FLUSHING THE BIRDS.
A waiter approached, a tall, dark, slim fellow, with evident traces
of African blood in his veins. He stepped impudently in front of the
detectives as they followed Julius and the woman from the room. His
manner was insulting in the extreme.
“How did you get into that room?” he demanded.
Nick sized up the situation instantly. Some of their conversation had
been overheard, and this waiter had been set on to detain them while
the man and woman got away. Either that, or assault, perhaps murder,
was intended. It was clear that he had made progress during his talk
with Mantelle.
Without replying to the impudent question of the waiter, Nick motioned
him to step aside, and advanced toward the public room, which lay at
the end of a wide hall upon which the private room opened. At the rear
of the hall was a wide door opening on an alley. The waiter did not
move. He still obstructed the way. Julius and the woman were passing
through the outer room toward the street door.
“You had no right in there,” continued the waiter, angry at the way he
was ignored, “and I have a notion to throw you out into the alley.”
“Mention of the Townsend murder appears to stir things up in this
house,” said the detective, looking the waiter in the eye.
For a second the fellow looked dismayed, but only for a second. Other
waiters were now gathering in the hall. The clerk advanced to the scene
of trouble.
“We can’t have quarreling here,” he said. “You go back to your work,”
he added, addressing the waiters, “and you,” to the detectives, “make
your way out as quietly as possible. I told you not to go into that
room.”
“At any rate,” thought Nick, “the clerk is not in with this play,
whatever it is.”
“He can’t come in here and insult my customers,” said the waiter,
ignoring the protests of the clerk. “I’ll pitch him into the alley.”
“The alley is probably half full of bullies,” thought Nick, “and
I have no time for a battle now. The waiter is in touch with the
syndicate.”
The waiter seized Nick by the shoulder and hurried him along toward the
alley door, and Nick went without resistance. He wanted to see what
there was in the alley.
Another waiter seized Chick and moved forward with him. It seemed to be
the idea to separate the two men. Chick waited until the alley door was
opened, and then landed a blow on the waiter which laid him unconscious
on the floor.
Through the doorway leading to the alley the assistant had observed
three muscular men waiting for Nick to be passed out to them! Surely
the detective had had good cause to begin a line of inquiries at this
place!
In a moment Chick was at the side of his chief, who was still inside
the restaurant. There was a rush for the place, half a dozen waiters
swarming about the two detectives. Chick saw iron knuckles in more than
one hand, and understood that the intention was to knock them both out.
As he approached, he saw Nick whirl suddenly about, land a knockout
blow on the waiter’s jaw, and make toward the front of the place. Two
waiters were now down, and all was excitement, but no one opposed the
exit of the detectives. Two of their crack men had been knocked out,
and that was enough to warn the others to be careful. At the door Nick
beckoned to a policeman, a roundsman, who knew him well.
“I had to do a little hitting in there,” he said to the policeman.
“Go in and take the two men you will find suffering from too much
impudence. Lock them up, and keep them apart and away from visitors.”
The roundsman saluted and passed into the restaurant.
“Now,” said Nick, “we may as well learn where Julius and the woman go.”
“I’m afraid they’re out of sight,” said Chick.
“No, they were waiting to see us beaten to a pulp,” replied Nick. “They
have just left the stairway there at the left and turned the corner.
Keep along after them and track them home. If they separate, follow the
woman.”
Chick hastened away, and Nick made his way to his office, where he
found Patsy awaiting him.
“I have looked up the details of the four diamond robberies,” said the
assistant, “and here is the report.”
He handed his chief a typewritten roll of at least twenty thousand
words. Nick glanced at the length of the document, and asked:
“How many hands show plainly in these jobs?”
“One in the last three,” was the reply.
“And all these are of recent occurrence?”
“Yes, of very recent occurrence.”
“And the proof points to a woman?”
“Exactly.”
“What sort of a woman?”
“A lady’s maid.”
“Describe her.”
Patsy laughed as he replied:
“That would be a hard thing for me to do, though my wife, Adelina,
might satisfy you. Sometimes she is young and fair. Again, she is old
and wrinkled. Now she has abundant black hair, now she has short auburn
locks. She seemed to be an expert at disguises, for no one suspected
her.”
