THE POLICE RAID
What might have happened to Joe at that critical minute is a matter for
conjecture had not fate――or the police――decided to take a hand in the
matter.
Lying there half unconscious, his hands pinioned by McCarney, Reddy’s
bulk on his chest and Reddy’s liquor-laden breath in his face, Joe did
not at first understand the cause of the sudden noise and confusion
below stairs.
All he knew was that his head hurt him unbearably and that in his heart
was a rage that dulled even the pain in his head. Then gradually he
realized that the situation was changed.
The sound of running feet, the sound of raised voices, some bullying,
some fearful, became louder and louder until they penetrated even
Joe’s fading consciousness. He was aware that McCarney had left off
brandishing his fist in his face and that Reddy had suddenly removed
his weight from off his chest.
He stopped not to argue about the cause of this good fortune but
weakly and dizzily raised himself to his knees. When he had, by dint of
all the will power he possessed plus a grip on the rickety table beside
him, managed to raise himself to his feet, he found that Reddy and
McCarney had miraculously disappeared.
He looked toward the window and found that it was open. He pressed his
hand to his aching forehead impatiently and fought to be able to think
clearly.
Then he caught a phrase from among the shouts and cries that filled the
rooms beneath him, and that phrase roused him immediately to the need
for action.
“Get the whisky, boys!” a husky voice ordered. “We’ve got the men――now
what we need is evidence. We’ll wipe this joint off the map!”
“A raid! A prohibition-agents’ raid!” thought Joe, his brain now
functioning quickly enough. That was the reason Reddy and McCarney had
left him so suddenly just when they had him where they wanted him.
Well, it was up to him to leave suddenly, too. If he were caught here!
Swift feet were running up the stairs. No possibility of escape in that
direction. The back stairs? No, that was hopeless too. To reach the
back stairs he must first enter the corridor, and to do that would be
to invite disaster. The window! That was his only chance. In a moment
more police would be entering the room. How could he explain?
He rushed to the window, taking a quick survey. He had but a minute
to think. Eagerly he looked out, but only a blank brick wall met his
anxious gaze. No window underneath this one, no shed to break his fall.
He must take his chance, anyway. It was his only chance. Voices were
even then on the balcony. Quick as a cat, he lifted himself over the
sill, lowering his length along the side of the blank brick wall until
he was hanging by his hands, only the tips of his fingers showing over
the window sill.
Allowing himself no time to think, he dropped, at the same time
flinging his body outward so that it might not strike against the wall.
The ground seemed to come up to meet him and he landed with a jar that
seemed to shake loose every tooth in his head. Lucky for him that the
patch of ground beside the disreputable little hotel had never been
filled in with cement. It was hard enough and lumpy enough, but it was
not as hard as cement.
Satisfied that no bones were broken and that his legs were still in
good working order, Joe wasted no time before making use of them.
Luckily there were no policemen guarding that side of the hotel. There
were few windows, and those high, and no doors and evidently the
prohibition agents had discounted the possibility of any one escaping
from that quarter. Also they had come after “evidence” more than
prisoners, a fact which also worked in Joe’s favor.
After skirting the rear of the building next to the hotel, Joe,
straightening his clothing as well as he could, ventured out on the
sidewalk. It was at that moment that he realized he had left his hat
inside.
Probably no one, except the poor wretch who is unfortunate enough to
have been in a similar predicament at one time or another, can possibly
imagine what Joe felt at that moment. Also he had never before realized
what an important part of a man’s attire a hat really is.
“You sort of get to take your head gear for granted, I guess,” he mused
unhappily, as he walked along as nonchalantly as he could, trying to
look as if it were his regular custom to appear hatless in the street.
But in spite of his valiant attempt to seem unconcerned he soon
realized that, even in that rather disreputable quarter of the town, he
was attracting unwelcome attention.
“Maybe I’ve got a black eye or a cut lip,” he mused miserably as he
hurried along, trying not to notice the stares that followed him and
the occasional laugh and gibe of some humorously inclined passer-by.
“Shouldn’t wonder if I were a fit candidate for a circus side show.
Some mess that was to get mixed up in!”
But when an impertinent “newsie,” grinning from ear to ear, held out
a disreputable and tattered cap for his inspection, inviting him
gleefully to “help yourself――it ain’t much, but it’s the best I got,
Mister,” Joe lost what little aplomb he had left.
A passing taxicab caught his eye and he made a running jump for it, saw
that it was empty, opened the door and got in before the surprised and
outraged driver could do more than open his mouth and shut it again.
