Officer 666 Part 39

The captain thought a moment and then burst into action:

"Call the reserves and get the patrol wagon," he shouted. "I remember that j.a.p. I guess there's something doing. I'll go myself."

As the reserves were all asleep and the horses had to be hitched to the patrol wagon Bateato had a big start of his big much pleece.

Notwithstanding the breathless condition in which he had arrived at the station house, his return journey was accomplished at his dizziest speed. Also he arrived back at the house way in advance of Whitney Barnes. There was a reason.

Wearing a frock coat and a silk hat and carrying a cane (of course he called it _stick_) one is hardly equipped for marathoning. And if you must know more, Whitney's small clothes were too fashionably tight to permit of more than a swift heel and toe action. At this he was doing admirably in his pa.s.sionate haste to return and warn his friend Gladwin when another woman came into his life and appealed for succor.

Three in one evening, when he was perfectly satisfied to stop at one--the bewitching Sadie.

No. 3 was of an entirely different type from No. 1 and No. 2, and, happily for Whitney, there was no yowling bundle this time--merely a cat, and a silent cat at that.

She was a plump little woman and rather comely and she was intensely excited, for the cat in the case was hers and the cat was up the only tree on that street east of Central Park. At the foot of the tree sat a large bulldog gazing fixedly up at the cat.

Whitney Barnes was so occupied with his heel and toe pace that he did not descry the woman or the dog or the tree or the cat until the woman seized him by the arm and cried:

"You must save my darling Zaza from that dog."

Then she tailed off into hysterical sobs, but did not release her grip.

"Madam, I'm in great haste," retorted Barnes, striving to wriggle free from her grip. "I would advise you to call a policeman."

"There is no policeman," sobbed the distressed mistress of Zaza. "Oh, you m-m-m-must s-s-s-save my Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-aza. Oo-oo!"

Then Barnes glimpsed the dog and its fang-filled grin as it stared up at the cat.

"You don't expect me to tackle that dog?" he asked, backing away and making another effort to free himself.

"Shoot him! do anything to him!" insisted the distressed female.

"Oo-oo-oo! he kills cats. Do something quick or I must scream."

Whitney Barnes would have welcomed an open manhole to vanish into. If that woman screamed and held fast to him till the police came it would be just as bad as the baby case. But if he tackled the dog he would probably go to the hospital and be afflicted with hydrophobia and all sorts of things.

"Calm yourself my dear woman," he said frantically. "The dog cannot climb the tree and your cat is perfectly safe."

"Are y-y-y-you s-s-s-sure?" she moaned. Then grabbing him tighter.

"But you must not leave me. In case the dog should go up that tree you must attack it with your cane."

"I promise," panted Barnes, "if you will only release your grip on my arm. Your finger nails are tearing the flesh."

"I w-w-w-will not hold you so tight," she consented, "but I must hold on to you till somebody comes. Oh, look at that brute. He is biting the tree. He----"

But the sudden clangor of a patrol wagon and the hammering of steel-shod hoofs on the cobbles caused the owner of Zaza both to cease her shrill lamentations and let go of Whitney Barnes's arm.

The patrol wagon was rolling down behind them at a furious pace while its gong rent the stillness of the night as a warning to all crooks and criminals to beware and to scurry to shelter. It is the New York bra.s.s band method of thief hunting and if that patrol wagon gong hadn't broken before the vehicle had crossed Madison avenue the destinies of several prominent personages might have been seriously hampered in their headlong fling.

That gong kept blaring its clang of warning long enough to frighten off the dog and restore Whitney Barnes to freedom, and once released from the bruising grip of that distraught little woman he turned his back upon Zaza's fate and ran--he ran so long as he considered it feasible to maintain the integrity of his trousers. That is, he ran not quite a block, then dropped back to his heel and toe exercise and swiftly ate up the distance that separated him from Travers Gladwin's home.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

PHELAN LOSES HIS BRIBE.

It was merely a coincidence that Bateato should drag Helen back into the room just as Gladwin had gone on record with the declaration, "There are no women here," but it was a sufficiently dramatic coincidence to jar from Officer No. 666 the exclamation:

"Where the divil are they all springin' from?"

Bateato had come up with Helen as she was descending the stoop, had seized her by the wrist and almost swung her off her feet as he swept her back into the house and rounded her up before the three men, dumb with fright and barely able to stand. Still gripping her wrist, Bateato let go the Maxim volley:

"You tief! She try get away, but Bateato catch fast--she tief--I see steal all pictures--she"----

"Bateato, you idiot!" his master hurled at him with a menacing gesture that caused the little j.a.p to drop the girl's hand and jump back.

"Didn't I tell you to stay at the hotel?" continued Gladwin, fiercely, for the moment ignoring both Phelan and the thief.

"Yes, but I 'fraid--much late you no come. Bateato come back see girl steal all pictures!"

The little j.a.p had fallen into Phelan's state of blind bewilderment.

"Shut up!" his master snapped him up, walking up to him with an eat-'em-alive expression. "And now listen--I don't want you to say anything more, understand? Not a word to anybody about anything. Not a syllable!"

"I no spick," bleated the j.a.p.

"See that you don't--not a single word--if you do I'll skin you!"

Never in the three years he had served the young man had Bateato seen him in anything like this savage state of mind.

"I spick no more for noting not n.o.body quick!" he promised, and his hand clasped over his mouth like a vise.

Having corked Bateato in this wise, Gladwin turned to Helen, who stood as if rooted to the floor, staring straight ahead of her.

"Don't be frightened," he said gently. "Everything is all right." He took her arm to rea.s.sure her and then spoke to Phelan, who had been making a vain effort to solve the mix-up and didn't feel quite sure that he wasn't bewitched.

"Now, Phelan," said Gladwin, "I'll explain the thing."

"I wish to G.o.d ye would!" said Phelan from the bottom of his heart.

"This lady's being here is all right--and she isn't connected with this affair in any way. I'll prove that to you readily enough."

"Well, go ahead." And Phelan crossed his eyes in an effort to include in the focus both Gladwin and the thief de luxe, whose splendidly groomed appearance impressed him the more.

On his part the thief was leaning carelessly against a cabinet looking on with the expression of one both amused and bored. What he had noticed most was that Helen kept her eyes averted from him as if she feared to look at him and that she had palpably transferred her allegiance to Gladwin. When she had recovered some of her self-control she followed that young man's words eagerly and obeyed his slightest signal.

"I will explain to you, Phelan, as soon as I see this young lady started for home," Gladwin ran on, and proceeded with Helen toward the entrance to the hallway.