UNDER TRUE COLORS.
Patsy Garvan realized on the instant that he had been trapped; that he
was in wrong, as well as right; that the man who now held him up must
have suspected something threatening, and instead of responding to the
knock on the outer door, had quickly extinguished the light in the
parlor and then stepped into the bedroom to await developments.
That, at least, was the way Patsy immediately sized it up.
As quickly, too, recalling the bandage around his neck and his upturned
collar, he resorted to a subterfuge which he thought might serve his
purpose and prevent an exposure of his true identity and designs.
Sharply eying the threatening intruder, therefore, whom he rightly
inferred was the absent physician’s valet, or more properly his
confederate, Patsy coolly answered:
“Don’t get miffed, old chap, and go slow with that gun. It might go off
by chance, you know, and I don’t like the way it’s pointing. You’ve got
me all right, and I’m not fool enough to butt my head against a brick
wall.”
Draper viewed him with a scornful curl of his thin lips.
“Sit in that chair,” he repeated, revolver leveled. “Keep your hands on
its arms, too, or this gun will go off in the direction it’s
pointed--but not by chance.”
“You wouldn’t kill a fellow in cold blood, would you?” asked Patsy,
obeying.
“Yes, or hot blood. It would matter little to me.”
“That would be foolish. You might be executed for murder.”
“Not by a long chalk. A man may protect his property with a gun, or that
of his employer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Patsy dryly allowed.
“What do you want here?”
“Anything I could get worth lifting.”
“You mean that you came here to steal something?”
“Don’t I look it? How else would you size it up?”
“I asked for information.”
“Well, I’m handing you straight goods,” said Patsy. “I’m in hard
sledding and in need of a lift, so I tried to get it without a formal
request. I’m not good at begging. Lemme go this time, will you? I’ll
never butt in here again.”
“I’ll make sure of that,” retorted Draper, with ominous significance.
Then he took a chair some six feet in front of Patsy, coolly sitting
down with the revolver still poised in his hand and ready for instant
use, if necessary.
Patsy realized that he was up against a man of nerve, as well as a man
who would not shrink from bloodshed under the circumstances. That he was
confronted by one of the gang that had abducted Clayton, moreover, and
one of the gang that had stolen the jewel cases that morning, he now had
not a doubt.
There was a brief period of silence, finally broken by Patsy.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Get busy. Do something.”
“I’m doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Watching you.”
“You’ll not let me go, then?”
“Not so you’ll notice it.”
“But we can’t remain sitting here like two catsup bottles on a shelf,”
growled Patsy, with affected resentment. “Let’s come to some kind of an
understanding. What are you going to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided,” said Draper, constantly alert. “You’re a thief, are
you?”
“That’s what,” Patsy insisted. “I admit it, but it’s only because I’m
out of a job. I’m a high-grade thief, too, as you can see by my looks.”
“Yes, you look it, all right.”
“I’ve got a room here in the house, and I pass for a decent fellow. Call
up the hotel clerk, Vernon, if you doubt it, and he’ll tell you.”
“There isn’t any need of calling him,” Draper sneered. “I’m waiting for
some one else.”
“Who is that?” asked Patsy, pretending ignorance.
“You’ll soon see.”
“When? How soon?”
“When he returns from dinner. He’ll say what must be done with you. He’s
the big finger in this--ah, there he is. Don’t stir, or you’ll be a dead
one.”
Draper’s gaze was fixed more sharply upon his helpless hearer, and his
revolver again was leveled.
Patsy took him on his word and did not stir.
A key had been thrust into the hall door. The door swung open while
Draper was speaking, and Doctor Guelpa strode through the narrow
entrance hall.
He started slightly upon seeing the two motionless men, but if he felt
any great surprise, or any consternation, he did not betray it.
“Who is this fellow, Draper?” he inquired, pausing.
“He says he’s a thief,” replied Draper, without turning an eye from
Patsy.
“You caught him stealing?”
“It looks so.”
“How did it happen?”
“I was lying on my bed before lighting up, and I heard a knock on the
door,” Draper proceeded to explain. “I did not bother to answer it, nor
a second one, and then I heard him sneak in here. He switched on the
light and began to search your desk. Then I held him up--and here he
is.”
Doctor Guelpa came a little nearer and glared down at Patsy.
Patsy gave him stare for stare.
“Keep him covered, Draper,” said the physician, with ominous quietude.
“So you’re a thief, are you?”
“What’s the use of denying it?” asked Patsy. “I’ve told that gink with a
gun that----”
“Never mind what you told him,” Guelpa interrupted, more sharply. “Shoot
him instantly, Draper, if he stirs. We can say we caught him committing
a robbery.”
“That’s what I told him,” grinned Draper.
“Very likely he’s the scamp who stole Falloni’s diamonds,” added Guelpa,
more sharply watching Patsy’s face.
It underwent no change evincing his identity and designs.
“I’d be a fall guy, for fair, if I came in here after getting away with
that batch of jewels,” he said derisively.
“Keep him covered, Draper,” Guelpa repeated. “I’ll find out who he is.”
He came nearer to Patsy, then suddenly seized one side of his mustache
and jerked it from his lip.
Patsy uttered an involuntary cry of pain.
Guelpa gazed at him more sharply, with countenance turning as dark as a
thundercloud, while his teeth met with a sudden, sharp snap.
“Ah, I see!” he exclaimed, half in his throat. “You’re one of those
detectives whom I saw this morning. You’re that fellow Garvan.”
Patsy realized that he had nothing to gain by denying it. He laughed
indifferently and replied:
“I guess that calls the turn, doctor.”
“I know it does, not guess it,” snapped Guelpa. “What do you want here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“For what?”
