The Escape of Wilkins
I
"Party to see you, sir, in the visitors' room. Didn't have a card. Saidyou would know him, sir."
Although Peter spoke in his customary deferential tones, there was aqueer look upon his face that did not escape McAllister as the latterglanced up from the afternoon paper which he had been perusing in thewindow.
"Hm!" remarked the clubman, gazing out at the rain falling in torrents.Who in thunder could be calling upon him a day like this, when therewasn't even a cab in sight and the policemen had sought sanctuary inconvenient vestibules. It was evident that this "party" must want to seehim very badly indeed.
"What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter gently.
McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course it was absurd to supposethat Peter, or anyone else, had heard of the extraordinary events at theBlairs' the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that thisstranger must in some mysterious way be connected with them. In any casethere was no use trying to duck the consequences of the adventure,whatever they might prove to be.
"I'll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it was another detective afteradditional information, or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation hecrossed the marble hall and parted the portieres of the visitors' room.Before him stood the rain-soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet.
"Wilkins!" he gasped.
The burglar raised his head and disclosed a countenance haggard fromlack of sleep and the strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rainstreamed from his cuffs, his (McAllister's) coat-tails, and from thebrim of his master's hat, which he held deprecatingly before him. Therewas a look of fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which pausesuncertain in which direction to escape.
"Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! They're right hafter me! Justhoutside, sir! It was my honly chance!"
McAllister gazed at him horrified and speechless.
"You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of breathless terror, "Icaught the train last night and reached the city a'ead of the detective.I knew 'e'd 'ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I 'id in a harea allnight. This mornin' I thought I'd given 'im the slip, but I walkedsquare into 'im on Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup SixthHavenue, doubled 'round a truck, an' thought I'd lost 'im, but 'e saw meon Fifty-third Street an' started dead after me. I think 'e saw me stopin 'ere, sir. Wot shall I do, sir? You won't give me hup, will you,sir?"
Before McAllister could reply there was a commotion at the door of theclub, and he recognized the clear tones of Barney Conville.
"Who am I? I'm a sergeant of police--Detective Bureau. You've justpassed in a burglar. He must be right inside. Let me in, I say!"
Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains.
There was a slight scuffle, but the servant outside placed his footbehind the door in such a position that the detective could not enter.Then Peter came to the rescue.
"What do you mean by trying to force your way into a private club, likethis? I'll telephone the Inspector. Get out of here, now! Get away fromthat door!"
"Inspector nothin'! Let me in!"
"Have you got a warrant?"
The question seemed to stagger the detective for a moment, and hisadversary seized the opportunity to close the door. Then Peter knockedpolitely upon the other side of the curtains.
"I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can't keep the officer out much longer.It's only a question of time. You'll pardon me, sir?"
"Of course, Peter," answered McAllister.
He stepped to the window. Outside he could see Conville stationing twoplain-clothes men so as to guard both exits from the club. McAllister'sbreath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by the centre-table. Then amomentary inspiration came to the clubman.
"Er--Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd-Jones. Take his coat and hat,give me a check for them, and then show him upstairs to a room. He'll behere for an hour or so."
"Very good, sir," replied Peter without emotion, as he removed Wilkins'sdripping coat and hat. "This way, sir."
Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former master, the valetfollowed Peter toward the elevator.
"Here's a nice mess!" thought McAllister, as he returned to the bigroom. "How am I ever going to get rid of him? And ain't I liable somehowas an accomplice?"
He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank again into hisaccustomed place by the window.
"That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the doorman, suddenlyappearing at his elbow. "Says he knows you, and it's somethin' veryimportant."
The clubman smothered a curse. His first impulse was to tell theimpudent fellow to go to the devil, but then he thought better of it. Hehad beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. When it came to ashow-down, he reckoned his brains were about as good as a policeman's.
"All right," he replied. "Tell him to sit down--that I've just come in,and will be with him in a few moments."
"Very good, sir," answered the servant.
