A CHANGE OF IDENTITIES
"Pronto!"
The word was hissed out in the darkness from somewhere behind Nat
Ridley as he was roughly pulled deeper into the alley.
Struggling as he was to keep the coils from choking him into
insensibility by their constriction, the detective kept his wits enough
to remember that this word was Spanish for "hurry" or "quick."
"The Tolas are after me, or someone they think I am," mused Nat grimly.
"They're fast workers--must have followed me to the Lemberg apartment
and been on the watch. Wonder if they put out the street lamps. No,
they couldn't have done that. Must have been just an accident that
favored them."
These thoughts rushed like lightning through the detective's brain as
he nerved himself for the struggle he knew must follow.
Come the fight did, an instant later. Nat succeeded in forcing up over
his head the coils of the lasso, and only just in time, for it was
tightening cruelly. But meanwhile, he had been hauled by the rope
deeper into the dark alley, so that now he was several yards from the
street whence help might come.
"We have him--the pig!" a voice grunted, as Nat felt strong arms about
him, and he recognized the tones as those of one of the three men who
had used the same expression that afternoon.
"The knife--pronto!" exclaimed another, and Nat knew they meant to kill
him as Lemberg had been killed--even as Steele and the others had been
murdered. Then a fierce, fighting rage took possession of Nat Ridley
and he gasped:
"Not yet, Tolas! Not yet!"
He could feel the men struggling with him start in surprise at his use
of that secret name, and one muttered:
"He knows us!"
"But the pig will not know us long!" hissed another. "Quick--the knife!
Let him have it between the ribs!"
It was so dark that Nat could not see more than two dim forms
struggling with him, but he thought he recognized the two as Ramon and
a companion, though who Ramon might be he could only guess.
Suddenly one of the men released his hold of the detective and drew
back a little. The inference was obvious. He was getting out his knife.
"Not yet, Tolas! Not yet!" gasped Nat again, and, raising his right
foot, he kicked out savagely at the dim form of the villain about to
stab him. It was a trick Nat had learned from a Frenchman. With the
heel of his shoe, the detective took the fellow amidships, or in the
"breadbasket," if you prefer.
With a grunt that was half a groan, the scoundrel went down in a heap,
though as he fell he hissed:
"Get him! He has disabled me! I have dropped my knife!"
There was ample evidence of this, for a tinkling sound followed Nat's
lucky kick and the sleuth knew the dagger had fallen on the stones with
which the alley was paved.
"The devil pig!" cried the other man, and Nat's eyes, now becoming
accustomed to the gloom, made out the second assassin rushing at him.
"This will be the end of him!"
But by this time the detective had his automatic out. He had no chance
to take accurate aim, but he did not need to, for he could fire from
the hip. And this he did--two shots in quick succession at the black
mass of the man rushing at him.
There was a cry of pain and the fellow quickly wheeled about, changing
his direction so that he was headed out of the alley.
"He is too much for us! Come--pronto!" he called to the other.
By this time the man Nat had kicked down was able to rise, though he
was doubled up in pain. Thus the two fled, leaving Nat victor on the
field and with spoils in the shape of a fine rope, made of braided
horsehair, as he discovered later.
"Touch and go!" muttered the detective grimly as he straightened up.
And then the street lamps suddenly shone again, though the alley
remained shrouded in gloom. As Nat looked toward the entrance he saw,
outlined against the background of light, a figure rushing toward him.
"Stand still!" the detective ordered. "I have you covered, and if you
come a step nearer----"
"I'm a police officer!" came the sharp answer. "If you shoot----"
"Oh, all right! I beg your pardon," said Nat quickly. Though he
determined not to be taken off his guard, and held his gun in readiness.
A moment later he saw a flashlight gleaming, the beams reflecting from
the brass buttons of a member of New York's crack uniformed force. Then
Nat knew he was safe and advanced, revealing his identity.
