"Ah gwan! I ain't. It was a pleasure to have you put it over me. Say,
listen--some day I want the low-down on that, Mary."
The girl departed and then for three days he heard nothing from her. On
the fourth day she telephoned him to meet her in Central Park.
"Teddy was there again last night."
"Sure enough?"
"Yes--for three hours. And this morning I heard Mr. Lathrop breaking a
dinner engagement he had for to-night."
"So you sort of reckon maybe to-night's the night?"
"Yes.... I'm pretty sure it's an attempt to sell Lathrop the Rawlings'
pearls. I did a bit of listening last night and I heard something of
what they were saying--about having the cash there.... I guess poor
Teddy is glad to get them off his hands at any price."
"Yeh--I reckon he is. They ain't nothin' now but a li'bility. Hmm!
Reckon I better stick around this evenin'."
They put their heads together then in an earnest discussion of details.
And when Jim rose heavily to his feet a half hour later and waddled
away through the trees the girl looked after him with an expression
which would have brought a warm glow to the sentimental heart of the
big detective had he glimpsed it. Somehow the sun seemed to shine with
unusual friendliness that afternoon upon the slim figure of the girl
in the nurse's uniform, and she felt suddenly very close to her big,
handsome husband in the Atlanta prison.
She had never quite recovered from her amazement at Jim's position in
this case. She had always liked Jim but the idea that he might some
day assist her--a professional criminal--in a matter involving the
possible freeing of her criminal husband--had been beyond the realm of
possibility.
True, thus far Jim had done very little and that little with his
customary modest unobtrusiveness. His chief aid had been in moral
support, in a willingness to talk things over. What had really been
accomplished had been the result of her own unremitting vigilance ...
but the hour was approaching when Jim was to play a leading rôle. At
the moment of dénouement she would have been sadly handicapped without
him--and she knew it, for there was no possible chance of publicity
without an airing of her own unsavory reputation.
With Jim as an ally all was different. The very knowledge that he was
helping her imparted a strength and a courage far beyond anything she
had theretofore experienced. And he had promised to be watching from
across the street that night--to be awaiting her signal.
Darkness settled early over the Drive, a deep, cloudy darkness
punctured by the faint twinkling of lights from the Jersey shore,
the sparkle of apartment house windows, glaring arrows of brilliance
from the head-lamps of speeding automobiles and lumbering busses.
From a window in the Lathrop apartment Mary Lannigan fancied that she
could discern the overlarge figure of Jim Hanvey bulking in the gloom
across the way. She returned to her own little cubbyhole of a room and
waited--waited, it seemed, for an eternity.
And eventually there came the ringing of a telephone and Lathrop
himself answered. She heard his voice bidding the operator to send
the gentleman up. A few minutes later Lathrop opened the door of his
apartment and then Mary heard footsteps in the hallway and she opened
her door in time to see Lathrop and Teddy Nelson disappear into the
library.
Jaw firm and eyes steady, Mary Lannigan proceeded with meticulous care.
Fortunately, Mrs. Lathrop was out that evening--"Gadding about like she
always does ..." and the butler was attending to affairs of his own.
Mary had been left in charge of the complacently sleeping Pauline. She
crept to the door of the library and applied an ear to the keyhole.
From inside came the wellnigh unintelligible murmur of voices.
Occasionally one or the other of the men would become argumentative. It
was plain that they were bargaining. Mary fancied that she could see
the long-sought-for string of Rawlings pearls through the keyhole ...
and once she fancied that she heard the rustle of new paper money.
It was then that she went to a front window and, using an electric
torch, flashed to Jim Hanvey the agreed signal. She tiptoed into
Pauline's room and assured herself that the child was sleeping soundly.
Then into the hallway again to resume her vigil.
After an interminable wait there came a light tapping on the door. She
opened it softly and admitted the mammoth detective.
"Goshamighty," he whispered, "that boy downstairs didn't want to let me
come up." He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "How's tricks?"
She detailed developments in a voice barely above a whisper. He nodded
ponderous approval. "Fine stuff. Here's where ol' sleuth gits in his
dirty work, ain't it?"