THE GAME GOES ON AND FINE PLAY IS DISPLAYED ON BOTH SIDES.
"Well, you are a good one," thought Oscar, and he mentally questioned
whether or not he was coming out ahead of such a bold schemer, for the
detective was well aware that the invitation business was a
misleader--what is called a "fake." The fellow really intended to gain
time to put up his job for "doing" our hero, in case it was decided that
he was to be "done up." Herein Girard had the advantage. He had fixed
his plan and our hero was going it blind, not having had time to arrange
a trick against the one he well knew was being set up for him.
Girard sat down and commenced a lively talk. He spoke in glowing terms
of the lady who had recognized him in the theater. Indeed, he was as
jolly and pleasant as a man who had no evil design in his heart.
The meal was finally concluded. Oscar had placed his end of it well and
appeared about as jolly as a man should appear who had imbibed his share
of several bottles of wine.
"What shall we do?" asked Girard. "I don't wish to go to bed; I prefer
having a nice time. Can't we go somewhere and have a jolly little game
of draw?"
Oscar was not loath. He desired to let the men draw him, believing that
while they were playing their little trick he might work a little on his
own hook.
"Hang it!" said our hero, "I am not in the habit of staying away from my
home all night, but since I've started in I don't care what I do for the
rest of the night."
"Where can we go?" asked Thatford.
"To some hotel. We will take a room," suggested Oscar. His suggestion
was only a "flyer." He knew the men did not wish to go to a hotel. It
was a part of their game to draw him to some place where they could open
up the scheme they had in their minds.
"I have a friend who always keeps open house."
Thatford laughed and said:
"Yes, a pretty close friend. You want us to go to your bachelor
quarters."
"Well, why not at my rooms? We can play as long as we please and turn in
when we get ready."
"I have taken advantage of your hospitality so often I'd rather cry
off," said Thatford.
"Oh, nonsense! come on. What do you say, Dunne?"
The intimacy under the influence of the wine had progressed so far that
the men addressed each other as though they had been friends for years.
Wine softens down the austerities and makes apparent friends with great
readiness. It was decided to go to the bachelor rooms of Girard, and the
three men passed to the street. Oscar meantime became quite gay and very
plainly showed the effects of the wine, but really he was fearfully on
the alert, and when we write fearfully we mean it just as we write it;
for he did not know at what moment one of the men might plunge a knife
through his heart or send a bullet through his brain. He knew that their
purpose was a dire one, and the only question was, how would they work
out their plan? Keen were his glances under his seeming inebriety, and
he beheld the men exchange glances, and also recognized looks of
triumph, intimating, "We've done it well. He is ours."
The three men walked on and at length halted in front of a house which
our hero had once had under suspicion.
"Here we are," said Girard.
"All right," responded Oscar.
"Say, my friend," suggested Thatford, "we must not play for large
stakes. Remember I am not a rich man; I can't lose like some of you
golden bucks."
"I never play for big stakes," said Girard.
The men entered the house and Girard said:
"My gambling box is on the top floor. There I don't annoy my neighbors."
"All right," said Oscar. Our hero was seemingly in a very complaisant
mood. The men ascended to the top floor. Girard ushered his guests into
a room which contained a full equipment for a game of draw. There were
shaded lights, a polished table, and by touching a button he summoned a
lackey to serve in attendance, and our seemingly half-boozed Oscar
scanned the face of the lackey and perceived that indeed a very cunning
game was being played. Cards, cigars, liquor, and all the paraphernalia
were introduced, even to chips, and the game commenced. Our hero had
started in to buy a big wad of chips, but he was restrained.
Indeed, the rascals were working the game for all it was worth in the
way of a total blind, until the moment when they intended to open up.
The game had proceeded for about half an hour when the attendant entered
the room and made a whispered announcement to Girard. The latter
appeared to be annoyed, but said:
"All right, show them up;" and turning to his guests he added:
"It's awful annoying, but a couple of my friends, knowing my habit, have
dropped in. They will want to come in the game."
"The more the merrier," said Oscar.
Thus he spoke, but he realized all the same that the chances for his
escape were lessening. Two more men would make it five against him,
including the attendant, whom our hero had set down as a "stool" in
disguise, and the inquiry arose in his mind:
"What can their game be? They have certainly gone carefully about it and
have made great preparations to do me; but how do they intend to do it?"