The policeman was a stranger to Nat Ridley, though the latter was
evidently known, by reputation at least, to the patrolman, for the
latter respectfully asked:
"Are you hurt, Mr. Ridley? Can I do anything to help?"
"No, they didn't get me," was the answer, "though it was a close call.
They lassoed me as I passed the alley and dragged me in. What was the
matter with the lights?"
"A fuse blew out at the power house, I guess. It's all right now. But
who were they?"
"Oh, a couple of hold-up men," said Nat, not wanting to go into
particulars.
"Well, I'd like to pinch them," said the officer. But when he and
Nat had looked around the alley no trace of the assassins was found.
The assassins had recovered and taken away the dagger. Only the rope
remained, and Nat took charge of that. He thought he might find a use
for it if he went on to Mexico.
By this time a crowd had gathered, attracted by the shots, as the
officer had been, but it soon dispersed when Nat remarked to several
who inquired:
"Oh, it was just a couple of bootleggers."
And so common has this form of industry become that it no longer
attracts attention in the larger cities.
"Sure you aren't hurt?" asked the officer when Nat came out of the
alley into the now brilliantly lighted street.
"Not at all. I kicked one man out and I think I hit the other with one
of my shots. But evidently neither was much disabled, for they ran out
just before you came up."
"I got here as fast as I could after I heard the shooting," apologized
the patrolman. "But I was away at the other end of the block, and----"
"That's all right," Nat said. "No harm done. I was looking for another
man and they happened to spot my pin, I suppose," and he motioned to
a diamond he was wearing in his tie. "They wouldn't have made much if
they got it, though," and Nat laughed, for the "diamond" was a paste
one, a part of his disguise.
Nat went on his way, but the patrolman, jealous for the good reputation
of his post, made a further search for the mysterious men, though he
found no trace of them.
Nat Ridley did not mention his real suspicions concerning the two.
"I'll keep them guessing!" decided the sleuth. "If they look in the
morning papers to see an account of this, they won't get much from the
news."
Though he thus made light of one phase of the affair, there was another
that worried Nat Ridley, and this was the closeness with which the
Tolas were hanging on his trail.
"They have evidently sworn vengeance against all who have anything to
do with the Lembergs or the oil wells," reasoned Nat. "I've got to
watch my step. They must have shadowed me from my office. Well, I'll
just stay away from there for a time--at least, I'll fool them."
He decided not to go to his apartment or to the office, and to carry
out a plan he hastily made he went to the Herald Square Hotel, where he
engaged a room. There, after a bath, a meal, and one of his big, black
cigars, he telephoned a cipher message to Berry Todd at the latter's
home.
"Come down here, Berry," requested Nat, "and bring number fourteen with
you."
This was the number of a certain valise containing several disguises,
and a little later the assistant detective arrived at the hotel with
it. Berry himself was disguised as a country lawyer in New York for a
holiday.
"Anything up, Chief?" he whispered to Nat when in the latter's room.
"Good and plenty!" was the answer. "I think I'm up against one of the
slickest and most desperate gangs I've ever dealt with. You've got to
help me, Berry."
"Surest thing you know, Chief. How?"
"You're going to be me."
"Going to be you?"
"Yes. I want you to make up to look like Nat Ridley, and, as me, leave
the office openly to-morrow. Do it as publicly as you can--I mean
speak to the elevator boys, the paper boys, greet anyone you see whom
you know and get them to call you by name--I mean my name. In short,
you and I are going to change identities."
"Suits me, Chief!" declared Berry.
"But you've got to be careful!" warned Nat.
"Careful of what--of making a break?"
"No. Careful not to get shot or stabbed or lassoed into a dark alley!"
and Nat's voice was quietly warning. "Berry, we're up against a
desperate game. It's asking you to take your life in your hands to
impersonate me for a while. Are you game to do it?"
Without a moment's hesitation Berry answered:
"I sure am, Chief! Here's where I double for Nat Ridley!"