CHAPTER XIV--THE CREDIT PLAN
The Sheepfold in Central Park is a U-shaped structure of red brick wallsand a low roof that is mostly gables. One of the wings is winterquarters for the Dorset flock. The connecting curve, the lower half ofwhich is an archway, houses in the upper Shepherd Tom and his family.The remaining wing, although built for a different purpose, is now usedas a garage for the motor cycle police. Within is parking space for allthe machines in regular use in the park and some extras.
Into this garage strode Why-Not Pape, a man in a hurry. His onlyintroduction to the policeman in charge was rather extravagant, ifwordless--one made in brute Belgian. He returned Kicko's greeting--thefact that he and the police dog were friends did the rest. It wasamazing how easily his coup was carried out as planned, backed by thedog's infallible memory.
"Which are the spare fire-crackers?" he asked the uniformed garagekeeper with bluff authority. "I'm in a gasoline hurry to get up theline."
His wait had more intensity than length. He counted upon a long-standingclaim among safe-workers, of which he had been assured by that piece ofhuman flotsam out at Hellroaring, that the "big box" in the New YorkPolice Headquarters would be the easiest "cracked" in the city werethere anything in it worth stealing. He knew it to be a fact that manynever-solved robberies and murders have been "pulled" within the shadowof precinct stations; had seen substantiated in the day-by-day news thetheory that the best "hide-out" is under the arresting arm of citygovernment. And his act upon deduction meant nothing against the police.He simply wished to profit for once by his knowledge of human naturereduced to the _N_th degree. Even unaided by the dog, he had expected tocarry through by daring of a first-draft sort.
"What's the case, sergeant?"
With the question the attendant member of the force waved a hand towardthe sheaf of ten machines which are kept unassigned to particular "speedcops"--an emergency motive-power reserve.
Without necessity of an equivocation as to who he was, without flashingthe badge of authority which he did not have--merely by using that slangterm for the noisiest of motor vehicles which was in common usage in theYellowstone as well as in New York, Pape had declared himself in hispart.
"Big," he answered. "Bigger than all the park."
Frowning and abstracted from a hurry to be off that was by no meansassumed, he wheeled one of the emergency machines into the open doorway.
"Want any help?"
The rookie was ready; had grasped the handles of a second cycle.
"No. Do I look like I needed help?" In earnest now he frowned, but notabstractedly. "Don't want any uniforms following me. Ain't that kind ofa case."
Without meeting other obstacles, Pape was off upon the marked officialmachine. About one minute lasted his ride upon this steed, fleeter thanPolkadot at his best. As though for the first time noticing the diggersamong the park poplars, he stopped with a toot of the cycle siren.Dismounting, he dropped the standard, parked the machine at the side ofthe road and advanced upon the despoilers. On the way he charged himselfthat in this "kind of case"--three burlies and a boss to one uniformedobjector whose only authority was a woman's service--mind more thanmuscle would be needed.
He was met by the thin-faced man. "S'all right, officer. We ain'tlooking for Cap'n Kidd's treasure."
Pape smiled more inwardly than outwardly, although he felt that he wellcould afford to do both on being mistaken, a second time within the lastfew minutes, for a plain-clothes man.
"Who are you and what you up to?" he demanded.
"Name's Welch--Swinton Welch, contractor. I'm digging a ditch to put ina sub-surface drain. Want to see the permit?"
Producing a worn paper from his breast pocket, the small boss flourishedit.
"Sure. Show me."
"It's O. K., else I wouldn't have the navvies at work."
"Likely it is," countered Pape, "but show me just the same."
With somewhat less of a flourish the paper was presented. Pape saw at aglance that it was written on an official form of the Department ofParks, then scanned it closer.
"What--" his demand was louder, gruffer, more combative thanbefore--"_what_ you say you're doing?"
"Just like the paper says--digging for a drain." The sharp-faced bossalso grew more combative.
It is to be remarked that the Italian laborers had stopped work on theinstant of interference. They always do. A shovel wasted--Fortunatelythe stream of cars on the roadway below flowed on without a ripple ofcuriosity as to the party on the hillock. The pedestrian paths werefurther away and, at this hour, preempted by the inevitable babies,mothers and nurse-maids. In the great, green mixing-bowl of all raceswithin the world's most democratic city, no man concerned himself withthe by-play near the boundary except those directly involved.
Pape scowled over the operation, with never a glance toward the stonewall, from over the top of which a pair of black-irised blue eyesprobably were watching him--a pair of rose-lobed ears were listening. Tomake "learning" easier he pulled another loud stop in his voice.
"What you going to drain to where?"
"Don't exactly know myself yet. Going according to orders," offered Mr.Swinton Welch. "One shovelful at a time is my motto. Don't make nomistakes that way. What's eating you, bo? I tell you it's all O. K. or Iwouldn't be----"
The alleged contractor was stopped in the middle of his defense by theglare lifted to his face from the sheet of paper. An unofficial, yetofficial acting thumb was jerked over-shoulder.
