do for
the judge.”
Clancy’s captor was a cool one. He gave a low, incredulous laugh.
“You can’t expect me to believe any such stuff as that,” he answered.
“How many, besides yourself, are in this house?”
“Two--Dirk Hibbard and a fellow called Tom Long, Chantay Seeche Tom.”
“Hibbard! He knew about that Prescott money, and he’s probably trying
to get hands on it. We’ll give them a jolt, I guess. Don’t move--stay
right where you are!”
The man reached away from Clancy and half arose. Snap! An electric
switch was pressed and a glow of light flooded the room.
For a second, Clancy was blinded, and could see little. As his vision
cleared, he discovered that the man who had made a prisoner of him was
a young fellow, who bore a striking facial resemblance to the judge. He
wore a blanket robe and slippers, and held a small, automatic pistol in
his right hand.
“Jove!” murmured the chap with the gun. “You don’t look much like a
tough, and that’s a fact. But circumstances are against you, my lad.
See that door yonder?”
They were in what was evidently the dining room. As the young man
spoke, he nodded toward a door on the other side of the apartment.
“I see it,” Clancy answered.
“That door leads into a hall, and the hall leads to the governor’s
study. There is a safe in the study, and the Prescott money is in the
safe. Your pals are there, I presume. Walk ahead of me. I’m going to
pay them a visit and use you as a screen against any bullets they send
in my direction. Start!”
Clancy got up from the floor.
“Hibbard has no love for me,” said he, “and he’ll probably be glad to
shoot when he sees who I am. There are two of them, and they must be
armed. You don’t want them to get away, do you?”
“I don’t want them to get away with the money. I guess I’ll be able to
save that. Stir yourself--we can’t lose any more time.”
The curtain of the doorway through which Clancy had just come was
pushed back. The bright glow in the dining room shone out through the
doorway and into the room with the open window.
Clancy, shifting his eyes toward the drawn curtain, whirled like
lightning. In a flash he had knocked aside the pistol in his captor’s
hand and had overthrown him. As the young man dropped, fire streamed
through the curtained doorway. A revolver roared in the other room and
a bullet crashed into a piece of china on the sideboard and then broke
the heavy French mirror behind it into a thousand fragments.
If Clancy had not been quick, that bullet would have struck the young
fellow with the gun, for it traversed a line that crossed the exact
point where he had been standing.
The young fellow was quick-witted, and, while at first he may have
misunderstood Clancy’s action, the crash of the bullet gave him
knowledge of the true state of affairs.
“There they go!” cried Clancy.
“Keep back, if you’re not armed!” shouted the other, bounding erect and
dashing through the door.
Clancy was ahead of him, but, swift as they were, they were too late.
The prowlers had flung themselves through the window, and wild yells
were coming from the yard, where Fortune, single-handed, was having all
and more than he could attend to.
There was excitement in other parts of the great house. Voices were
calling, doors were opening and closing, and feet could be heard
running down the stairs and over hardwood floors.
The young fellow stood in the window with the automatic revolver in his
hand.
“I’ll give one of them his gruel, anyway,” he muttered.
Before he could shoot, Clancy grabbed his arm.
“Don’t fire!” he exclaimed. “A friend of mine is out there--you might
hit him. Are you the judge’s son?”
“Yes,” was the answer, “and I want to get this over with before the
governor presents himself. He might get hurt. Are you game to follow
those fellows?”
“Of course!”
“Come on, then!”
There was the flutter of a bath robe in the open window, then the space
cleared for Clancy. He landed on the ground beside Pembroke.
“They’ve skipped,” said Pembroke. “Even your friend isn’t here! Which
way do you think the scoundrels went?”
“I know--they’ve got a car waiting for them. This way!”
Clancy darted for the fence and cleared the iron pickets at a bound.
Young Pembroke was tight at his heels.
“If they’ve got a car,” he panted, “they’re bound to get away from us.”
“I’ve fixed the car so they can’t use it.”
Pembroke laughed choppily as he followed Clancy down the street.
“You’re a wonder, old man!” he cried. “And I thought, when I nailed
you, that I had one of the thieves!”
Two dark figures could be seen rushing across the street toward the
dark bulk of the car.
“There they go!” exclaimed Clancy. “They’ve got a surprise in store for
themselves! Look, they’re trying to crank the engine.”
One of the forms could be seen working at the front of the car. He
started up with a frantic oath.
“Take to your heels, Chantay! They’ve tampered with the car! Run!”
A figure jumped from the tonneau of the machine and flung off through
the night. Hibbard, who had been pulling the crank, ran back along the
line of palm trees.
Clancy took after him, and, for a minute, there was an exciting chase.
Clancy, however, was far and away the better sprinter. As he came close
to Hibbard, the latter turned and brandished a revolver.