McAllister perceived that he must think rapidly. There was no escapefrom the conclusion that he was certainly assisting in the escape of afelon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as it were. The idea didnot increase his happiness at all. His one experience in the Tombs,however adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Nevertheless, he couldnot go back on Wilkins, particularly now that he had promised to assisthim. McAllister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity.
"The officer says he's in a great hurry, sir, and wants to know can yousee him at once, sir," said the doorman, coming back.
"Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. "Yes, I'll _see_ him."
He got up and walked slowly to the visitors' room again, while Peter,with a studiously unconscious expression, held the portieres open. Heentered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Conville sprang to hisfeet, leaving a pool of water in front of the sofa and tossing littledrops of rain from the ends of his mustache.
"Look here, Mr. McAllister, there's been enough of this. Where's Welch,the crook, who ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he's here fast enough!I've got your club covered, front and behind. Don't try to con _me_!"
McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled affably, and sankcomfortably into an armchair.
"Why, it's you, Baron, isn't it! How are you? Won't you have a littlenip of something warm? No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring thegentleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this honor?"
Conville glared at him enraged. However, he restrained his wrath. A wisedetective never puts himself at a disadvantage by giving way to uselessemotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, Barney took it mechanicallyand struck a match, meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the club.
"I suppose," he presently remarked, "you think you're smart. Well,you're mistaken. I had you wrong last night, I admit--that is, so faras your identity was concerned. You're a real high-roller, all right,but that ain't the whole thing, by a long shot. How would you like towander down to Headquarters as an accomplice?"
A few chills played hide-and-seek around the base of the clubman'sspine.
"Don't be an ass!" he finally managed to ejaculate.
"Oh, I can't connect you with the necklace! You're safe enough there,"Barney continued. "But how about this little game right here in thisclub? You're aiding in the escape of a felon. That's _felony_. You knowthat yourself. Besides, when you locked me in the bath-room last nightyou assaulted an officer in the performance of his duty. I've got youdead to rights, _see_?"
McAllister laughed lightly.
"By jiminy!" he exclaimed, "I _thought_ you were crazy all the time, andnow I _know_ it. What in thunder are you driving at?"
Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar impatiently.
"Drivin' at? Drivin' at? Where's Welch--Fatty Welch, that ran in herefive minutes ago?"
McAllister assumed a puzzled expression.
"Welch? No one ran in here except myself. _I_ came in about that time.Got off the L at Fiftieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue,and then through Fifty-t
hird Street to the club. I got mighty well wet,too, I tell you!"
"Don't think you can throw that game into _me_!" shouted Conville. "Youcan't catch me twice _that_ way. It was _Welch_ I saw, not you."
"You don't believe me?"
McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered.
"Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons have come into the clubwithin the hour."
"Why, only _you_, sir," replied Peter, without hesitation. "Your clotheswas wringin' wet, sir. No one else has entered the club since twelveo'clock."
"Bah!" exclaimed Conville. "If it was _you_ that came in," he addedcunningly, "suppose you show me your check, and let me have a look atyour coat!"
"Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning to regain his equanimity,as he drew Wilkins's check from his pocket. "Here it is. You can stepover and get the coat for yourself."
Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed to the coat-room, andreturned with the dripping garment, which he held up to the light at thewindow.
"You ought to find Poole's name under the collar, and my own inside thebreast-pocket," remarked Chubby encouragingly. "It's there, isn't it?"
Conville threw the soaked object over a chair-back and made a rapidinspection, then turned to McAllister with an expression ofbewilderment.
"I--you--how--" he stammered.
"Don't you remember," laughed his tormentor, "that there was a big truckon the corner of Sixth Avenue?"
Barney set his teeth.
"I see you _do_," continued McAllister. "Well, what more can I do foryou? Are you sure you won't have that drink?"
But Conville was in no mood for drinking. Stepping up to the clubman, helooked searchingly down into his face.
"Mr. McAllister," he hissed, "you think you've got me criss-crossed. Youthink you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know your _face_. Andthis time I don't lose you, _see_? You're in cahoots with Welch. You'rehis side-partner. You'll see me again. Remember, you're a _commonfelon_."
The detective made for the door.