"Out!" bellowed a voice of command--Pape's. "You don't go wrecking thispark with an order that's a year old, signed by a commissioner that'salready in the discard--leastways you don't while I'm above sod. Calloff your men and beat it!"
"I'll call off nobody nor nothing." Evidently the "boss" wasn't amenableto being bossed. "I know my rights and I'll stand on 'em in spite of allthe plain-clothes crooks out of Sing Sing. That permit's good until it'sbeen used. If you had half an eye in your head you'd see that it's neverbeen canceled."
Pape folded the slip and tucked it into his coat pocket. "You'll get offlighter if you call it canceled," he advised. Turning to the laborers,he added: "Go home, you--no matter what lingo you speak. Beat it--maketracks--vamoose!"
The huskies did not look to their foreman for advice. To them the voiceof him who had appeared upon the thunder-bike was fuller of authoritythan a noon whistle. Shouldering their implements, they straggled towardthe nearest exit. Their wage? The boss of their boss would produce that.Sufficient unto the day was the pay thereof. Weren't they muscleworkers--weren't they therefore always paid?
"You give me your number--I dare you--your number!"
The small foreman had lost the sangfroid of his type. Like a cockroachinadvisedly investigating a hot griddle, he danced toward the tallerman.
"You don't need to dare me twice. My number's a darned good one for youto know. I'm 23--that means _skidoo_!"
Pape's sidewise spring he had learned from one of his Hellroaringcayuses. It brought within his reach this second disturber of JaneLauderdale's peace and quiet. Only one wrench did he need to apply tothe wrist of the hand which he had interrupted on its way into a sidepocket of a sack coat.
"Not _this_ morning," he objected.
The foreman, gone startlingly white from pain after the recent red ofhis chagrin, of necessity permitted his hand to be withdrawn empty. Andhe had no power to prevent Pape's reaching into the pocket andconfiscating a snub-nosed automatic. He did, however, risk somecontentious comment.
"Nothing a real citizen loathes like you plain-clothes pests. I'll showyou up proper in court, you big bully. I got a permit from a judge tocarry that gun, I'll have you know."
"But not to use it on me. I put quite a value, I'll have _you_ know, onmy birthday suit-of-clothes."
The "pest's" chortle was pitched to carry reassurance to and over thepark wall.
Removing and pocketing the cartridges, he returned the "permitted"weapon's frame to its owner. In consideration of his ut
terly unofficialstatus, he probably would have found an attempt to enforce New YorkState's anti-pistol law embarrassing. At that, the fellow probably didhave a permit--he had been told that such were easy enough to get. Hewould, he felt, be satisfied if the "drain" excavation was postponeduntil Jane had that coveted hour for the finish of her own mysteriousinvestigation.
Perhaps the small boss regained some of what would seem constitutionalbravado from the fact that his license to carry concealed weapons hadnot been demanded. At any rate, he started fresh protest.
"Say, if you'd any idea who I was working for----"
"I know who I'm working for. That's idea enough for me _and_ for you."
Pape sat down with his back against the trunk of the most aged andsturdy poplar. He looked as likely to stay there as the tree. Theforeman, with a final sputter of indignation, stamped off down the hill,having made no secret of his objective--the nearest telephone. TheWesterner saw him pause beside the motorcycle and make note of thenumber on its P. D. plate--a last amusing touch to a uniquelypleasurable experience. Small satisfaction would Welch get if he triedto trace and punish the particular "cop" who had ridden that particularpolice "firecracker" that particular afternoon. Kicko alone could givehim away and Kicko was too much of a Belgian to tell on a friend.
Some minutes after the foreman had disappeared in the general directionof Columbus Circle, Pape arose and sauntered toward the park wall. Hedid not trouble himself further about his steed of raucous breath, steelribs and rubber hoofs. A "sparrow cop" would happen upon that sooner orlater and trundle it back to the Sheepfold garage. The Force could takefor granted that its plain-clothe's borrower had found necessity toabandon it in course of duty. Plainly labeled as a piece of cityproperty by its official number plate, it was safe enough.
He scaled the wall at a calculated point and gave himself completely tothe joys of victory when he saw her who had sent him into the arenaseated on a shaded bench a short distance above. He joined her.Gallantly as some champion of old he handed her the trophy brought backfrom the fight--the venerable drain-building permit.
"This is all the authority they had for daylight digging," he remarked.
"Then--then they haven't deciphered it?" she breathed with manifestrelief, after a moment's study of the official sheet.
"It? Just what--" he began to ask, then stopped.
Let her tell him if and when she liked. Until and unless, he wouldcontinue his rudderless, questionless course.
