Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 27

"They'll all be talking that way," said Swanson gloomily. "They wait for a chance to knock."

"Something may have happened to delay him," said the manager in tones that showed he did not believe his own hopeful words. "Maybe he went to the wrong station, or had an accident. Have you looked at the papers?"

"Yes. Nothing in them about any accident. I'm still hoping he'll be in at noon, catching that early morning train."

"I hope for a telegram from him anyway, when we get to the hotel,"

replied the manager.

But McCarthy did not show up, nor was there any telegram from him awaiting when the team reached their hotel.

CHAPTER XXVI

_Baldwin Shows His Hand_

"There's a swarm of reporters down in the lobby all excited over McCarthy," announced Swanson as, in obedience to orders, he, with Kennedy, Norton and Technicalities Feehan, gathered in Clancy's room soon after breakfast.

"Let them wait," replied Clancy. "They've been calling up here every five minutes."

Briefly each of the players recounted the little they had seen or heard during the preceding evening, Swanson giving his account of his engagement with McCarthy, his telephone conversation with Miss Baldwin, of her evident sincerity when she informed him as to McCarthy's departure from the house and of his vain wait.

"But what could have happened?" asked Kennedy. "You're sure he got out of the house? It's only two blocks to the street car line and three to the elevated on lighted streets, you say. If he was. .h.i.t by an automobile or held up by robbers it would have been in the newspapers."

"Manager Clancy," said Feehan softly from his perch upon a trunk, which gave him the aspect of a huge owl, "I have been giving consideration to a plan. Unless Mr. McCarthy should arrive on the 11.45 train I shall catch the noonday express for home, arriving there shortly after five, to put my plan into effect."

"But you cannot neglect your work, Feehan," protested the manager.

"It's fine of you to offer it, but you've got yourself to think of."

"I have a premonition," responded the reporter solemnly, "or what Mr.

Swanson so graphically expresses as a 'hunch,' that the story at the other end is bigger than the story of the contest. Besides, Mr.

Hardner has kindly consented to report the game of to-day for my paper as well as his own."

"What's your theory, Technicalities?" asked Clancy gratefully.

"Only one of two things are probable," explained Feehan. "Either McCarthy left of his own accord or because of threats made to him or else he has been kidnapped by certain--ah--interests, let us say, desirous of preventing the Bears from winning the championship emblem."

"Ah, Kohinoor wouldn't quit, and they couldn't scare him," growled Swanson.

"Precisely, Mr. Swanson. The statistics prove beyond doubt that he is not concerned in the losing of games, putting aside the fact that the young man undoubtedly is honest and sincere. That leaves us only one premise, the other having been found untenable. Mr. McCarthy has been kidnapped."

"I can't figure how they could take him in a public street or from a street car," interposed Clancy.

"I have calculated that," said the reporter. "Either he is in the Baldwin home and Miss Baldwin ah--er--falsified or he was attacked between her uncle's home and the street car line two and one-half blocks distant."

"How do you propose finding him?" asked Clancy.

"I shall arrive at 5.11," replied the peculiar little man of news quietly. "Before six o'clock I shall have one of the best detective agencies in the world scouring the city."

The train came steaming into the station on time and the shortstop and the reporter crowded closer to the gates, watching the stream of hurrying pa.s.sengers rushing through the narrow gates and spreading, fan-like, across the great floor. Suddenly Swanson's elbow jarred against the reporter's body, causing the frail statistician to wince.

"Look there!" said Swanson in excited whispers.

"Where--who?" inquired Feehan, striving to focus his heavy gla.s.ses upon the position indicated by his companion.

"It's Baldwin--the big fellow with the cane and the small satchel. See him?"

"I see a big man. I never saw Baldwin," responded the reporter. "Now, what can he be doing over here?"

"I'm going to find out," replied Swanson, his jaw setting pugnaciously.

"McCarthy isn't on that train or he'd have been out among the first, and they're almost all out now. Good luck to you, Feehan, and wire me the minute you locate Kohinoor."

"I will," promised the reporter. "What you've got to do is to win that game to-day without him. I'll have him here to-morrow if he hasn't broken a leg."

Swanson leaped into the taxi immediately behind that into which he had seen Baldwin climb, and ordered the driver to follow the other vehicle.

His surprise hardly could have been greater than when the short pursuit of Baldwin ended at the hotel from which he had come, unless it was that which came over him when, upon following the big man to the desk, he heard Baldwin order the clerk to send his card to Manager Clancy.

Swanson's surprise, however, was little more than that experienced by Manager Clancy when the bell boy delivered Baldwin's card.

"Send him right up," he said, and as the boy turned he said to himself: "Now, what the d.i.c.kens does that fellow want with me?"

Baldwin entered the room pompously, and walked toward the Bears'

manager with his pudgy hand extended.

"Ah, Clancy," he said patronizingly. "I'm Mr. Baldwin. I've seen you often on the field, but never had the occasion to meet you before."

"Yes," replied Clancy, ignoring the hand, "I've heard of you often, Baldwin, in various connections. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes; matter of business," said the big man. "Fact is, Clancy, I ran over from home purposely to have a little confidential talk with you."

"Depends upon what it is whether it's confidential or not," said Clancy; "I can't pledge myself not to tell the newspaper boys, especially if you've come to give me a third baseman."

"Hasn't McCarthy shown up?" inquired the politician quickly.

"No," responded Clancy coldly. "Didn't happen to see him over in town, did you?"

"No, no. Fact is, Clancy, I never have paid much attention to my ball players."

"Your ball players?" It was Clancy's turn to be astonished.

"Yes, yes; Clancy, I supposed you knew. I've owned the controlling interest in the Bears for a number of years. That's what I came to see you about."

"You own the Bears?" Clancy's tone was between surprise and disbelief.

"Certainly, certainly. Now, I haven't taken any active interest in them for several reasons until lately. Truth is things aren't going to suit me, and I have decided to take a hand myself."

"You have?" asked Clancy. "Well, you may own this club, but I'm d----d if you can run it while I'm manager."