"Don't say 'common,'" murmured McAllister, as Conville disappeared. Thenhis nonchalant look gave place to one of extreme dejection. "Peter," hegasped, "tell Mr. Lloyd-Jones I must see him at once."
Peter soon returned with the unexpected information that "Mr.Lloyd-Jones" had gone to bed and wouldn't get up.
"Says he's sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to retain his gravity.
McAllister made one jump for the elevator. Peter followed. Of course,_he_ had known Wilkins when the latter was in McAllister's employ.
"I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the majordomo.
Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes were nowhere visible, andthe quilt was pulled well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly tohave lost his nerve.
"Oh, sir!" he cried apologetically, "I was hafraid to come down, sir._Without my clothes_ they never could hidentify me, sir!"
"What on earth have you done with 'em?" cried his master.
"Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, "I couldn't think o' nothin' else,so I just threw 'em hout the window, into the hairshaft."
At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by the door, chokedviolently and retired down the hall.
"Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, "I never took you for a fool before!Pray, what do you propose to do now?"
"You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I knowyour _face_."]
"I don't know, sir."
"Can't you see what an awkward position you've placed me in?" went onMcAllister. "I'm liable to arrest for aidin' in your escape. In fact,that detective has just threatened to take me to Headquarters."
"'Oly Moses!" moaned Wilkins. "Oh, wot shall I do? If you honly get mehaway, sir, I promise you I'll never return."
McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, and puffed hard at hiscigar.
"I'll try it!" he muttered at length. "Wilkins, you remember you alwayswore my clothes."
"Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins.
"Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my dress-suit, tall hat, andInverness--understand? You'll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Goto the Grand Central and board the twelve o'clock train for Boston.Here's a ticket, and the check for the drawing-room. You'll be Mr.McAllister of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. You're goingon to Mr. Cabot's wedding to-morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soonas you go on board, and don't let anyone disturb you. I'll be on thetrain myself, and after it starts I'll knock three times on the door."
"Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins.
"I'll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. Do you think you can doit?"
"Oh, certainly, sir! Thank you, sir! I'll be there, sir, never fail."
"Well, good luck to you."
McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. The longer he thought ofhis plan the better he liked it. He was going to the Winthrops' TwelfthNight party that evening as Henry VIII. He would dress at the club andleave it in costume about nine o'clock. Conville would never recognizehim in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins departed at eleven-forty,would in all likelihood take the latter for McAllister. If he could thusget rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would be cheap at twice thetrouble. So far as spiriting away Wilkins was concerned the whole thingseemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in his usual state ofgenial placidity, ordered as good a dinner as the _chef_ could provide.
II
The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII realized with a start thatit was already half after eleven. First there had been a professionalpresentation of the scene between Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir TobyBelch that had made McAllister shake with merriment. He thought SirAndrew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many a day. Maria andthe clown were both good, too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that hehad essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been excellent and thecharacters most amusing, and, altogether, McAllister did not blamehimself for having overstayed his time--in fact, he didn't care muchwhether he had or not. He had intended going back to his rooms for thepurpose of changing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on thetrain, and there really seemed no need of it at all. He bade his hostessgood-night in a most optimistic frame of mind and hailed a cab. The longulster which he wore entirely concealed his costume save for his shoes,strange creations of undressed leather, red on the uppers and whitebetween the toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite too happy tomind them for an instant. The assembled crowd of lackeys and footmencheered him mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smoking a largecigar, noticed them not. Neither did he observe a slim young man whodarted out from behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keepingabout half a block in the rear. The rain had stopped. The clouds haddrawn aside their curtains, and a big friendly moon beamed down onMcAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as day.
The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the slope from the Cathedraldown Fifth Avenue, and the runner was distanced by several blocks.McAllister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully unconscious of being anactor in a drama of vast import to the New York police, but as theyreached Forty-third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon theGrand Central Station that it was two minutes to twelve. At the samemoment a trace broke. The driver sprang from his seat, but before hecould reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. Tossing a bill to theperturbed cabby, our hero threw off his ulster and sped with an agilitymarvellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward the station. As hedashed across Madison Avenue, directly in front of an electric car, thehand on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that instant the slim manturned the corner from Fifth Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirtyseconds later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and feathered cap,burst into the waiting-room, carrying an ulster, clearing half itslength in six strides, threw himself through the revolving door to theplatform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man just as he wassliding-to the gate.