The two men were introduced into the room. They came in seemingly in
quite a merry mood, but a moment later one of them fixed his eyes on our
hero, stared in a surprised way and finally asked:
"Girard, where did you come across that individual?"
There was a tableau at once.
"What do you mean? Of course you know the man."
"Here, my good fellow, I'd like to know what _you_ mean?" demanded
Girard.
"Do you call that man your guest?"
"I do."
"Do you know him well?"
Girard appeared very much confused and did not answer.
"Answer; do you know that man well?"
"No, I met him to-night."
All this time Oscar sat silent, but really appeared like a man who had
been detected in something mean.
"You don't know him well?"
"I do not."
"You met him to-night?"
"Yes."
"Who introduced him to you?"
"No one. We became acquainted by chance. But see here, this gentleman is
my guest and I want you to explain."
"Oh, I'll explain."
"Please do."
"I denounce that man."
"You denounce him?"
"I do."
"On what ground?"
"He is a spy and a sneak. He will report you for keeping a gambling
house. He is a sort of detective pimp, does all their dirty work. That
is the man you are entertaining. Let him deny it if he will."
This was a bold accusation, and all the men glared at our hero, and
finally Girard said:
"Dunne, what have you got to say for yourself? If this is false call
that man a liar. It is your right, for he makes very grave charges
against you."
"With your permission," said Oscar, "I will withdraw. That man's charges
are not entitled to a reply from me."
"But see here, mister, that won't do."
"What won't do?"
"If his charges are true you have been playing me."
"I have been playing you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Well, you understand your purpose. I don't. But one thing is certain:
you must make a full confession, or I will hold you responsible for any
interpretation I may put upon his charges."
Oscar apparently began to sober up, and he said:
"I do not choose to make any explanations."
"What do you know about this man?" demanded Girard, addressing the
accuser.
"He is a reward seeker--a man who will ingratiate himself into the
company of gentlemen. If he gets into a private game of cards he reports
a gambling game and has gentlemen arrested. He is a general spy and
sneak--a man who will go into court and perjure himself for a bribe, and
he has made trouble for many a good fellow. He has hired witnesses,
perjurers, at his beck and call. He is always up to some game. He is, in
short, a lying, miserable rascal; that is what he is, and I know him."
"These are very grave charges," repeated Girard.
"Yes, and I will not remain to listen to them."
"But you will remain."
"I will?"
"Yes."
"Who says so?"
"I do. You shall not steal into my house to spy and sneak on me, and get
away."
"What will you do about it?" asked Oscar coolly.
"What will I do about it?"
"That is my question."
"Do you admit the charges?"
"I am too much of a gentleman to deny them: they are so gross."
"Oh, you intend to get out of it that way, eh? Now who are you?"
As Girard spoke he rose from the table and presented a pistol directly
at our hero's forehead. Oscar did not flinch, but asked:
"Do you intend to murder me?"
The detective was in the worst dilemma of his whole career. He knew the
men were playing a game, that the chances were all against him, and
that the possibilities were that under one pretext or another they
intended to kill him.
"No, I don't intend to murder you. I am no murderer, but I do not intend
to let you get away with any sneaking purpose you may have had in
working your way into this house. Are you a gentleman?"
"Yes, I am a gentleman."
"Then you shall have a chance. I challenge you; yes, sir, you must fight
me."
"This is murder," said Oscar.
Our hero believed his last moment had arrived. He had braved fate too
far in his enthusiasm. He had walked into a trap from which there was no
escape. The duel which had been proposed he knew would only be a
pretense in order to murder him. He knew he had walked right into a
trap, but he determined to die game. Yes, even at that moment he did not
wholly despair. These men did not know his mettle, and could he once get
a weapon in his hands he would make a desperate fight. He was armed, but
thought that possibly the men might go through the farce of a duel. This
would give him a chance. He had his club and he knew he must take them
by a grand dash, a magnificent surprise. He had encountered as many men
on several occasions in desperate conflict, but these men had the
"bulge" on him. They were prepared and on the alert. The chances were
that every man was well armed and ready to "pull." He must get a vantage
ground from where he could take them by surprise--throw them off their
guard; but even then the chances were against him, for these were no
ordinary men. They were a lot of cool, nervy criminals, well prepared,
as stated--men who had their plans well arranged, their signals also.
