A FURIOUS FIGHT
It was no easy matter to trail McCarney without himself being
discovered, especially as the third baseman had a trick of glancing
back over his shoulder from time to time. More than once Joe felt
sure that he had been discovered, but fortune favored him, and he
successfully evaded detection.
At the first car track that McCarney reached he hesitated, in doubt,
apparently, whether to take a car or walk to the subway. Joe slipped
into a convenient doorway, where he could see without being seen, and
waited for the other to make the next move.
McCarney was still hesitating when a trolley car came into view. This
evidently settled the third baseman’s doubts. As the car drew near he
signaled it to stop, and then swung to the back platform.
This left Joe in a quandary. He realized that it would be practically
impossible to board the car himself without being discovered, and yet
if he did not it meant that his first attempt at “shadowing” would end
almost as soon as it had begun.
The trolley started on, and Joe was revolving the possibility of
keeping up with it on foot when a taxicab came careering out of a side
street not a block away. With a heartfelt prayer of gratitude Joe
dashed to the corner and hailed the vehicle just in the nick of time.
“Keep that trolley car in sight until I tell you to stop, and I’ll
double your fare,” Joe promised the driver.
“That’s easy,” replied the other. “Them cars don’t go so fast but what
this boiler can keep up with ’em without half tryin’. Just leave it to
me.”
Joe kept an anxious eye on the trolley car, fearful that McCarney might
alight with some other passengers and escape him. But nothing of the
kind happened. The chase continued for a long distance before Joe saw
the familiar figure of the third baseman come out to the back platform
and hang on to the lowest step, evidently preparing to drop off at the
next corner.
“Pull up, driver,” called Joe, and the man swung into the curb. Joe
hastily paid him double the amount that the meter registered, together
with a generous tip, and hastened after the retreating form of his
quarry.
The neighborhood in this section was of a poor description, the houses
being ramshackle affairs with a run-down and neglected appearance.
McCarney was evidently on familiar ground, however, for he hurried
along at a fast pace, apparently in such a hurry that he even forgot to
glance behind him as was his usual custom.
This was a fortunate thing for Joe, as the street offered few places of
concealment. He kept close to the houses on the opposite side of the
street, keeping a wary eye on the suspected ball player. The latter
had gone about two blocks when he suddenly stopped at the door of a
house that looked even a little more dirty and out of repair than its
neighbors, and rang the bell.
Joe was about half a block away at this time, and he glanced about for
a place in which to conceal himself until McCarney should be safely
inside. In the basement of a house near him there was a dirty looking
little candy store, and Joe turned into this. He bought a bar of
chocolate and made shift to talk with the storekeeper until he judged
that McCarney must be inside the house.
When he ventured into the street again, the third baseman had
disappeared, and Joe set himself to formulate some scheme that would
get him inside the house. This project might well have daunted one less
courageous than the star pitcher of the Giants. The neighborhood was
close to the lower West Side waterfront of New York, and Joe knew that
if he did manage to get inside the house he would probably find himself
in the abiding place of a desperate set of men. However, he hesitated
only long enough to decide on a plan of action, and then set boldly
about its execution.
He felt that there was a chance that whoever had opened the door to
admit McCarney had failed to fasten it securely. At any rate, he
decided to try this first. Accordingly, he walked boldly over to the
house and ascended the steps. If discovered, he could simply ask for a
“fake” name, like one who has gotten the wrong house by mistake.
He reached the front door unchallenged, and gently tried the knob. As
he suspected, the latch had not quite caught, and as he pressed against
the door it swung open before him. Noiselessly he entered the dark
hallway and closed the door gently behind him.
Within the house it was so dark that at first Joe could see nothing at
all. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, however, objects in
the dark hallway became apparent to him.
To right and left were closed doors, while directly ahead a long narrow
staircase wound upward to the floor above. Joe listened intently
for some sound to guide him, but at first he could hear nothing. He
tiptoed cautiously over to one of the closed doors and listened there,
and then at the other, but could hear no sound. Suddenly, he heard a
subdued murmur of voices on the floor above, and he decided that in all
probability McCarney was up there. He was about to start the ascent
of the stairs when he was startled by the ringing of an electric bell
almost over his head, and at the same time some one tried the handle of
the front door by which Joe had entered.
A chair was pushed back in the room upstairs, and Joe surmised that in
another moment one or more of the inhabitants would descend the stairs
in answer to the ring of the newcomer. There was not a second to lose
if he were to escape detection, and Joe’s mind acted with lightning
rapidity. Escape to the street was barred, he knew, and it would be
hopeless to try to get to the upper landing in time to avoid whoever it
was who was coming to open the door.
His only chance was to get through one of the doors that flanked the
hall on either side, and as this thought flashed through his mind he
stepped swiftly to the one to his right and turned the knob. The door
held fast, and he knew that it must be locked from the inside.
A door opened upstairs, and Joe could hear heavy footsteps starting
down the stairs. Fortunately, the staircase made a sharp turn near
the top, so that as yet Joe was concealed from the sight of the man
descending.
Again the bell rang, as the ringer grew impatient of waiting. Another
instant, and Joe’s last chance of escaping detection would be gone.
Swiftly he stepped to the other door, his one remaining chance, and
breathed a heartfelt prayer of gratitude when he found that the door
opened to his touch.
In a second he was within the room, with the door closed behind him. He
glanced swiftly about, taking stock of his surroundings. Luckily there
was nobody in the place, which was sparsely furnished with a table and
a few shabby chairs.
With his ear close to the door, Joe could hear the newcomer enter and
then he heard two persons ascending the stairs. There came the bang of
a closing door from the upper floor, and Joe judged that it would be
safe enough to venture out again.
A less courageous fellow might have been glad to take this opportunity
to get out the front door and so to safety. But this idea did not
enter Joe’s head. He had come here to get information about the
gambling ring, and to abandon the quest was the thing furthest from his
thoughts.
From the floor above he could still hear the murmur of voices, growing
louder at times in a manner that suggested a quarrel. Impatient to
learn what was going on, Joe made for the stairs and ascended them
cautiously, treading warily to avoid making a noise on the creaking
boards. At length he reached the upper landing and paused to take stock
of his surroundings.
He found himself on a small square landing, from which doors gave into
adjoining rooms. The sound of excited voices came from a room to the
left of the stairs, and Joe edged close to this until he could make out
what was being said within.
But he was just a few minutes too late. Whatever subject had been under
discussion had apparently been settled, for there came a scraping of
chairs, and before Joe could move the door was thrown open, leaving him
in plain sight of those in the room.
There was a chorus of startled exclamations, and then those in the room
made a concerted rush for Joe. He turned to make for the stairs, but
found that avenue of escape cut off by two rough looking men dressed in
sweaters and caps, who had ascended so quietly that Joe had no inkling
of their approach until he saw them stepping on to the landing.
Fairly cornered, Joe realized that his only chance lay in fighting
his way out, and he had faith in the theory that the attacker has an
advantage. With a shout he hurled himself at the two men who had just
come up the stairs, and who had stopped at the landing, uncertain as
to what was going on. His rush had the power and speed of a stampeding
buffalo, and in spite of their bulk the two newcomers could not bar his
path. One reeled back from a stunning blow on the jaw, while the other
staggered aside as Joe’s elbow caught him in the pit of the stomach.
Before him the path to the front door lay clear, and he would have made
it but for an unlucky accident.
As the second man reeled and fell, his foot projected out over the top
step, and as Joe started to leap downward he tripped over the sprawling
leg, staggered wildly for a brief moment, and then crashed head first
down the steep stairs.