_Baldwin Shows His Hand_
"There's a swarm of reporters down in the lobby all excited over
McCarthy," announced Swanson as, in obedience to orders, he, with
Kennedy, Norton and Technicalities Feehan, gathered in Clancy's room
soon after breakfast.
"Let them wait," replied Clancy. "They've been calling up here every
five minutes."
Briefly each of the players recounted the little they had seen or heard
during the preceding evening, Swanson giving his account of his
engagement with McCarthy, his telephone conversation with Miss Baldwin,
of her evident sincerity when she informed him as to McCarthy's
departure from the house and of his vain wait.
"But what could have happened?" asked Kennedy. "You're sure he got out
of the house? It's only two blocks to the street car line and three to
the elevated on lighted streets, you say. If he was hit by an
automobile or held up by robbers it would have been in the newspapers."
"Manager Clancy," said Feehan softly from his perch upon a trunk, which
gave him the aspect of a huge owl, "I have been giving consideration to
a plan. Unless Mr. McCarthy should arrive on the 11.45 train I shall
catch the noonday express for home, arriving there shortly after five,
to put my plan into effect."
"But you cannot neglect your work, Feehan," protested the manager.
"It's fine of you to offer it, but you've got yourself to think of."
"I have a premonition," responded the reporter solemnly, "or what Mr.
Swanson so graphically expresses as a 'hunch,' that the story at the
other end is bigger than the story of the contest. Besides, Mr.
Hardner has kindly consented to report the game of to-day for my paper
as well as his own."
"What's your theory, Technicalities?" asked Clancy gratefully.
"Only one of two things are probable," explained Feehan. "Either
McCarthy left of his own accord or because of threats made to him or
else he has been kidnapped by certain--ah--interests, let us say,
desirous of preventing the Bears from winning the championship emblem."
"Ah, Kohinoor wouldn't quit, and they couldn't scare him," growled
Swanson.
"Precisely, Mr. Swanson. The statistics prove beyond doubt that he is
not concerned in the losing of games, putting aside the fact that the
young man undoubtedly is honest and sincere. That leaves us only one
premise, the other having been found untenable. Mr. McCarthy has been
kidnapped."
"I can't figure how they could take him in a public street or from a
street car," interposed Clancy.
"I have calculated that," said the reporter. "Either he is in the
Baldwin home and Miss Baldwin ah--er--falsified or he was attacked
between her uncle's home and the street car line two and one-half
blocks distant."
"How do you propose finding him?" asked Clancy.
"I shall arrive at 5.11," replied the peculiar little man of news
quietly. "Before six o'clock I shall have one of the best detective
agencies in the world scouring the city."
The train came steaming into the station on time and the shortstop and
the reporter crowded closer to the gates, watching the stream of
hurrying passengers rushing through the narrow gates and spreading,
fan-like, across the great floor. Suddenly Swanson's elbow jarred
against the reporter's body, causing the frail statistician to wince.
"Look there!" said Swanson in excited whispers.
"Where--who?" inquired Feehan, striving to focus his heavy glasses upon
the position indicated by his companion.
"It's Baldwin--the big fellow with the cane and the small satchel. See
him?"
"I see a big man. I never saw Baldwin," responded the reporter. "Now,
what can he be doing over here?"
"I'm going to find out," replied Swanson, his jaw setting pugnaciously.
"McCarthy isn't on that train or he'd have been out among the first,
and they're almost all out now. Good luck to you, Feehan, and wire me
the minute you locate Kohinoor."
"I will," promised the reporter. "What you've got to do is to win that
game to-day without him. I'll have him here to-morrow if he hasn't
broken a leg."
Swanson leaped into the taxi immediately behind that into which he had
seen Baldwin climb, and ordered the driver to follow the other vehicle.
His surprise hardly could have been greater than when the short pursuit
of Baldwin ended at the hotel from which he had come, unless it was
that which came over him when, upon following the big man to the desk,
he heard Baldwin order the clerk to send his card to Manager Clancy.
Swanson's surprise, however, was little more than that experienced by
Manager Clancy when the bell boy delivered Baldwin's card.
"Send him right up," he said, and as the boy turned he said to himself:
"Now, what the dickens does that fellow want with me?"
Baldwin entered the room pompously, and walked toward the Bears'
manager with his pudgy hand extended.
"Ah, Clancy," he said patronizingly. "I'm Mr. Baldwin. I've seen you
often on the field, but never had the occasion to meet you before."
"Yes," replied Clancy, ignoring the hand, "I've heard of you often,
Baldwin, in various connections. You wanted to see me?"
