TRAVERS GLADWIN GOES IN SEARCH OF HIMSELF.
Policeman Michael Phelan was at first undecided whether to pursue the
departing Bateato and arrest him as a suspicious person or to remain
on the scene of mystery and get to the bottom of what was going
forward.
He chose the latter plan upon the inspiration that if he arrested a
millionaire he would get his name in the paper and Rose might read of
it and come to some realization of the immensity of his official
dignity.
He was further urged to this course by the insolent nonchalance of the
two young men. They weren't paying any more attention to him than they
were to the inanimate sticks of furniture in the room.
"Well, what did yez send fer me fer?" he broke out again, hurling the
words at Travers Gladwin's back.
"I thought you might like a drink," replied that young man, turning
slowly and smiling upon the enraged bluecoat.
"I never touch it," shot back Phelan, "an' that's no answer to me
question."
Gladwin stared at Phelan steadily a moment, his smile vanishing. As he
measured the officer's height and build an idea came to him. His face
lighted as he exclaimed:
"I've got a great idea! Officer, I want you to do me a little favor.
How would you like to make five hundred dollars?"
If he had said four hundred dollars, or even four hundred and fifty,
the effect would not have been half so great upon Michael Phelan. The
mention of an even five hundred dollars, though, was the open sesame
to the very depths of his emotions. Five hundred dollars represented
the talisman that would lead him safe through Purgatory into the land
of sweet enchantments. The fires of his wrath were instantly cooled
and he said feebly:
"Are yez tryin' to bribe me?"
"Not at all, sergeant," said the young man gravely.
"I ain't no sergeant," Phelan retorted.
"All right, lieutenant," laughed Gladwin, his good humor increasing as
his sudden idea took shape in his mind.
"Don't call me lieutenant," said Phelan, with a return of temper.
"Well, it's this way, captain."
"Nix on the promotion stuff," shot back Phelan, the consciousness
returning that he was being kidded. "I'm patrolman and me name is
Michael Phelan, and I'm onto me job--mind that!"
"No offense, officer," Gladwin hurried on. "I'm sure you're onto your
job. No one could look at you and doubt that--but I'll give you five
hundred dollars if you'll lend me your uniform for awhile."
"Fi--fi--uni--say, what kind of a game are youse up to?"
Two big events in Phelan's life had blazed their films upon his memory
in a blinding flash. First there was Rose, and then there was that
nightmare of a Coroner's case, when he had fled hatless and coatless
down the stairs of a reeking east side tenement, pursued by the yells
of a shrieking "corpse."
"It's no game--it's a joke," replied Gladwin.
Whitney Barnes, who had been listening eagerly and had sensed
Gladwin's inspiration, chimed in:
"Yes, officer; it's a joke."
"Yez are offering me five hundred dollars for a joke?" said the
flabbergasted Phelan.
"That's it," returned Gladwin. "I want to take your place; I want
to become"--stepping forward to read the number on Phelan's
shield--"Officer 666 for a little while."
Phelan couldn't believe his ears. Stepping to one side he said behind
his hand to Barnes:
"This feller's off his dip. Don't he know that if I lent him me
uniform it'd be me finish."
"That's all right," spoke up Gladwin. "I'll guarantee to protect you.
No one will ever know about it. You'll never make five hundred so easy
again."
"S-s-say," stammered Phelan, "what's this all about?"
"Well, I've found out that a thief is going to break in here
to-night."
"A thief!" gasped the policeman.
"Yes, just for a joke, you know."
"A thief going to break in here for a joke!" yelled Phelan. "Now I
know you're batty."
"Not a regular thief," the young man corrected hastily. "He's a friend
of mine--and I want to be waiting in your uniform when he comes. I
want to nab him. The joke will be on him, then, you know."
"All very simple, you see," added Barnes.
"Simple as--no, I don't see," snarled Phelan. "The two of yez is
bugs."
"But you will see," went on Gladwin, "if you'll let me explain. In
order to be a policeman I've got to have a uniform, haven't I?"
"Of course he has," urged Barnes.
"And yez are offering me five hundred dollars for a joke?"
Phelan dropped his arms limply at his side and permitted his eyes to
bulge _ad lib_.
"That's it," cried Gladwin. "I assure you it is nothing serious or
criminal. I just want your uniform long enough to catch my friend and
I'll give you five hundred dollars for lending it to me."
"It's too big a risk," panted Phelan, producing an elaborate bandana
and mopping his brow. "I won't do it."
It was manifest that Officer 666 was sorely tempted. To goad him
further Travers Gladwin produced a little roll of yellow-backed bills
from his pocket. Fluttering the bills deftly he stripped off one
engraved with an "M" in one corner and "500" in the other. He turned
it about several ways so that Phelan could study it from all angles.
Then he fluttered it before Whitney Barnes and said:
"Say, Barnes, there's something really handsome about these
yellow-backs, isn't there? Notice how that five and those two naughts
are engraved? And it's amazing how much a slip of paper like this will
buy."
This was too much for Phelan. He reached for the bill and grabbed it,
stuffed it into his trousers pocket and began unbuttoning his coat.
Suddenly he stopped.
"Say," he sputtered. "S'pose there should be a robbery on my beat?"
"That would be fine," said Gladwin. "I'd be a credit to you."
"Or a murder?"
"Better still."
"Oh, the risk is awful," groaned Phelan. He started to button up his
coat again when Rose's taunt came back to him. This time the tempter
delivered a vital blow and he tore off his uniform coat and passed it
to the young man. Gladwin slipped it on over his other clothes. It
fitted snugly. It just happened that the suit he wore was dark blue
and his trousers matched accurately.
"Now the bonnet," he said, reaching for the uniform cap and removing
it from Phelan's head.
"And now officer, your sword." He grasped the proffered belt and
buckled it on with a flourish, making as natty a figure of a cub
policeman as one would want to meet.
Phelan stood looking on dumbly, his face a study in conflicting
emotions. Barnes's admiration of his friend's nerve was beyond power
of words. When Gladwin started for the doorway, however, he called
after him:
"Hey there, Travers, where are you going?"
"On duty," he responded cheerily. "And by the way, Whitney, give Mr.
Phelan that tray and decanter and see that he goes down into the
kitchen and stays there until my return. You remain on guard up here.
I'll look after the outside. So long, mates."
"Hold on," Phelan called out feebly. "I'd like to know what the divvil
it all means. I'm fair hypnotized."
"It means," said Gladwin, pausing and turning his head, "that I'm
going outside to wait for myself--and if I find myself, I'll arrest
myself--if both myself and I have to go to jail for it. Now, do you
get me?"
"No, I'll be damned if I do!" gurgled Phelan, but the words had
scarcely passed his lips when the departmental guise of Officer 666
vanished from sight and the front door slammed with a bang.