BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY.
The door was unlocked, opened, and the men came in.
From the footfalls alone, Patsy’s keen ear could tell that there were
three men instead of two.
“We were up here waiting for you, Gillman,” said a voice.
“If I had come any sooner, I’d have missed that highball,” answered a
second voice.
“When you turn the key, Ramsay,” observed a third voice, “don’t neglect
to hang that slouch of yours over the knob.”
The wearer of the slouch hat was the man Patsy was shadowing, so he had
learned the fellow’s true name.
The key scraped in the lock.
“There you are, Starlick,” answered Ramsay. “The key fills up the hole
enough, I should think. Besides, we won’t keep Gillman over two
minutes.”
“Long enough to give me a retainer,” chuckled Gillman.
“How much of a retainer do you want?”
“Five hundred. After that, and before these capitalists turn over their
good money, I want forty-five hundred more.”
“That’s big pay for fifteen minutes’ work.”
“It’s no pay at all for the risk I run.”
“Well, well, never mind. Here’s your five hundred.”
“Thanks. And the cigarettes?”
“Here; two boxes of them.”
“Heavens, man! How many do you expect me to smoke during that fifteen
minutes?”
“As many as you can. The more the better.”
“Where do I get the forty-five hundred?”
“At Boucicault’s, Hamilton Street, Brooklyn.”
“Don’t try any of your Montana tricks with me, you two. I won’t stand
for it, and I’ll queer your game if it lands me in the pen.”
“Don’t squeal till we throw you down,” put in Starlick.
“Bring a duplicate assay certificate, Gillman,” said Ramsay, “and you’ll
get your bonus without any question.”
“Then I’ll pull out. You fellows may depend on me.”
“If you queer this deal, without our throwing you down, you’ll never
live to queer another.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m out for the stuff, and this looks like easy
money. What time shall I be at Boucicault’s?”
“Be there at ten.”
“Good!”
Gillman went away, and Ramsay and Starlick continued their conversation.
“I’m scared all the while I’m in New York, Starlick,” said Ramsay.
“On account of this deal?”
“Thunder, no. On account of Nick Carter. He only saw me for about a
minute, some time ago, and a clean shave and these clothes have changed
me. Besides, I introduced myself as Yasmar, not as Ramsay. I’d be
willing to take my oath that he never recognized me when I called on him
this morning, and yet----”
He paused.
“Yet what?” urged Starlick.
“I’m losing my nerve, I reckon. But you never can tell what Carter
thinks, or what he’s going to do. If I could have got him out of town
for the next forty-eight hours, I’d be feeling easier, this minute.
Hello! What’s that?”
A hand tried the door. Failing to gain entrance, the same hand banged on
the panel.
“It’s all right,” answered Starlick. “No need putting your hand to your
hip, old man.”
Patsy heard the door open and a gruff voice from the hall:
“We’ve got the riggin’ fixed and are all ready ter lower the desk.”
“All right. There it is.”
“Any idea how long it’ll be kept in storage?”
“No. A year, perhaps.”
Patsy was doing some hard thinking.
He had no desire to spend a year in storage, and it was necessary for
him, somehow, to separate himself from the desk.
To do it then was out of the question.
The workmen went to the windows and took out the sash.
Patsy could hear them, and he could also hear Ramsay and Starlick moving
about the room.
Finally the workmen came to the desk, took hold of it, and shoved it
across the room.
“Empty, boss?” queried one of the men.
“Yes,” answered Starlick.
“Mighty heavy for an empty desk.”
“It’s an old-fashioned roll-top, and that’s the reason.”
“I guess the riggin’ll hold it, all right, but I didn’t figger on havin’
quite so much heft.”
“Better be sure, my man. I wouldn’t want the desk smashed.”
“I’ll risk it. If it’s smashed, it comes out o’ my pay.”
There were other things that couldn’t come out of the man’s pay, if the
rigging let go, and Patsy was as near in a flutter as his nerve ever
allowed him to be.
A hawser was put around the desk both ways.
Then Patsy heard a hook made fast.
A moment later one of the men went down.
In three minutes, the big roll-top desk was out of the window, swinging
in mid air.
The rope creaked and something gave so that the piece of furniture
dropped a foot.
“Steady!” whooped the man whose pay was to be docked in case of
accident.
“Yes, for Heaven’s sake,” muttered Patsy.
Down went the desk, the man inside breathing only when necessary until
it safely rested on the walk.
To load the desk in the wagon did not take much time, and the van hadn’t
gone a block before Patsy had exerted sufficient pressure to break the
lock.
The rattle of the vehicle drowned the noise he had to make, and he
pushed up the top, slipped to the floor of the van, and dropped out.
The two men on the seat of the van drove on, all unconscious of what had
happened, and Patsy, the moment he struck the sidewalk, drew a sleeve
across his dripping forehead.
“That was a corker!” he muttered. “I wonder if I’ve lost the trail?”
He had lost the trail, as he quickly found, for Ramsay and Starlick had
vanished from the building in which they had been but a few minutes
before.
“I’ll slide around to the house and tell Nick about it,” said Patsy to
himself. “He may want to give me fresh instructions.”
Nick Carter was not at the house, however, nor was Chick.
They had gone out together, Patsy was told.
He waited a long time for one or the other to return, but they did not
come.
“I’ll have to go to Boucicault’s,” thought Patsy; “and I can’t wait any
longer for Nick.”
Before he went, he left the following memorandum on Nick’s desk:
“Yasmar’s real name is Ramsay. Latter name used by his pals. Guess
he is one of the two men you want. Ramsay and his side partner,
Starlick, are to meet a man named Gillman in Boucicault’s place,
Hamilton Street, Brooklyn, at ten to-night. Look out for a couple
of boxes of doped cigarettes.
PATSY.”