A minute later the car slowed down and the chauffeur glared in at the
occupant of his cab.
“Say, what d’you think you’re doin’?” he growled, but he got no
further. All the pent-up irritation and wrath that had been simmering
in Joe for the past hour was poured forth on that unfortunate
chauffeur’s head.
This had the effect of ending the discussion right there as far as the
chauffeur was concerned. Having firmly come to the conclusion in his
own mind that a lunatic had taken possession of his cab he decided to
take his passenger to his destination and there to drop him at the
first possible minute.
So it happened that a short time later, having paid the taxicab
driver, Joe entered the rear of his hotel and made a break for the
stairs.
He was not going to trust himself even to the mercies of the elevator
boy, who knew and revered him as an idol. As a matter of fact, Joe was
not particularly eager to meet anybody until he had had a chance to
look at himself in the mirror and discover to what extent――if any――his
features had been damaged. Also, he wanted a hat! Oh, he very badly
wanted a hat!
In the corridor Baseball Joe met Jim, evidently sallying forth to
practice, and the latter stood and stared――at least, that is what he
would have done had the exasperated Joe given him a chance.
In another moment they were both within Joe’s room with the door closed
against unwelcome intrusion.
“Now out with it!” Joe said. “Do your worst. Am I a total wreck?”
“I think you’re a total loss as far as appearances are concerned,” Jim
retorted. “Where’s your hat?”
Joe groaned and made a rush for the bathroom beyond. There he could
examine his countenance for himself. To his intense relief he found
that Reddy and McCarney had left no signs of their attack other than a
rather large bump on the back of the head.
He was fingering this gingerly when Jim entered the room. In the
mirror Joe caught sight of the worried expression his chum wore and
grinned broadly. He was beginning at last to see the funny side of his
adventure.
“I say, Joe,” Jim said, not returning his chum’s grin, “what’s up,
anyway? You’ve run into something. Stop grinning and give me the story.”
“If you’ll wait till I get a bath and jump into some clean things, I’ll
tell you the fool I made of myself――and more besides,” answered Joe,
with a longing glance at the tub.
So, after he had splashed around in hot water that took the ache out
of his bones and then splashed his face with cold water that assuaged
the ache in his head, Joe told Jim the startling events that had taken
place since his determination to follow Hupft and McCarney and find out
what they were up to.
“Whew!” whistled Jim, as, a few minutes later, he watched Joe put
on a clean collar. “You certainly did stage some little show all by
yourself, didn’t you? Pity you couldn’t let a fellow in on it.”
“You ought to be glad I didn’t,” retorted Joe. “It was no nice party,
I’m telling you.”
“But, say!” Jim went on excitedly. “This thing about Reddy and McCarney
being in cahoots, joining hands in the great conspiracy stuff――what are
you going to do about that?”
“What is there to do about it?” asked Joe, with a shrug of his
shoulders as he turned from the mirror and caught up a hat. “We don’t
really know any more than we did before, only that our suspicions have
been to some extent verified. If that fool waiter hadn’t come around
just as he did I might have listened to some purpose. I haven’t learned
yet what ring is backing them up. We’d better be on our way,” he added.
“We’ll be late for practice as it is. Plenty of time to finish our talk
on the way down.”
“I can’t get this thing straight in my mind yet,” Jim complained, as
they hurried along toward the field. “It begins to look as if McRae
were right――as if this gang of crooks were really out for blood. But,
Joe, I’m glad the cops chose that time to raid the hotel.”
“What’s the idea?” asked Joe, as he skillfully wriggled and darted
through the traffic. “I don’t get you.”
“You poor old simpleton!” retorted Jim affectionately. “Do you know
where you would be now if that raid hadn’t scared off McCarney and
Hupft?”
“I don’t know,” returned Joe, with a grin. “But I have a strong
suspicion it would be somewhere far away from here.”
“Just so,” returned Jim, adding with more than a little anxiety in his
tone: “You’ve got to stop jumping in where angels fear to tread. Or,
if you must do it, at least seek company in your jumpings. You’ve more
than yourself to think of, you know. There’s Mabel.”
“I know,” said Joe steadily. “Don’t suppose I’m not always thinking of
her, old man. But I’ve got my duty to the league and the great game
too. Not even Mabel would want me to forget that.”
“Just the same,” retorted Jim stubbornly, “it won’t help the game any
if you get injured!”