Part 11 (1/2)

”What's the news?” asked Dillon greeting us cordially.

”Plenty of it,” returned Garrick, hastily sketching over what had transpired since we had seen him last.

Garrick had scarcely begun to outline what he intended to do when I could see from the commissioner's face that he was very sceptical of success.

”Herman tells me,” he objected, ”that the place is mighty well barricaded. We haven't tried raiding it yet, because you know the new plan is not only to raid those places, but first to watch them, trace out some of the regular habitues, and then to be able to rope them in in case we need them as evidence. Herman has been getting that all in shape so that when the case comes to trial, there'll be no slip-up.”

”If that's all you want, I can put my finger on some of the wildest scions of wealth that you will ever need for witnesses,” Garrick replied confidently.

”Well,” pursued Dillon diffidently, ”how are you going to pull it off, down through the sky-light, or up through the cellar?”

”Oh, Dillon,” returned Garrick reproachfully, ”that's unworthy of you.”

”But, Garrick,” persisted Dillon, ”don't you know that it is a veritable National City Bank for protection. It isn't one of those common gambling joints. It's proof against all the old methods. Axes and sledgehammers would make no impression there. Why, that place has been proved bomb-proof--bomb-proof, sir. You remember recently the so-call 'gamblers' war' in which some rivals exploded a bomb on the steps because the proprietor of this place resented their intrusion uptown from the lower East Side, with their gunmen and lobbygows? It did more damage to the house next door than to the gambling joint.”

Dillon paused a moment to enumerate the difficulties. ”You can get past the outside door all right. But inside is the famous ice-box door. It's no use to try it at all unless you can pa.s.s that door with reasonable quickness. All the evidence you will get will be of an innocent social club room downstairs. And you can't get on the other side of that door by strategy, either. It is strategy-proof. The system of lookouts is perfect. Herman---”

”Can't help it,” interrupted Garrick, ”we've got to go over Herman's head this time. I'll guarantee you all the evidence you'll ever need.”

Dillon and Garrick faced each other for a moment.

It was a supreme test of Dillon's sincerity.

Finally he spoke slowly. ”All right,” he said, as if at last the die were cast and Garrick had carried his point, ”but how are you going to do it? Won't you need some men with axes and crowbars?”

”No, indeed,” almost shouted Garrick as Dillon made a motion as if to find out who were available. ”I've been preparing a little surprise in my office this afternoon for just such a case. It's a rather c.u.mbersome arrangement and I've brought it along stowed away in a taxicab outside.

I don't want anyone else to know about the raid until the last moment.

Just before we begin the rough stuff, you can call up and have the reserves started around. That is all I shall want.”

”Very well,” agreed Dillon, after a moment.

He did not seem to relish the scheme, but he had promised at the outset to play fair and he had no disposition to go back on his word now in favor even of his judgment.

”First of all,” he planned, ”we'll have to drop in on a judge and get a warrant to protect us.”

Garrick hastily gave me instructions what to do and I started uptown immediately, while they went to secure the secret warrant.

I had been stationed on the corner which was not far from the Forty-eighth Street gambling joint that we were to raid. I had a keen sense of wickedness as I stood there with other loiterers watching the pa.s.sing throng under the yellow flare of the flaming arc light.

It was not difficult now to loiter about unnoticed because the streets were full of people, all bent on their own pleasure and not likely to notice one person more or less who stopped to watch the pa.s.sing throng.

From time to time I cast a quick glance at the house down the street, in order to note who was going in.

It must have been over an hour that I waited. It was after ten, and it became more difficult to watch who was going into the gambling joint.

In fact, several times the street was so blocked that I could not see very well. But I did happen to catch a glimpse of one familiar figure across the street from me.

It was Angus Forbes. Where he kept himself in the daytime I did not know, but he seemed to emerge at night, like a rat, seeking what to him was now food and drink. I watched him narrowly as he turned the corner, but there was no use in being too inquisitive. He was bound as certainly for the gambling joint as a moth would have headed toward one of the arc lights. Evidently Forbes was making a vocation of gambling.