"Hi, there, give us yer ticket!" yelled the man after the retreatingform of Henry VIII, but royalty made
no response.
The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gavehalf a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the trainbegan to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain inhis side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled uponthe platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young manrushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. Thegate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language.
"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on thattrain. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!"
"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?"
"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedlyexhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through."
Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train;its red lights were just passing out of the station.
"Oh, go to--!" said he through the bars.
* * * * *
"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the samemoment, as he staggered inside.
"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he receivedthe ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah?Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ahenquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword,sah!"
"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister.
"Udder end, sah!"
Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his way the length of thatswaying car. He perceived that the smoking compartment of the car behindwould naturally be much more convenient.
"I'm going into the next car to smoke for a while," he informed thedarky.
No one was in the smoking compartment of the Benvolio, which was brightand warm, and McAllister, throwing down his ulster, stretchedluxuriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched with interestthe myriad lights of the Greater City marching past, those near at handflashing by with the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swingingslowly forward along the outer rim of the circle. And the idea of thishuge circle, its circumference ever changing with the forward movementof its pivot, beside which the train was rushing, never passing thatmysterious edge which fled before them into infinity, took hold onMcAllister's imagination, and he fancied, as he sped onward, that insome mysterious way, if he could only square that circle or calculateits radius, he could solve the problem of existence. What was it he hadlearned when a boy at St. Andrew's about the circle? Pi R--one--two--twoPi R! That was it! "2 pi r." The smoke from his cigar swirled thicklyaround the Pintsch light in the ceiling, and Henry VIII, oblivious ofthe anachronism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa besidehim, gazed solemnly into space.
"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track.
"Two Pi R!" murmured McAllister. "Two Pi R!"
III
Under the big moon's yellow disk, beside and past the roaring train,along the silent reaches of the Sound, leaping on its copper thread frompole to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from town to town,sped a message concerning Henry VIII. The night operator at New Haven,dozing over a paper in the corner, heard his call four times before hecame to his senses. Then he sent the answer rattling back with asimulation of indignation:
"Yes, yes! What's your rush?"
Special--Police--Headquarters--New Haven. Escaped ex-convict Welch on No. 13 from New York. Notify McGinnis. In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. Particulars long-distance 'phone in morning. EBSTEIN.
The operator crossed the room and unhooked the telephone.
"Headquarters, please."
"Yes. Headquarters! Is McGinnis of the New York Detective Bureau there?Tell him he's wanted, to make an important arrest on board No. 13 whenshe comes through at two-twenty. Sorry. Say, tell him to bring alongsome cigars. I'll give him the complete message down here."
Then the operator went back to his paper. In a few moments he suddenlysat up.
"By gum!" he ejaculated.
BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY HOUSE
It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been successful recently in securing a position as a servant at Mr. Gordon Blair's at Scarsdale. Last evening one of the guests missed her valuable pearl necklace. In the excitement which followed the burglar made his escape, leaving the necklace behind him. The perpetrator of this bold attempt is the notorious Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a fugitive from justice.
"By gum!" repeated the operator, throwing down the paper. Then he wentto the drawer and took out a small bull-dog revolver, which hecarefully loaded.
"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track, as the train swung round thecurve outside New Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked fromtroubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two old women put out theirarms and peered through the window-shades, and the train thundered pastthe depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, the engine panted andsteamed. Two gnomes ran, Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behindthe station and by the light of flaring torches began to hammer and tapthe flanges. The conductor, swinging off the rear car, ran into theembrace of a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of policemenseparated and scattered to the different platforms.
"Here! Let me go!" gasped the conductor. "What's all this?"
"Say, Cap., I'm McGinnis--Central Office, New York. You've got a burglaron board. They're after wirin' me to make the arrest."
