TRAPPED
West smiled pleasantly, glad the man had taken the initiative, thus
naturally opening up a way for asking certain questions. Whatever his own
immediate object might be in thus scraping an acquaintance made no
difference. It would doubtless develop in time, but meanwhile here was
the opportunity sought to discuss the affairs of the neighbourhood. Yet
the subject must be approached with due caution. The very indifference of
the bar-tender coupled with the evident desire of this hanger-on to form
an acquaintance, served to reveal the real nature of "Mike's Place."
Plainly enough strangers were viewed with suspicion, and this was no
ordinary saloon, catering to whatever trade drifted within its doors.
More than likely it was rather a thieves' hang-out, ever suspicious of
the activity of the police.
Yet this fellow bore no outward semblance to the common conception of the
under-world. Nor did his actions or words exhibit any motive other than
ordinary good-fellowship. He was well dressed, easy of manner, with an
exceptionally intelligent face, blue eyes meeting West's gaze frankly, a
carefully trimmed moustache, with white teeth good humouredly showing
when he smiled, and threads of grey in his hair. His very appearance
invited confidence and comradeship, while his outspoken words increased
this impression.
"Excuse my butting in," he explained genially. "But it's damn dull around
here tonight. Nobody to talk with but a couple o' bums. You see I don't
belong around here; just dropped in for a bit of business with Mike."
"I see," admitted West, puzzled, and wondering how far he dared venture.
"You can get lonelier in a big city than anywhere else."
"You bet you can. I like some one I can talk to; some guy with ideas. You
see I run a broker's office down town, an' its pretty blame slow around a
dump like this--you get me?"
"Sure; this seems to be a pretty quiet place."
"Quiet! Hell! it isn't always so quiet. I've dropped in here when it was
lively enough, believe me. But tonight it's the limit. Fact is I come up
for a little excitement, as much as anything else, but must have struck
an off night. You're a smoke inspector, Mike says?"
West nodded.
"Know Fred Karvan, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; friend of yours?"
"Used to be; we were kids together down on the southside. He's got a
pretty soft job now; stands in strong with the City Hall, they tell me.
Mean to drop in and see him some of these days."
"You'll find him a mighty good fellow," asserted West to whom the name
was entirely unfamiliar.
"Well, I'm not so sure about that. He's got pretty stiff the last few
years they tell me. But then you work under him, and ought to know. Head
of your department, isn't he?"
"Yes, but I only meet him in a business way, of course."
"Sure; but that is the way you get to know them best. Been a soldier,
haven't you?"
"Yes, but what made you think that?" in some surprise at the unexpected
query. The man laughed, lighting a cigar carelessly.
"Oh, it has not been so long since, that the evidence is obliterated.
I've got a habit of noticing things. The way you sit, and square your
shoulders told me you'd been in uniform; besides you're the right age.
Get across to France?"
"Had over a year there," wondering what the fellow could be angling
after. "You didn't get in?"
"No; I was over the limit. I was thinking you might be interested in
looking over a collection of war relics Mike has got stowed away here
somewhere. He had two boys over there, and I reckon they must have put in
most of their time gathering up souvenirs. Anyhow they brought back the
greatest collection of war junk I've ever seen. Say, Mike, what did you
do with those war relics the boys sent home?"
The fellow addressed leaned over the bar, his face glowing with
sudden interest.
"They vas in the back-room, all spread out. Why you ask? The gentlemen
would see them, what?"
"Yes; this one was a soldier himself. Maybe he can tell more about them
than the boys could. How is it? You fellows like to see the things?"
West hesitated for just an instant, his eyes turning unconsciously toward
Sexton, who had not spoken. He felt no suspicion, merely a vague doubt as
to what this invitation might conceal. Yet it had all been natural
enough, and promised an opportunity for him to learn something more of
the place. An accident might reveal the very discovery he was eagerly
seeking. Besides there could be no danger; both he and Sexton were armed,
and apparently the invitation was innocently extended. To refuse to
accept would be churlish.
"Certainly," he said at last, quaffing the last of his beer and
rising to his feet. "It will be nothing new to me, I imagine, but
we'll have a look."
The other man, who had been leaning against the bar, had disappeared,
while the fellow at the table had seemingly fallen asleep. Mike came
forward with a bunch of keys in his hand.
"I keep dot room locked," he exclaimed gruffly, "for some beoples run off
with all dings they get their fingers on. Hey, you, Carl," and he roughly
shook the sleeper into semi-consciousness, "wake up, and see to the bar
awhile. I've got some business. Whoever comes, you keep them
here--understand. All right, gents."
The three stood close behind him as Mike inserted the key, and opened the
door. It was already growing dusk without, and the tightly closed room,
with shade drawn at the single window, was so dark that West could
scarcely discern its shape and contents. Mike, without hesitation,
stepped within, his great bulk blotting out whatever view there was.
"Come right in, gents," he insisted. "Von minute, an' I turn on
the light."