Possibly each man had his appointed work. They were men who could and
would carry out their orders. It was a desperate moment, and all the
chances were against him.
It was at this most critical moment that an extraordinary incident
occurred. Oscar saw but little chance; still, as intimated, he was
determined to make a desperate fight even in face of the odds against
him, and there he sat revolving the matter in his mind when suddenly
there sounded a little tick-tick like the tick-tick of a telegraph
machine. The men did not notice the tick-tick, it was so low and sounded
like the involuntary cracking that is sometimes heard from dried
furniture when a fire is first ignited in a room. To our hero, though,
this very singular tick-tick came with a wonderful significance; indeed,
to him it was a language. It was a telegraphic message, and he knew that
he was all right. Indeed, he received full instructions as to what he
might expect; he learned when and how he was to give a signal at the
extreme moment when he needed help. We will not at present attempt to
describe his surprise and his admiration of the faithful one who like
his shadow must have followed on his track to do the succor act when
succor was needed. Oscar did not change his demeanor. He acted as though
he still feared the terrible ordeal which confronted him.
"You must fight me," said Girard, "and I show you great mercy in giving
you a chance for your life."
"Why must I fight you?"
"You are a sneak. You have imposed upon my confidence. You have forced
your way into my rooms, having in mind a treacherous purpose."
"I did not seek you. No, sir, you sought me; you invited me here. I
declined to come. You forced yourself upon me. I did not force myself in
here."
"I thought you were a gentleman."
"I am a gentleman."
"You must fight me all the same."
"I can see," said Oscar, "you men are a gang of confidence men--robbers.
You have inveigled me here to rob me. I will not be robbed. I will yell
for the police."
One of the men aimed a revolver at our hero and said:
"Open your mouth to utter one cry and you are a dead man."
"You men dare to threaten me?"
"Yes, we dare to threaten. You shall not betray us."
"Aha! I see my conclusions are correct. You are thieves and fear
betrayal."
"We only fear being belied by a rascal like you. We're all gentlemen; we
have reputations. We do not desire to rest under a false imputation of
being gamblers. Now then you have one chance. Tell us just who you are
and your purpose and we may spare you; otherwise--" The man stopped.
"What will you do otherwise?"
"Kill you."
"See here; you men cannot double-bank me. I am not here to be robbed. I
see through this farce. You rascals cannot scare me."
"Hear!" exclaimed one of the men. "He is insulting."
"Yes, he has insulted every one of us. He must fight."
Oscar laughed and asked:
"Do you wish me to fight the whole gang?"
"Hear him! he denominates us 'the gang'!"
"Certainly, you are a gang of thieves. I can see that I have been
inveigled in here. This is a trumped-up charge against me; but I repeat,
I defy you. Do your worst."
"Get the swords," called Girard.
"Who will fight him?"
"I will," said the attendant suddenly stepping forward. "Yes, gentlemen,
I will fight him. It is not proper that gentlemen like you should
besmirch yourselves by fighting with a low-bred scoundrel like this
fellow. I am his match; he belongs to my class. He and I will meet on
equal terms. I will settle him, gentlemen, and afford you some rich and
excellent amusement."
"Henri," said Girard, "you are not a swordsman."
"I will prove to you, my master, that I am swordsman enough to fight
this wretch who has forced himself into your presence to act as a spy.
Yes, sir, I will teach him a lesson."
Oscar could not discern what the real purpose of the men was. It
appeared somewhat like a farce to him, and yet their trick was one that
has often been played. They could in case of need make out that it was a
case of assault, where one man had sought the life of another. Indeed,
there had been several cases of a like character in New York. In one
case the men had claimed that a duel had been forced upon another; and
again a case had been known where it was made to appear that there had
been a murderous assault, and of course there were plenty of witnesses,
and the law is compelled to accept the testimony of unimpeached
witnesses. While in both cases alluded to the police were convinced a
cold-blooded murder had been committed, they were unable to prove it,
however, and the assassins went free. Here were four men who could
testify as they chose, and the chances were that as far as the courts
were concerned they were reputable witnesses. The latter was the game
our hero calculated the men meant to work on him. They had deliberately
planned his murder, and the chances would have been dead against him but
for the little tick-tick, and that singular tick-tick told a wondrous
story; but even with this in his favor the chances were against Oscar
when he conceived a plan as cunning as the one that was being played
against him.