“Keep off,” he yelled, “or I’ll drop you!”
Clancy ducked, lurched forward, and came up under the extended arm
whose hand gripped the revolver. There was a bit of a struggle, and
then Hibbard fell, the red-headed chap on top of him.
“Have you got one of them?” asked Pembroke, coming up.
“Yes--Hibbard,” said Clancy.
“Has he got a canvas bag?”
“No.”
“Then the other scoundrel has the money. I couldn’t find it in the car.
Dash it! We’ll have to call in the police--and maybe it’s too late.
We’ll take Hibbard to the house, where we can use the telephone. Let
him up, old chap.”
Clancy drew away from Hibbard, while Pembroke caught his arm and
leveled the “automatic.”
“You’re a nice sort of a chap, aren’t you?” sneered Pembroke. “Robbing
the man for whom you used to work! Get up!”
Hibbard got sulkily erect.
“Pick up that revolver,” said Pembroke to Clancy.
The latter stooped and gathered in the weapon, which had fallen from
the chauffeur’s hand when he fell.
“Come on to the house, Hibbard,” said young Pembroke. “We’ll let the
governor talk with you.”
“I don’t want to talk with the judge,” growled Hibbard. “Take me to
jail, if that’s what you’re plannin’ to do.”
“Not much! You’ll face the governor. Step lively, and don’t try to get
away. If you make a move to run, the bullets will chase you!”
Between Clancy and Pembroke the rascally chauffeur was led back toward
the house.
“You’re responsible for this, Clancy!” snarled Hibbard.
“I don’t know whether I am or not,” Clancy answered. “I guess Mr.
Pembroke was next to what you were doing before we reached the house.”
“You’d better jug me,” said Hibbard to Clancy, through his teeth, “or
I’ll camp on your trail and settle for you. You’re running up a pretty
big score.”
“Your name Clancy?” queried Pembroke.
“Yes,” Owen answered.
“Then you’re the fellow who repaired the governor’s car, out on the
trail. He told us about you. Sorry I mistook you for a burglar, Clancy!”
“I hardly see how you could help it,” Clancy returned. “Wonder where
the deuce Fortune is?” he added, as he and Pembroke and Hibbard mounted
the front steps of the house.
“He was in this, too, eh?” growled Hibbard.
The front door of the house was open, and the judge, in shirt,
trousers, and slippers, stood in the entrance.
“What in the world is the matter, Larry?” the judge queried, staring at
his son. “Has there been a robbery?”
“That’s the size of it, dad,” answered young Pembroke. “Your Prescott
money has gone to Ballyhack, I reckon. There were two of the
scoundrels, and the other fellow gave us the slip. He must have had the
canvas bag.”
“Never mind the money,” said the judge, “if you’re not hurt. Who’s that
you have there?”
“One of them is young Clancy, the chap who repaired your car out in the
hills. He came here to prevent the robbery, if he could. The other is
Hibbard. He knew about that Prescott money, and came here after it.”
The judge led the way into the drawing-room. A number of the women
members of the household were clustered there, shivering with fright.
The judge reassured them, and sent them upstairs. After they were gone,
he turned to his son, Clancy, and the prisoner.
“I can’t understand this,” said he. “Hibbard, did you come to this
house to rob me?”
“I don’t look as though I was here of my own free will, do I?” the
chauffeur replied, with an ugly leer.
“I heard some one in the house,” explained Larry, “and went down to the
dining room. Some one was just coming through the window, and I waited
for him at the door leading from the den into the dining room. When I
grabbed him, he proved to be Clancy, there.”
“Clancy!” exclaimed the judge. “Is it possible that----”
“No, dad, it isn’t possible that he’s one of the thieves. He came to
warn us about the robbery, but got to the house a little too late. He
saved me from getting nipped by a bullet--upset me just as one of the
robbers pulled a trigger; after that, he joined in the chase and downed
Hibbard single-handed. Clancy has proved a good friend of ours this
night.”
“Who was the fellow that got away with the money?” inquired the judge.
“Tom Long,” spoke up Clancy, “the fellow they call Chantay Seeche Tom.”
“He’s equal to a thing like this! I can easily believe that he had a
hand in it. I’m out five thousand dollars, but----”
“Jedge, you ain’t out a cent! I happened to grab the bag in the yard,
and I ran off with it like a streak o’ greased lightnin’. James
Montague Fortune has done somethin’, at last, that didn’t have a bobble
in it! Whoop!”
All eyes turned toward the broad doorway that led from the drawing-room
into the hall. Fortune stood there, striking an attitude, and holding
high a small canvas bag. His face wore a broad and complacent grin.
“Well, here’s luck!” exclaimed Larry Pembroke. “Clancy and his friend
have saved the day for us, after all!”