Part 21 (1/2)

The Boss seemed to be considering.

”How will you get a chance to do it?” he asked at length.

”Oh, I'll get a chance, all right. I'll make a chance,” came back the self-confident reply.

It sent a s.h.i.+ver through me merely to contemplate what might happen if Violet Winslow fell into such hands. Mentally I blessed Garrick for his forethought in having the phony 'phone in the garage against possible discovery of the detective instrument.

”You know this poisoned needle stuff that's been in the papers?”

pursued the Chief.

”Bunk--all bunk,” came back the Boss promptly.

”Is that so?” returned the Chief. ”Well, you're right about it as far as what has been in the papers is concerned. I don't know but I doubt about ninety-nine and ninety-nine hundredths per cent of it, too. But, I'll tell you,--it can be done. Take it from me--it can be done. I've got one of the best little sleepmakers you ever saw--right from Paris, too. There, what do you know about that?”

I glanced hastily, in alarm, at Garrick. His face was set in hard lines, as he listened.

”Sleepmaker--Paris,” I heard him mutter under his breath, and just a flicker of a smile crossed the set lines of his fine face.

”Yes, sir,” pursued the voice of the Chief, ”I can pull one of those poisoned needle cases off and I'm going to do it, if I get half a chance.”

”When would you do it?” asked the Boss, weakening.

”As soon as I can. I've a scheme. I'm not going to tell you over the wire, though. Leave it to me. I'm going up to our place, where I left the car. I'll study the situation out, up there. Maybe I'll run over and look over the ground, see how she spends her time and all that sort of thing. I've got to reckon in with that aunt, too. She's a Tartar.

I'll let you know. In the meantime, I want you to watch that place on Forty-seventh Street. Tell me if they make any move against it. Don't waste any time, either. I can't be out of touch with things the way I was the last time I went away. You see, they almost put one across on us--in fact they did put one across with that detectaphone thing. Now, we can't let that happen again. Just keep me posted, see?”

They had finished talking and that was apparently all we were to get that night, or rather that morning, by way of warning of their plot for the worst move yet.

It was enough. If they would murder and burn, what would they stop at in order to strike at us through the innocent figure of Violet Winslow?

What might not happen to such a delicate slip of a girl in the power of such men?

”At least,” rapped out Garrick, himself smothering his alarm, ”they can't do anything immediately. It gives us time to prepare and warn.

Besides, before that we may have them rounded up. The time has come for something desperate. I won't be trifled with any longer. This last proposal goes just over the limit.”

As for me, I was speechless. The events of the past two days, the almost sleepless nights had sapped my energy. Even Garrick, though he was a perfect glutton for work, felt the strain.

It was very late, or rather very early, and we determined to s.n.a.t.c.h a few moments of sleep at the Old Tavern before the rest of the world awoke to the new day. It was only a couple of hours that we could spare, but it was absolutely necessary.

In spite of our fatigue, we were up again early and after another try at the phony 'phone which told us that only the men were working in the garage, we were on our way up to Garrick's apartment.

We had scarcely entered when the telephone boy called up to say that there was a Mr. Warrington on long distance trying to get us. Garrick eagerly asked to have him put on our wire.

Warrington, it seemed, had been informed of the fire by one of his agents and was inquiring anxiously for details, especially about the letter. Garrick quickly apologised for not calling up himself, and relieved his anxiety by a.s.suring him that the letter was safe.

”And how are you?” he asked of Warrington.

”Convalescing rapidly,” laughed back the patient, to whom the loss of anything was a mere bagatelle beside the letter. Garrick had not told him yet of the stealing of the other letters. ”Getting along fine,--thanks to a new tonic which Dr. Mead has prescribed for me.”