“Yet you are certain of your ground?”
“Certainly. The face does not always do its duty when disguised. There
are features which cannot be changed by art. This girl has a small mole
on the right upper lip, just at the corner of the nostril.”
“That is a very common face blemish.”
“Exactly, but this girl has tried to secure the removal of this
blemish, and it has resented the interference. It is inflamed, and is
growing in size.”
“What else?”
“She is young.”
“How do you know that?”
“She looks it. She can’t be over twenty.”
“Where did she appear as a young woman?”
“At the Burns house.”
“Go on.”
“She is slender, and has a fancy for diamonds.”
“Go on.”
“Just now she is not in evidence. No one seems to know where she is.”
“You did not unnecessarily attract attention to her?”
“Oh, no. She is not supposed to be suspected. I was looking after a
long-lost sister.”
“Can you ascertain where she put in her extra time while out at
service?”
“I have already done so. She was infatuated with the stage. She went to
the theatres, and sought the companionship of actors and actresses. She
informed the servants at the Burns house that she was in training for
the stage.”
“She may be behind the footlights now.”
“I can’t find her at any of the theatres.”
“Well,” said the detective, “about ten o’clock to-night I may be able
to point her out to you. Remain here for the present.”
In an hour a call from Chick came over the phone. He was in a room
opposite a private parlor at the Cumberland.
“Our parties are across the hall,” he said, “and they seem to be
holding a reception. About a dozen people in there now, and more
coming.”
“What sort of people?”
“Pretty good-looking lot. Look like hotel clerks, restaurant owners,
and race-horse fellows of the better class.”
“Mantelle master of ceremonies?”
“He appears to be.”
“Any way of learning what they are talking about?”
“I can’t get a single word.”
“Is Julius dressed just as he was this afternoon at the café?”
“Exactly.”
“All right. I’ll be up there in a short time.”
Nick rang off, and made up a bundle from the clothing stored in his
dressing room. Then he turned to Patsy.
“You saw the clothes I put up?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“Well, if you see me in that rig, follow on, wherever I go. Perhaps you
would better get on your messenger rig. You can go anywhere in that, in
the part of the city where I am going.”
Patsy hastened away to prepare his change of apparel. Nick regarded his
own disguise ruefully. It was without doubt necessary in this case,
but he disliked to go about in the guise of another man. He preferred
to win his cases by reasoning them out rather than by cheap detective
methods.
As soon as Patsy was ready, Nick took up his bundle with a sigh, and
the two made their way to the Cumberland, Patsy following along on the
opposite side of the street.
“Step into the corridor and note the room I am shown to,” said Nick,
waiting for the seeming messenger to come up with him at the entrance
to the hotel. “After I have been in there a minute, tell the clerk you
have a message for the man in that room. Come in armed and ready for a
scrap.”
“A scrap at the Cumberland?” echoed Patsy.
“We can’t tell what will happen,” replied Nick.
It was now growing dark, and when Nick entered the room where Chick
awaited him, the gas was burning dimly.
In a moment the detective had his clothes off and was dressing himself
in the ones brought from his office. As the work progressed, Patsy
knocked at the door, and was admitted.
Directly, Nick stood before his assistants ready for action.
It seemed to them that it was Mantelle who stood there.
“It is a hard rôle to play,” said Nick, “because it is difficult to
hold my face as Mantelle carries his. Anything wrong?”
“Not a thing!” said Chick.
“You look like the original,” said Patsy.
“Now,” said Nick, “I’d like to get in there and hear the talk, but I do
not care to risk it, as a failure would ruin all my plans.”
“What’s the game?” asked Patsy.
“We’ll have to remain here until they leave,” was the reply.
“That may be at midnight.”
“Yes, but we must wait.”
“And then?”
“When we see that they are going, the messenger steps out and invites
Mantelle into this room.”
“And we put him to sleep, and you step out in his place?”
“That’s it.”
“It’s a risky thing to do,” said Chick.
Nick remained silent.