NOT MUCH SHOW
Tired out, Janet went to bed shortly after Stillman left, but Locke,
knowing he could not sleep, sat up to think the situation over. The
difficulties and problems of his own position seemed greater than
ever. If the plot was as deep and intricate as the reporter believed,
and if the men behind it were moving with haste and certainty to the
accomplishment of their designs, there seemed scarcely a ghost of a
chance for him, practically alone and unaided, to block them.
For Lefty now felt that, in a way, he was standing alone. Even Kennedy,
having no power, could do little more than offer advice. And where was
Kennedy?
The southpaw had fancied that he would be given more time to muster his
opposing forces for the battle. He had even imagined, at first, that
the man he would need to contend against and defeat was Weegman. But
now Weegman, the blind tool of craftier creatures, looked insignificant
and weak. In order to defeat him it would be necessary to strike higher.
How was he to strike? That was the question. Locke had suggested to
Stillman complete exposure of the plot by newspaper publicity. And
right there the reporter, who had seemed so confident of his ground,
had betrayed that, after his usual method, he was working by intuition,
and had no positive and unassailable verification of his conclusions.
It would not do for his paper to charge criminal conspiracy without
proper evidence to back up such an indictment.
Recalling this, Lefty remembered that Stillman, having heard all the
southpaw could tell, had ended by giving his own theory, and had offered
proof to substantiate it. And then he had been compelled to acknowledge
that the proof he had to offer was not sound enough to base exposure
and open action upon.
If Stillman were right, doubtless Parlmee had gone abroad with full
knowledge of Charles Collier's whereabouts. That knowledge being denied
Lefty, he could not warn Collier, and the plot would be carried through
as arranged. Then, as the reporter had predicted, at the annual meeting
of the magnates, shortly to be held, Garrity would appear as owner of
the Blue Stockings. When that happened, the fight would be over, and
the conspirators would be triumphant.
With the door to Janet's chamber closed, Locke walked the floor,
striving for a clear conception of what ought to be done. He felt
like a man bound hand and foot. Of course, he could go on with his
project to strengthen the team, but the harvest of his success would
be reaped by the plotters, if they, too, were successful. There was
little uncertainty about what would happen to him, for he knew that
his conscience would not permit him to become an understrapper for
Garrity. He had left Fernandon with courage and high hope to do battle;
but now the helplessness of the situation threatened to appall him.
If there were only some way to get into communication with Collier. Again
he thought of his somewhat shaken conviction that Virginia was in New
York. If that were true, some of her family or friends must know it, and,
of course, Virginia would know how to communicate without delay with her
father.
With this thought came the conviction that in Virginia lay his only
hope. If he had been mistaken, and she were not in the United States,
his chance of doing anything to foil the conspirators was not one in a
thousand. His work for the morrow was cut out for him; he must learn
positively if Charles Collier's daughter was on American soil, and, if
so, he must find her.
The telephone rang, and when he answered it he was informed that Kennedy
was calling. The faithful old veteran had come, after all! Lefty said
that he was to be sent up at once.
"Well, son," said old Jack, as he came in, "how are things moving?"
"None too well," answered Lefty, shaking his hand.
"So?" grunted Kennedy. "I wondered just what was up, and I came right
along in answer to your call, but my train was delayed. What are the new
developments?"
"Sit down," said Locke, "and I'll tell you. Since I sent you that
message I've heard something that's got me guessing--and worried."
"The contracts?" questioned old Jack, sitting down. "The boys signed
up, didn't they?"
"Every one of them. That's not the trouble. I've had a talk with Jack
Stillman."
"The only reporter I know with a noodle screwed on right," said
Kennedy. "His bean's packed with sound sense. When he gets an idea
it's generally correct."
"In that case, unless he's made a bobble this time, the situation's
worse than we suspected, Jack."
"Give me the dope," urged Kennedy.
The old man listened to Locke without comment, and when Lefty had
finished, he sat thoughtfully plucking at his under lip with his thumb
and forefinger.
"Well," he said, after a time, "Stillman usually puts them in the
groove when he shoots."
"Then you think he's hit it right in this case?"
"I haven't said so. If anybody else had passed this one up, I'd have
said it missed the plate by a rod. With Stillman doing the pitching, I'm
not so ready to give a decision against him. But you say he finished a
lot more confident than he began?"
"Yes. Instead of seeking information, he finished up by giving it."
"Just as though he had talked himself into a settled conviction as he
went along?"
"That's it."
"Then we won't accept his statement as fact until he gets some kind of
proof, son. You know more about Parlmee than I do, and you've always
figured that gent on the level, haven't you?"
"Yes; but I'm compelled to admit that I haven't had sufficient
dealings with him to feel certain that my estimation of his character
is correct. Furthermore, my first impression was unfavorable."
"First impressions are sometimes the best."
"But at that time, as you know, my judgment could hardly be
unprejudiced. It was when Collier first took over the team and I had
trouble with Carson, the manager he put in your place. Everything
seemed going wrong then."
A grin broke over Kennedy's face, and he chuckled softly, a reminiscent
expression in his keen old eyes.
"Those were some stirring times, boy," he said. "Collier fired me for
Al Carson, and Carson made a mess of it. He's managing a dub league
team now. He thought he could get along without you, just as Collier
reckoned he could dispense with me; but at the finish it was you and me
that came back and saved the day for the Stockings. You pitched the game
of your life that last day of the season. Now it's up to you to come
back again, and I've got a hunch that you will. You'll return, better
than ever. You're going to make the wiseacres that think you're down
and out look foolish."
Locke shook his head. "Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that
if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn't have the heart to work for
that scoundrel. Back in the time we're speaking of, it was Stillman's
cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got
wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw
through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake."
"Right you are," admitted old Jack.
"All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can't dodge that
fact. To-morrow I'm going to make every effort to find some method of
getting into communication with Charles Collier. It's my only play in
this game. If it fails--good night!"
Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait
patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to
work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy's advice on other
matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time
being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan
of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling
into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the
problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and
prestige could be solved later.
Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man's
habit when perplexed. "Yes, son," he said, after a time, "that's what
you're up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn't look
like you have."