“To find out whether you have learned anything more about the robbery,
or whether you have any suspicion.”
“Did Nick Carter send you?”
“No. I came on my own hook.”
“You lie, you whelp,” Guelpa now said harshly. “You act only under his
instructions. There can be only one reason for your coming here and
breaking into my apartments. Carter thinks I know something about the
robbery, or suspects me of having committed it. Isn’t that right?”
“Right for him to suspect you?” asked Patsy, undaunted by the blaze that
had arisen in the physician’s eyes.
“Don’t josh me, Garvan, nor try to evade me,” Guelpa fiercely
threatened. “If you do, I’ll have your infernal life. Tell me--does
Carter think I committed that robbery?”
“How can I tell?” retorted Patsy defiantly. “I’m not a mind reader.”
“You know what he suspects.”
“No, I don’t,” Patsy insisted. “There is one thing I do know, however.”
“What is that?”
“That if he suspects you, Doctor Guelpa, he never so much as mentioned
it to me.”
“Is that true?”
“True as gospel,” said Patsy; and it was.
Doctor Guelpa hesitated for a moment, while Draper put in with an
assurance evincing his relations with the other:
“Don’t swallow that, doc, not on your life. It’s all bunk. He would not
be here, not sneaking in as I caught him, if Carter had not sent him.”
“Do you think so?”
“I think it’s a cinch.”
Doctor Guelpa gazed again at Patsy. His ferocity had vanished, but there
now was a gleam in his eyes that was thrice more threatening. He paused
for a moment with brows darkly knit, then said abruptly:
“You may be right, Draper. Watch the whelp. I’ll fix him.”
“I’ll watch him, all right,” returned Draper, with a warning scowl.
“Gee! I’m in wrong now, for fair,” thought Patsy, thoroughly disgusted
with the turn of the situation. “Fix me, eh? I wonder what’s coming. The
infernal rascal has something up his sleeve. Infernal rascal is right,
too, and I wish I had phoned the chief before butting in here.”
Doctor Guelpa had approached a wall cabinet directly behind Patsy, who
could not then see what the physician was doing.
He had opened the cabinet and taken from it a small vial and graduated
glasses, into which he was pouring a quantity of brown fluid.
Having obtained the desired quantity, he transferred it from the glass,
into a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which he carefully inspected.
Patsy waited a bit apprehensive all the while.
Draper watched him as a cat watches a mouse.
Doctor Guelpa closed the cabinet, then turned again toward Patsy.
“I don’t feel sure you are telling the truth, Garvan,” he said, with
affected uncertainty. “If I did, I would be willing to meet you halfway
and discuss this matter----”
“But I’m giving it to you straight,” Patsy insisted, interrupting. “Nick
doesn’t suspect you.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“He does not, Doctor Guelpa, on the level. He has not even thought of
you in connection with the robbery.”
“Before he does, then, I’ll make sure to get him and put him away. That
can be done--as easily as this.”
Standing with the syringe concealed in one hand, Guelpa suddenly bowed
and threw his arm around Patsy’s head, at the same time thrust the
needle into his neck.
Patsy vented a growl and began to struggle, despite that Draper clapped
the muzzle of the revolver against his breast.
The injection so quickly administered was a powerful one, however, and
acted instantly. It sent a tingling sensation through Patsy’s veins. His
strength deserted him, seeming to fly out through his toes and fingers.
He tried to shout for help, but his tongue was palsied. Only a hollow
gurgle came from his twitching lips.
Then, for it was all over in ten seconds, the light vanished, Guelpa’s
half-smothered imprecations turned to silence, the grasp of merciless
hands no longer could be felt, and Patsy lapsed into the realm of utter
oblivion and was lowered to the floor, as limp and ghastly as if life
had left him.
Doctor Guelpa straightened up and laid aside the syringe, while Draper
thrust the revolver into his pocket.
“Easily done, doc, is right,” he said, grinning. “This was the only way.
The meddlesome rat must have picked up a thread of some kind that led
him here. There was nothing for us but to dispose of him before he could
hand his information to others.”
“He meant it, nevertheless, when he said that Carter does not suspect
me,” Doctor Guelpa declared. “We must get him, then, before he does
suspect. It afterward might be too late.”
“That’s right, too,” Draper agreed quickly. “But can it be done?”
“It must be done,” Guelpa coolly insisted. “I know how and will turn the
trick.”
“And then?”
“This game that we have been playing must be continued. We must throttle
suspicion where we find it, and choke the cursed weed before it can
spread.”
“That’s the stuff, all right.”
“We must maintain our position and good standing here, Draper, or it
will be a case of bolt for us, with the police of the world out to get
us. That won’t do at all, Draper, not at all. We must bluff suspicion
to a standstill, or down it with a club.”
“I’m with you all the while,” said Draper approvingly. “I reckon we can
make good. But what’s to be done with this pup?”
“Pull out the empty trunk,” said Guelpa. “We’ll crowd him into it and
ship him to my office, then lug it into Biddle’s quarters. Ring for a
porter to lend you a hand with the trunk to the elevator. I’ll remark to
him, or to any other inquisitive observer, that it takes too much room
in my suite.”
“That can be done in ten minutes,” nodded Draper, hastening to bring one
of the large trunks from the adjoining room.
Doctor Guelpa smoothed his slightly ruffled coat and bestowed a kick
upon the senseless form of the detective.
“Dead easy,” said he, replying. “Cram him into it and lock it. I’ll get
Scoville on the phone, in the meantime, and have him come round here
with a wagon.”
Patsy Garvan heard none of this.
He was lying with his face upturned in the bright electric light, a face
as ghastly as that of a corpse.