"Burglar be damned!" yelled the conductor. "Do you think you can hold meup and search my train? Why, I'd be two hours late!"
"I won't take more'n fifteen minutes," continued McGinnis, making forthe rear car.
"Come back there, you!" shouted the conductor, grasping him firmly bythe coat-tails. "You can't wake up all the passengers."
"Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, "don't ye see I've got tomake this arrest? It won't take a minute. The porters'll know whothey've got, and you're runnin' awful light. Have a good cigar?"
The conductor took the weed so designated and swore loudly. It was thebiggest piece of gall on record. Well, hang it! he didn't want to takeMcGinnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, there would be thesame confounded mix-up at the other end. He admitted finally that it wasa fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He had a bottle in the porter'scloset. Yes, call out those niggers and make 'em tell what they knew.
The conductor was now just as insistent that the burglar should bearrested then and there as he had been before that the train should notbe held up. He rushed through the cars telling the various porters to gooutside. Eight or ten presently assembled upon the platform. They filledMcGinnis with unspeakable repulsion.
The conductor began with car No. 2204.
"Now, Deacon, who have you got?"
The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled his eyes and replied that hehad "two ole women an' er gen'elman gwine ortermobublin with hischeffonier."
The conductor opined that these would prove unfertile candidates forMcGinnis. He therefore turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, however,had only half a load. There was a fat man, a Mr. Huber, who travelledregularly; two ladies on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, hersister, a maid, two nurses, and three children.
"Nothin' doin'!" remarked the captain. "Now, Colonel, what have _you_got?"
But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of aristocratic appearance,had an easy answer. His entire car was full, as he expressed it, "erfrogs."
"Frenchmen!" grunted McGinnis.
The conductor remembered. Yes, they were Sanko's Orchestra going on togive a matinee concert in Providence.
The next car had only five drummers, every one of whom was known to theconductor, as taking the trip twice a week. They were therefore countedout. That left only one car, No. 2205.
"Well, William, what have you got?"
Willia
m grinned. Though sleepy, he realized the importance of thedisclosure he was about to make and was correspondingly dignified andponderous. There was two trabblin' gen'elmen, Mr. Smith and Mr. Higgins.He'd handled dose gen'elmen fo' several years. There was a very oldlady, her daughter and maid. Then there was Mr. Uberheimer, who got offat Middletown. And then--William smiled significantly--there was anawful strange pair in the drawin'-room. They could look for themselves.He didn't know nuff'n 'bout burglars in disguise, but dere was "one of'em in er mighty curious set er fixtures."
"Huh! _Two_ of 'em!" commented McGinnis.
"That's easy!" remarked the mollified conductor.
The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean Libbey, now approached withhis revolver.
McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor moved toward the car.William preferred the safety of the platform and the temporarydistinction of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No light wasvisible in the drawing-room, and the sounds of heavy slumber wereplainly audible. The conductor rapped loudly; there was no response. Herattled the door and turned the handle vigorously, but elicited no signof recognition. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on the glass of thedoor. He happened to hit three times. Immediately there were soundswithin. Something very much like "All right, sir," and the door wasopened. The conductor and McGinnis saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas,his face flushed and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them indazed bewilderment.
"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern.
"Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis briskly, "but is there any wanelse, beside ye, to kape ye company?"
Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and made as if to close the door,but the detective thrust his foot across the threshold.
"Aisy there!" he remarked. "Conductor, just turn on that light, willye?"
Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and the conductor struck amatch and turned on the Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, andthat by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa was an elegantalligator-skin bag disclosing a row of massive silver-topped bottles. Atall silk hat and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit of eveningclothes, as well as a business suit of fustian, were neatly folded andlying on the upper berth.
At this vision of respectability both McGinnis and the conductorrecoiled, glancing doubtfully at one another. Wilkins saw his advantage.
"May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, "wot you mean by thesehactions? W'y am I thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It ishoutrageous!"
"Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. "The fact is, we thought _two_people, suspicious characters, had taken this room together, and thisofficer here"--pointing to McGinnis--"had orders to arrest one of them."
Wilkins swelled with indignation.
"Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 'ere, conductor, I'll 'ave youto hunderstand that I will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr.McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and I am hon my way tohattend the wedding of Mr. Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am tobe 'is best man. Can I give you any further hinformation?"
The conductor, who had noticed the initials "McA" on the silver bottleheads, and the same stamped upon the bag, stammered something in thenature of an apology.
"Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, "we've got him wrong, I guess. Thisfeller ain't no burglar. Anywan can see he's a swell, all right. Leavehim alone."
"Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized the conductor humbly,putting out the light and closing the door.
"That nigger must be nutty," he added to the detective. "By Joshua!Perhaps he's got away with some of my stuff!"
"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at thelantern.]
"Look here, William, what's the matter with you? Have you been swipin'my whisky. There ain't two men in that drawin'-room at all--just one--aswell," hollered the conductor as they reached the platform.
"Fo' de Lawd, Cap'n, I ain't teched yo' whisky," cried William interror. "I swear dey was two of 'em, 'n' de udder was in _dis_guise. Itwas de fines' _dis_guise I eber saw!" he added reminiscently.
"Aw, what yer givin' us!" exclaimed McGinnis, entirely out of patience."What kind av a disguise was he in?"
"Dat's what I axed him," explained William, edging toward the rim of thecircle. "I done ax him right away what character he done represent. Hehad on silk stockin's, an' a colored deglishay shirt, an' a belt an'moccasons, an' a sword an'----"
"A sword!" yelled McGinnis, making a jump in William's direction. "I'llbreak yer black head for ye!"
"Hold on!" cried the conductor, who had disappeared into the car and hademerged again with a bottle in his hand. "The stuff's here."
"I tell ye the coon is drunk!" shouted the detective in angry tones."He can't make small av _me_!"
"I done tole you the trufe," continued William from a safe distance, histeeth and eyeballs shining in the moonlight.
"Well, where did he go?" asked the conductor. "Did you put him in thedrawin'-room?"
"I seen his ticket," replied William, "an' he said he wanted to smoke,so he went into the Benvolio, the car behin'."
"Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There ain't no car behind. This here isthe last car."
"Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; "we dropped the Benvolio atSelma Junction for repairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that drink!"
IV
McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. The compartment was dark,save for the pale light of the moon hanging low over what seemed to bewater and the masts of ships, which stole in and picked out sharply thesilver buckles on his shoes and the buttons of his doublet. There was nomotion, no sound. The train was apparently waiting somewhere, butMcAllister could not hear the engine. He put on his ulster and steppedto the door of the car. All the lights had been extinguished and hecould hear neither the sound of heavy breathing nor the other customaryevidences of the innocent rest of the human animal. He looked across theplatform for his own car and found that the train had totallydisappeared. The Benvolio was stationary--side-tracked, evidently, onthe outskirts of a town, not far from some wharves.
"Jiminy!" thought McAllister, looking at his uncheerful surroundings andhis picturesque, if somewhat cool, costume.
For a moment his mental processes refused to answer the heavy draughtupon them. Then he turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon theplatform, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match he looked at hiswatch and saw that it was four o'clock. Overhead the sky glowed withthousands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touching the sea, madea limpid path of light across the water. At the docks silent ships layfast asleep. A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying thestillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and McAllister shiveredas he thought of Wilkins, and Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelveo'clock. So far as he knew he might be just outside of Boston--Quincy,or somewhere--yet, somehow, the moon didn't look as if it were atQuincy.
He jumped down and started along the track. His feet stung as theystruck the cinder. His whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to walkin the direction in which the clock had sounded, and this he did. Therails followed the shore for about a hundred yards and then joined themain line. Presently he came in sight of a depot. Every now and then hissword would get between his legs, and this caused him so much annoyancethat he took it off and carried it. It was queer how uncomfortable theold style of shoe was when used for walking on a railroad track. Hisruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost preventing asatisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. Finally he untied it and put itin the pocket of his ulster. The cap was not so bad.
