Officer 666 Part 23

But he managed to plaster them all on before the cab stopped and after one glance in the little mirror he was confident the disguise would answer.

When he stepped out of the taxi, at almost the very spot where he had boarded it, he felt that a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"How do you like me?" he asked the chauffeur, gayly. "Is it an improvement?"

"I wouldn't say yis nor no to that," said the chauffeur, "but 'tiz a disguise, an' that's what ye were wantin'. Thim eyebrows is grand."

"Thanks," laughed Officer 666, "an' here's a wan hundred dollar bill which asks ye to forget me uniform, me number an' me face."

"'Tiz done," agreed the chauffeur, tucking away the bill, "on'y take a tip from a wise gink an' keep deep in the shadders. An' whin ye pinch your frind don't let him holler too loud."

The yellow taxi was gone with a rush, leaving Gladwin to wonder at the amazingly shrewd guess of its pilot.

"When I pinch me frind," he murmured. "'Twas just what I said to Phelan. Why"----

He was gazing after the taxicab when from the opposite direction there suddenly rolled into view a vast touring car with a familiar figure at the wheel, and alongside the familiar figure a very pretty girl.

The car was barely rolling along, while its two occupants were talking earnestly, their heads as close together as was possible under the circ.u.mstances.

"Johnny Parkinson, as I'm alive!" uttered Travers Gladwin. "Me old college chum, and as per usual--making love. Yis, me grinning chauffeur frind, here's where we make a pinch an' test Mme. Flynn's eyebrows. Officer, do your duty!"

Out he stepped into the roadway and raised his nightstick.

The big car came to a sudden stop and the two occupants stared angrily at the cause of the interruption.

"I arrest yez in the name o' the law," cried Patrolman Gladwin, scowling so fiercely that one of the eyebrows was in danger.

"What's that?" snorted the young aristocrat.

"You're me pris'ner," said Gladwin, easily. "I arrest ye fer breaking the speed laws--racin' on the aven-oo."

"It's an outrage!" cried the pretty pa.s.senger. "We were scarcely crawling, Johnny."

"You must be joking, officer," said Johnny Parkinson, not very belligerently, for he had a bad record for speeding and wasn't sure that some earlier offense was not involved.

"I'm not jokin'," replied Gladwin, walking to the door of the tonneau and opening it, "and ye'll oblige me by drivin' to the police station." He got in and lolled back cozily in the cushions.

Johnny Parkinson let in the clutch and rolled northward. This was the strangest "pinch" of his experience and he didn't know just what to make of it. After he had gone a few blocks he turned on his captor-pa.s.senger and said:

"Which station shall I drive to?--I'm sure there must be some mistake."

"There's no mistake," responded Gladwin, fairly screaming with joy inside at the bewildered and frightened look of his friend. "As for police stations, take your pick. I ain't particular. Drive round the block a couple o' times an' make up your mind."

Johnny Parkinson turned the first corner and then turned again into Madison avenue. Gladwin could hear the couple on the front seat whispering excitedly, the girl almost in hysterics.

"You've simply got to do something, Johnny," she was saying. "You know if we get our names in the paper father will be furious. Remember what he said about the last time you were arrested for speeding."

Running along Madison avenue, Johnny Parkinson slowed down, turned again to the uniform in the back seat and said tremulously:

"Can't we compromise this, Officer? I"----

"Not on the aven-oo, Mr. Parkinson. You've got too bad a record. But if ye'll run the machine over into Central Park where there ain't so many sergeants roamin' round we might effict a sittlemint."

A smile of great gladness illuminated the features of Johnny Parkinson. He let in the clutch with a bang and it was only a matter of seconds before the ninety horsepower car glided in through the Seventy-second street entrance to Central Park and swung into the dark reaches of the East Drive. Slowing down again the young man at the wheel turned and said anxiously:

"The smallest I've got is a century and I really need some of that."

"That's aisy," rejoined Gladwin. "Sure'n I change hundred dollar bills ivry day. Slip me the paper an' here's a fifty, which is lettin' ye off aisy, seein' ye're an ould offinder."

The transfer of bills was made swiftly, whereupon Gladwin commanded:

"Now run me back to me peg post an' drop me off, on'y take it slow an'

gradual or I might have to pinch yez again."

A few minutes later Gladwin heard the young girl say pa.s.sionately:

"Oh, Johnny, how could you give him the money? He's no better than a thief. I hope you've taken his number."

"It wouldn't do any good, dearest," said Johnny, sadly. "They're all in together and I'd only get the worst of it. But did you notice, Phyllis, that he looks a lot like Travers Gladwin?"

"Impossible!" retorted the girl. "Travers Gladwin is good looking, and this man's nothing but an Irish monster."

The girl was about to speak again when she was sure she heard m.u.f.fled laughter behind her. Then the car sped on into the avenue and just missed colliding with a Fifth avenue motor 'bus. Officer 666 was put down a block from his own home and resumed the patrolling of the immediate precincts of the Gladwin mansion. His only parting salute from Johnny Parkinson's car was a flashing glance of contempt from the girl, whose ident.i.ty he strove in vain to place.

CHAPTER XXIII.

OLD GRIM BARNES GETS A THRILL.

The precipitate departure of Travers Gladwin left Whitney Barnes and the shirt-sleeved Michael Phelan staring blankly at each other. The unfrocked policeman was anything but an imposing figure and the contortions of distress in his rubicund countenance were grotesque enough to kindle the sense of humor in a far less volatile mind than that of Whitney Barnes. His smile came to the surface and spread out in full blossom. But it failed to find reflection in the features of Mrs. Phelan's son.

"What the divvil are ye grinnin' at?" snarled Phelan. "Ye wouldn't see no fun in it if it mint your job an' your pension an' your silf-respect. Now, what is it all about?"

"There you have me, officer," responded the young man, lightly. "The riddle is dark on all four sides. You and I are in the same boat--guardians of the castle against the mysterious foe. While you guard the moat from the kitchen I will operate the portcullis."

"Talk sinse, will yez?" hissed Phelan. "What in blazes has moats an'

portcollars to do with it?"

"Only in a way of speaking," laughed Barnes. "But calm yourself, Mr.

Phelan, my friend is both wise and discreet. He will do no dishonor to your cloth, and together we will see that you suffer no material damage in this life. I am unable to explain further without uttering more confusion, so kindly take yonder tray down into the kitchen. That little door on the extreme right I believe opens the way to the lower regions. I am sure Bateato left the lights on."

"May the blessed saints presairve ye if it's a trap ye're riggin' fer Michael Phelan," breathed that gentleman, shaking his head dubiously.

"'Tis not a step I'll go down into that kitchen till yez lead me the way, and if there's any more ravin' maniacs down in them quarters I warn ye it's shootin' I'll be after doin'."

And Phelan patted the bulge in his hip pocket as he swung around.