West never understood why he responded so recklessly to this invitation,
and advanced without hesitation. He had no suspicion of any trick, no
conception of being in any danger. He stepped in directly behind the
leader, and Sexton followed. An instant later, the door closed, with the
sharp click of a night latch, and Mike flashed on the light. As he did
so, he wheeled about, and shot one mighty clinched fist straight into
West's face. This was done so suddenly, so unexpectedly, the man
attacked found no opportunity to even throw up a hand in self-defence.
The giant Pole flung his whole weight into the crashing blow, and the
ex-soldier went down as though struck by a pole-ax. For an instant, he
realized that Sexton was in a fierce struggle; that his assailant stood
poised above him ready to land again if he moved; then consciousness
left him entirely.
He woke up, sitting in a chair, his hands bound to the arms with strips
of cloth. For a moment everything about seemed tinged with yellow, the
various objects in sight vague and shapeless. It hurt him to move his
head, and his mind functioned dully. He could not think, or bring back to
memory a recollection of what had occurred. Yet slowly the mist cleared
and the objects about him assumed natural form. He was in a room of some
size--not the one in which he had been attacked he felt sure--fitted up
with a long table, and a number of chairs. There was no other furniture;
the walls were bare, and only a small rag rug partially covered the
floor. At first he perceived no other occupants; only as, painfully, he
finally twisted his head to the right, his eyes distinguished two men
seated against the wall. The sight of their faces restored instantly his
memory of what had occurred. The Pole rested back, with feet on the table
and eyes closed, but the other--the younger man--was watching him
closely, an unlighted cigar gripped in his teeth.
"So, you've come out of it," the latter said unpleasantly. "I'd begun to
think Mike had handed you a real knock-out that time. Ready to answer a
few questions?"
West, his brain clearing rapidly, sat up straighter in the chair,
determined to play out his part the best he could.
"Perfectly ready," he replied struggling to control his voice. "Only I
should like to know what all this means? Why attack me?"
"You'll find that out soon enough, Captain; but first I'll do the
questioning."
"Not until I know one thing, at least--what has become of the man who
was with me?"
"Well, I might as well tell you," carelessly. "He got hurt; the fool
compelled me to hit him with a gat; so he's out of it, and you might as
well come through clean--that guy isn't going to help you any."
"You mean you killed him?"
"Well, he's out of the game; that's enough. And as for you, your best
play right now is to talk up straight." He laughed sneeringly, "Unless
you want to call up your friend Karvan, at the City Hall, you know. Hell,
but you was easy!"
"Easy?"
"That's what I said. I knew you all right when you first blew in, only I
wasn't quite sure. Just had a glimpse of you once before. I naturally
guessed your smoke-inspector stunt was a sham. So, I ran that Fred Karvan
stuff in on you. You ate it up, which gave you clean away, for I never
knew any guy of that name. Do you see the point, Captain West?"
"Yes, I see all that plainly enough, but it does not explain the attack
on me. You evidently know my name, and this assault has been
deliberately made. Why? What have you against me? I have never seen
either of you before."
"Perhaps I'll tell you when you explain. What brought you into this
neighbourhood. Hunting some one, wasn't you?"
"Not exactly."
"Oh, don't lie; that will bring you nothing, West. You were sticking your
nose into a private matter which does not concern you in any way. That's
right, isn't it? Very well, you've had your lesson, and now it is simply
up to you to either drop this thing, or else take another. It's up to you
how far we go. Now listen. I believe it was merely curiosity that brought
you here. That's true, isn't it?"
"Largely, yes."
"You suspected something, and wanted to find out if it was so. Well, you
came into a bad neighbourhood. We are not nice to your kind around here.
What really caused your seeking me?"
"I do not know that I did," West answered honestly. "In fact I haven't
the slightest idea who you are."
The other laughed.
"So you are as green as that. Then I'll give you the information. My
name is Hobart, Jim Hobart. I am the guy you were looking for?"
"Yes," West admitted, seeing no reason to refuse an answer.
"I thought so, although darned if I know how you ever located me here.
However, the sooner we come to some understanding, the better. What do
you know about me?"
"Nothing."
"Is that so! You knew my name when I spoke it. It was the Coolidge matter
that sent you hunting me. Oh, hell, you might as well cough up, West, for
I've got your number. You thought the girl was here, didn't you?"
"I had reason to believe she came here."
"I see; how did you gain that news?"
"A conversation by telephone was overheard."
"Now we are getting down to facts. And this comprises your entire
information, doesn't it? Let's check up. You connected me with the case
because you were with the uncle and her on their call Sunday. You
discovered in some way that I had since disappeared from that
neighbourhood. Then you accidentally got on to this telephone call, and
decided to run me down. Some cute little detective, I'll say. But what's
the object? What is it you are trying to connect me up with? What
possible cause can you have for butting in on this affair?"
"I told you before; merely curiosity."
"And who was the guy with you?"
"An old servant of the Coolidge family."
"It was mere curiosity in his case also, I presume?"
"So far as I know, yes."
Hobart smiled, showing his teeth cruelly.
"West," he said slowly, "you are a damned good liar, but I am about to
spike your gun. Go on out Mike, and send in the first witness."