The depot had inspired the clubman with distinct hope, but as heapproached, it appeared as dark and tenantless as the car behind him. Itwas impossible to read the name of the station owing to the fact thatthe sign was too high up for the light of a match to reach it. It wasclear that there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, and hesettled himself in a corner near the express office and tried to forgethis discomfo
rt.
He had less time to wait than he had expected. Soon a great clatteringof hoofs caused him to climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers'wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, backed in against theplatform, and their drivers, throwing down the reins, leaped to theground. All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another loudly. Thenthey began to unload huge cans of milk. This looked encouraging. If theywere bringing milk at this hour there must be a train--going somewhere.It didn't matter where to McAllister, if only he could get warm.Presently a faint humming came along the rails, which steadily increasedin volume until the approaching train could be distinctly heard.
"Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest farmer.
McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. The farmer involuntarily drewback.
"Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his pipe.
"Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, "what place this is andwhere this train goes to?"
"I reckon not," replied the other. "This is Selma Junction, and thishere train is due in New York at five. Who be you?"
"Well," answered McAllister, "I'm just an humble citizen of New York,forced by circumstances to return to the city as soon as possible."
"Reckon you're one o' them play-actors, bean't ye?"
"You've got it," returned McAllister. "Fact is, I've just been playingHenry VIII--on the road."
"I've heard tell on't," commented the rustic. "But I ain't never seenit. Shakespeare, ain't it?"
"Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman.
At this moment the milk-train roared in and the teamsters began passingup their cans. There were no passenger coaches--nothing but freight-carsand a caboose. Toward this our friend made his way. There did not seemto be any conductor, and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbedupon the platform and pushed open the door. If warmth was what hedesired he soon found it. The end of the car was roughly fitted withhalf a dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, and somespittoons. A small cast-iron stove glowed red-hot, but while the placewas odoriferous, its temperature was grateful to the shiveringMcAllister. The car was empty save for a gigantic Irishman sitting fastasleep in the farther corner.
Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his ulster, and hung his capupon an adjacent hook. In a moment or two the train started again. Stillno one came into the caboose. Now daylight began to filter in throughthe grimy windows. The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and shota beam into the face of the sleeper at the other end of the car. Slowlyhe awoke, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and, catching the glint of silverbuttons, gazed stupidly in McAllister's direction. The random glancegradually gave place to a stare of intense amazement. He wrinkled hisbrows, and leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail ofMcAllister's make-up. The train stopped for an instant and a burlybrakeman banged open the door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, asit were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke into a loud laugh.
"Who in thunder are _you_?"
Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a comprehensive smile, madeanswer:
"Shure, 'tis only a prisoner I'm after takin' back to the city!"
* * * * *
"Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two hours later, as the three ofthem sat in the visitors' room at the club, "I hope you won't sayanything about this. You see, I had no business to put a kid likeEbstein on the job, but I was clean knocked out and had to snatch somesleep. I suppose he thought he was doin' a big thing when he nailed youfor a burglar. But, after all, the only thing that saved Welch was yourfallin' asleep in the Benvolio."
"My dear Baron," sympathetically replied McAllister, who had once moreresumed his ordinary attire, "why attribute to chance what is in factdue to intellect? No, I won't mention our adventure, and if our friendMcGinnis--"
"Oh, McGinnis'll keep his head shut, all right, you bet!" interruptedBarney. "But say, Mr. McAllister, on the level, you're too good for us.Why don't you chuck this game and come in out of the rain? You'll be upagainst it in the end. Help us to land this feller!"
McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half-closed his eyes. Therewas a quizzical look around his mouth that Conville had never seen therebefore.
"Perhaps I will," said he softly. "Perhaps I will."
"Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! Now, if you _get_ anything,tip us off. You can always catch me at 3100 Spring."
"Well," replied the clubman, "don't forget to drop in here, if youhappen to be going by. Some time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might wanta nip of something warm."
But to this the Baron did not respond.
"Who in thunder are _you_?"]
A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke almost restoredMcAllister's customary equanimity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Thenhe called for a telegraph blank and sent the following:
_Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If necessary, use Wilkins._ _McA._
To which, about noon-time, he received the following reply:
_Don't understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding to-morrow._ _F. C._