"That is true, Haggerty. I had a debt to pay." Crawford spun a
billiard ball down the table.
"Mr. Crawford, I'm going t' show you that I'm a good sport. You've
challenged me. All right. I want that man, an' by th' Lord Harry, I'm
going t' get him. I'm going t' put my hand on his shoulder an' say
'Come along!' Cash ain't everything, even in my business. I want t'
show it's th' game, too. I don't want money in my pockets for winking
my eye."
"You'll have hard work."
"How?"
"He has burned the pads of his fingers and thumbs," blurted out Forbes.
Crawford made an angry gesture.
A Homeric laugh from Haggerty. "I don't want his fingers now; this
bottle an' these emeralds are enough for me." He stuffed the jewels
away. "Where's th' phone?"
"In the hall, under the stairs."
"Good night."
The nights of Poe and the grim realities of Balzac would not serve to
describe that chase. The magnificent vitality of that man Haggerty yet
fills me with wonder. He borrowed a roadster from Killigrew's garage,
and hummed away toward New York. On the way he laid his plans of
battle, winnowed the chaff from the grain. He understood the necessity
of thinking and acting quickly. A sporting proposition, that was it.
He wanted just then not so much the criminal as the joy of finding him
against odds and laying his hand on his shoulder: just to show them all
that he wasn't a has-been.
His telephone message had thrown a cordon of argus-eyed men around New
York. Now, then, what would he, Haggerty, do if he were in Mason's
shoes? Make for railroads or boats; for Mason did not belong to New
York's underworld, and he would therefore find no haven in the city.
Boat or train, then; and of the two, the boat would offer the better
security. Once on board, Mason would find it easy to lose his
identity, despite the wireless. And it all hung by a hair: would Mason
watch? If he hid himself and stayed hidden he was saved.
"Chauffeur, what's your name?" asked Haggerty of Killigrew's man, as
the car rolled quietly on to Brooklyn Bridge.
"Harrigan,"--promptly.
"That's good enough for me,"--jovially. "Fill up th' gas-tank. I'm
going t' keep y' busy for twenty-four hours, mebbe. An' if I win, a
hundred for yours. All y' got t' do is t' act as I say. Let 'er go.
Th' Great White Way first, where th' hotels hang out."
Lord Monckton had not returned to the hotel. Good. More telephoning.
Yes, the great railroad terminals had ten men each. A black-bearded
man with scarred fingers.
Haggerty was really a fine general; he directed his army with
shrewdness and little or no waste. The Jersey side was watched, East
and North Rivers. The big ships Haggerty himself undertook.
From half after nine that night till noon the next day, without sleep
or rest or food, excepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which, to a
man of Haggerty's build, wasn't food at all, he searched. Each time he
left the motor-car, the chauffeur fell asleep. Haggerty reasoned in
this wise: There were really but two points of departure for a man in
Mason's position, London or South America. Ten men, vigilant and
keen-eyed, were watching all fruiters and tramps which sailed for the
Caribbean.
It came to the last boat. Haggerty, in each case, had not gone aboard
by way of the passengers' gangplank; not he. He got aboard secretly
and worked his way up from hold to boat-deck. His chance lay in
Mason's curiosity. It would be almost impossible for the man not to
watch for his ancient enemy.
At two minutes to twelve, as the whistle boomed its warning to visitors
to go ashore, Haggerty put his hard-palmed hand on Mason's shoulder.
The man, intent on watching the gangplank, turned quickly, sagged, and
fell back against the rail.
"Come along," said Haggerty, not unkindly.
Mason sighed. "One question. Did Mr. Crawford advise you where to
look for me?"
"No. I found you myself, Mr. Mason; all alone. It was a sporting
proposition; an' you'd have won out if y' hadn't been human like
everybody else, an' watched for me. Come along!"