"Don't you see," she was generous enough to add, "if they had solved thecryptogram, they never would have been using this? With their influencethey'd have secured a special permit. It may be that one of the gang sawme digging there last night and assumed that I knew more than I reallydo. There have been signs recently that I was followed by morethan--than yourself. That man on the knob last night--Don't you supposehe had watched me--trailed me--lain in wait for me to take from mewhatever I might have dug up?"
They? Their? The gang?
These succinct demands Pape did not put in words although,telepathically, he did not restrain his curiosity. Probably she gotsomething of his vehemence and decided that something was due him. Sheabstracted her attention completely from the passers-by and gave it tohim.
"You were fine, Peter Pape, _fine_. After dark to-night I'll come backand finish my search. If I'd stopped to think--except for mydesperation, you know--I never should have asked you to put those peopleout, it was _so_ impossible. But you were inspired with the one-bestidea. You handled the expulsion act as artistically as--as an actor inhis big scene."
Now, had there been time for Pape to foreplan his curtain speech hemight have continued to be artistic. But Jane's applause seemed to go tohis head. He honestly had meant to continue histrionically suppressed,unasking, admirable. Yet he didn't; just couldn't. He stretched his armalong the back of the bench until his finger-tips touched the tweed ofher sleeve. Perhaps the contact was unnerving. Perhaps her eyes were tooearnest. Perhaps her faint, wistful smile was falsely promising. At anyrate, he proceeded to do what he had determined not to do.
"It _was_ quite a stunt. I admit it," he said. "Don't you think you sortof ought to--That is, don't you want to reward me?"
"Reward you?"
She drew away from him and his suggestion.
"Of course I don't mean just that." Pape's eyes were on her lips. "Youpaid me beforehand. What I wish you'd do is to get me in your debtagain. The credit system is the one for me. I can do anything to makegood when I'm deep in debt. Will you--won't you----"
"_Odious_!"
A second or so he blinked into the blast of her interruption. By itsflare he saw her interpretation of his bad beginning. He tried anextinguisher.
"Wait a minute. Don't flay me before you understand. I'm not such ajasper as to mean to exact--What I wish you'd do--What I want toask--Jane, have a little mercy on me. Tell me who and what to you isthat man living in your flat."
From the look of her, judging dispassionately as possible, all was overbetween them. She got to her feet, as he to his. She looked strengthenedby righteous rage, he weakened by unrighteous humility. She made theonly utterances--and they did not help much, being rather fragmentary.
"You think that I--You have assumed that he--You believe that we--So_that_ is why----"
In the pause that preceded the lash of further language, Peter Paperealized what it was to be a dumb brute. He felt as must certain dogs hehad tried to understand--faithful, well-intentioned, unequal toexplaining themselves. He knew that he did not deserve chastisement atthe beloved hand, yet could not resent or avert it. Like a dog heleveled his eyes on hers and looked--silent, honest, worshipful.
And Jane Lauderdale proved to have a heart for dumb brutes.
A taxi with flag out had slowed at her gesture. She was about to enterit. In quiet, crisp tones she gave her address to the driver; then theseinstructions to Pape:
"Get the next cab that comes along and follow me to East Sixty-thirdStreet. Under the circumstances you will excuse me for preferring toride over alone. I'll wait for you on the stoop."
She did. And without a word she preceded him up the three screeching,scrooping, shrieking flights, which were not nearly so uncommunicativeas his guide.
"Life's a shaky thing. But love is worse--worse--worse"--the first. Andthe scroopy second: "Things get queerer every step--queerer--queerer."Shrieked the third: "Look out. Like as not he'll leap and lam you. Lookout lest he leap and lam!"
The fourth floor front was empty when they entered. Pape noted itsquaint consistency during the moment she left him alone--an oblong roomfitted sparingly with Colonial antiques, with a round rag rug over theboards of its floor, with several old, interesting engravings on itswalls. He merely glanced at the horsehair Davenport to which she hadwaved him; turned and stood with face toward the sliding door throughwhich she had disappeared.
Soon this door was drawn open. Forward she led by the hand the man. Atall, fit specimen he was, his face clean-shaved and strong-featured,his hair a tawny mass which probably once had been auburn, but now wasblond from a two-thirds admixture of gray.
The light of devotion irradiated the girl's uplifted face as she stoppedbefore him. She looked like a slender white taper beside some shrine,her lips the live red, her eyes the blaze blue, her hair the wavingsuggestion of its lighted tip.
"Dear," she said to her companion, "I want to introduce Mr. Why-NotPape, the Westerner I told you about."
The man's smile was cordial, beautiful. He stepped forward withoutstretched hand.
"Welcome to our city, Why-Not Pape," he quoted from the Times Canon signwhich, patently, had been part of Jane's tale.
But Pape didn't--just couldn't meet the advance. He stood stubbornlystill before the Davenport, his arms stiff at his sides, his sufferingeyes upon the lit taper--upon Jane.
And into her devotional mood seemed to return that gentlingcomprehension of dumb brutes.
"I _beg_ your pardon," she said to him. "Mr. Pape, my
father."