"Yes; matter of business," said the big man. "Fact is, Clancy, I ran
over from home purposely to have a little confidential talk with you."
"Depends upon what it is whether it's confidential or not," said
Clancy; "I can't pledge myself not to tell the newspaper boys,
especially if you've come to give me a third baseman."
"Hasn't McCarthy shown up?" inquired the politician quickly.
"No," responded Clancy coldly. "Didn't happen to see him over in town,
did you?"
"No, no. Fact is, Clancy, I never have paid much attention to my ball
players."
"Your ball players?" It was Clancy's turn to be astonished.
"Yes, yes; Clancy, I supposed you knew. I've owned the controlling
interest in the Bears for a number of years. That's what I came to see
you about."
"You own the Bears?" Clancy's tone was between surprise and disbelief.
"Certainly, certainly. Now, I haven't taken any active interest in
them for several reasons until lately. Truth is things aren't going to
suit me, and I have decided to take a hand myself."
"You have?" asked Clancy. "Well, you may own this club, but I'm d----d
if you can run it while I'm manager."
"I'm not trying to run it, Clancy," replied the big man, unruffled.
"Don't fly off that way. I just decided to use the owner's prerogative
of consulting the manager."
"All right, Mr. Baldwin," replied Clancy, puzzled and mollified. "I
did not know--you see it's a new idea--I didn't even know you owned
stock."
Clancy was sparring for time in which to collect his thoughts, which
were sadly scattered by the unexpected developments.
"Thought you might not be convinced," said Baldwin easily, "so I
brought the documents along. Look over them and be convinced I own the
club. They cost me a pretty neat pile, but I'm satisfied. You've made
'em pay me."
He tossed over the book of stock certificates, and Clancy, who owned a
few shares of stock himself, realized their genuineness as he looked
through them while planning his next move.
"I congratulate you," he said, handing back the forms. "I own a couple
myself, so I know what they pay. Well, what have you to suggest, Mr.
Baldwin? We're having a hard time winning this race, and if I seemed
curt, blame it on worries. I have plenty."
"Naturally we all want to win," said Baldwin pompously. "Now, as to
behavior, I'm told Swanson and Kennedy aren't behaving themselves."
"They're all right," argued Clancy, feeling from Baldwin's tone that he
had not yet reached the point.
"I heard they had a fight in a barroom." Baldwin spoke with an effort
of sternness. "That won't do, Clancy. And now McCarthy is missing.
Then there's another thing."
Baldwin hesitated as if thinking how best to state his case, and Clancy
eyed him closely, feeling that the real object of the interview was
coming, "I'm not at all pleased with the way you are working your
pitchers."
"A fellow makes blunders sometimes," replied Clancy, with a meekness
astounding in him.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," went on Baldwin blandly.
"Who do you propose pitching to-day and to-morrow?"
In a flash Clancy understood. It was Baldwin who had been urging
Bannard to have Williams pitch. He saw through Baldwin's motives and
planned quickly how to meet them.
"Well," he said, frowning as if worried, "it's a tough game. You see,
the fans never forgive a fellow if he guesses wrong at this time in a
race. I planned to use Williams in one game and Morgan the other. You
see the Blues hit right-handers harder than they do left-handers."
"So I understand," a gleam of cunning and triumph came into the eyes of
the politician. "Morgan and Williams ought to beat them, I think."
"Yes, they ought--I'm a little afraid of Morgan." Clancy was drawing
the owner out. "He hasn't shown speed in his last two games."
"Then Williams is in fine form?" The triumph and satisfaction in the
big man's voice were unmistakable.
"He's good," replied Clancy. "He ought to best them sure."
"Will you pitch him to-day or to-morrow?" asked Baldwin, completely
thrown off his guard. "I'm anxious to make certain he will pitch."
"Of course he'll pitch, Mr. Baldwin," replied the manager. "I've got
to pitch him and he's my best man."
"All right, Clancy, all right," said the owner genially. "I'm glad I
had this conference with you. I was afraid you were angry with
Williams or something and would not let him work. Glad to see you have
good judgment."
He went out and as the door closed he removed his hat, and, wiping his
brow, smiled a smile of great relief over the fact that his purpose had
been accomplished without trouble. Had he been able to see through the
door he would have seen Clancy, the veins of his neck standing out
purple, his face convulsed with rage, standing, shaking his fist toward
the door and muttering:
"Yes, I'll pitch Williams. I'll pitch Williams, and by ---- he'll win."