THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
That the broker’s poise was badly shaken was undeniable. He was not
talking now to one of the meek lambs that he had been accustomed to
shear with such adroitness and dispatch. In the steely glitter of Joe’s
eyes he thought he read disaster. In those curt, crisp accents he heard
the tolling of what might prove the knell of doom.
He abandoned his suavity of manner and took refuge in bluster.
“All that is tommyrot!” he declared, with a fine pretense of outraged
virtue. “My books will show――――”
“I know what they would show,” broke in Joe. “They would show that you
have been matching orders right along on Mr. Varley’s account. That’s a
felony under the law. We could subpœna your books and bring them into
court but that would give you immunity. We’ll prove it in another way,
for you’re going to get no immunity at our hands, Mr. Harrish. And
if you get indicted here, you won’t get off so easily as you did in
Chicago.”
A dull flush crept into Harrish’s cheeks.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Never mind what I mean,” replied Joe. “I’ve had tabs kept on you. I’ve
known what you are ever since the night you tried to bribe me to throw
games.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” declared Harrish. “I never
tried to bribe you to do anything.”
“That adds another to the final score you’ll have to pay,” declared
Joe. “Tompkinson’s had his licking and you’ll get yours before I’m
through with you. But that isn’t the question just now. Come across
with those stocks that belong to Mr. Varley.”
“They don’t belong to him,” asseverated Harrish. “They’re mine. If you
get them you’ll have to sue for them.”
“That’s your final word, is it?” demanded Joe.
“My final word,” asserted Harrish.
“All right, Harrish,” Joe said as he rose. “You’ve had your chance, and
you’re too big a fool to take it. You’d better begin practicing the
lockstep. We’re on your trail, and we’re going to run you down. Come
along, Reggie.”
Baseball Joe and his brother-in-law left the office, followed by a
look in Harrish’s eyes in which hate strove for the mastery over fear.
“My word, old man!” exclaimed Reggie when they were once more in the
street, “you’ve got my bean whirlin’. How did you ever know so well
what the rascal had been doin’?”
“I didn’t,” said Joe. “I was simply bluffing him to a showdown. But I
happen to know how bucketing is worked, and I went on the conviction
that that was what he had been doing. If you had been dealing with a
reputable broker I’d have gone at things in quite another way. But I
already knew Harrish for a crook, and a man who is crooked in one line
will be crooked in another. And I studied his eyes all the time I was
talking, and saw fear and falsehood in them. I’m convinced in my own
mind that I hit the truth.”
“Now, what next?” asked Reggie.
“The next thing,” Joe replied, “is to put the matter into the hands of
a lawyer. I’m going to go over the whole thing again with Bigelow, the
assistant district attorney you heard me mention. Of course he can’t
do anything until and unless the case comes before him in a criminal
action, but he can recommend some shrewd lawyer, and we’ll have him
take up the case. In the meantime, you can give me your power of
attorney so that I can act for you in the matter. Just leave the whole
thing to me, Reggie, and you go back to Goldsboro and stop worrying. I
have a hunch that we’re going to give Harrish a good lively time before
we get through with him.”
That Reggie was only too glad to do this goes without saying. The last
thing he wanted was to have his father learn of his speculations. In
the course of the next few days Joe had taken up the matter with an
able lawyer, a Mr. Haworth, and set a train of inquiries in motion
calculated to cause still more uneasiness to the already badly agitated
Mr. Harrish.
On the afternoon of the day that he had visited Harrish, Joe told McRae
in the clubhouse of the events of the morning. McRae knew Reggie well
and liked him, and he was sincerely sorry to hear of the loss that
threatened him.
“That fellow’s bad medicine,” he remarked. “He’s rotten through and
through. Keep right after him, Joe, and in the meantime I’ll have
O’Brien on the job and do all I can to put a spoke in his wheel. I can
see Sing Sing yawning for him. But how are you feeling now, Joe? How’s
the old soup bone?”
“Pretty fair,” replied Joe. “Most of the time it feels as well as ever,
but at times I have a strange tingling sensation in it. I guess it will
be all right pretty soon.”
“I’m afraid we’ve been overworking you,” said McRae. “Riding a willing
horse to death. You’d better let up for a few days and let the other
pitchers bear the brunt of the work.”
As Jim had pitched only a few innings on the preceding day, McRae
put him in for the second game with the Bostons and he justified his
choice. He gave a superb exhibition of pitching and turned in a victory
with an ample margin.
Merton, Bradley, and Markwith were called on to a much greater extent
than usual in the games that followed. They did fairly good work, but
the absence of Joe was severely felt. The team did not play behind the
other twirlers with the confidence they showed when Joe was in the box,
and the Giants began to lose games with a frequency that was profoundly
disturbing to McRae.
With the eastern teams they scored little more than an even break. And
as the Chicagos and Pittsburghs were playing at the top of their form,
the commanding lead that the Giants had enjoyed was rapidly diminished.
On one of the days that the Phillies were scheduled to play in New York
the day was dark and lowering, and as rain began to fall about noon the
game was called off. As it developed, the game could have been played
after all, for the rain ceased and the sun shone out brightly about
two o’clock, but it was then too late to change the arrangements.
Jim had taken advantage of the unexpected vacation to go downtown on a
business errand and Joe had taken his favorite seat in the bay window
of his apartment with a book in which he was interested.
Two hours later Jim returned. He entered the apartment in his usual
breezy manner.
“What do you think, Joe――” he began, and stopped.
Joe’s book had dropped to the floor and he himself was sprawled out in
the chair fast asleep.
“By the great horn spoon!” exclaimed Jim. “You lazy old galoot!”
He pranced up to his friend and shook him vigorously.
“Snap out of it, old boy!”
Joe remained absolutely inert. Jim shook him harder this time, but
failed to elicit any response.
Now Jim was frightened.