Officer 666 Part 51

He waved aside the proffered bundle and said:

"Those are not the best of them. Just a minute."

He reached behind him and pulled down from under his belted coat a similar carefully rolled bundle.

"These are the gems of your collection," he said grimly, offering the slim roll of canvases. "I can't keep them now--you've been too white about this whole thing. I couldn't even accept 'The Blue Boy.'"

Gladwin refused to accept the paintings and the thief laid them down on the table. Stepping closer to the young man, he bent down and said low and earnestly:

"When a man goes wrong, Gladwin, and the going leans against the lines of least resistance, it's easier to keep on going than to stop and switch off into the hard and narrow path. He is always hoping that something will take hold of him and set him right, and that hope usually involves a woman.

"I've been dreaming lately that I wanted something to set me going in the right direction, but it seems that you have beaten me to that, or are on the fair road to do it. The trouble is that I have forgotten how to go about a clean thing cleanly."

"I'm mighty sorry, but"----Gladwin started.

"But you're also mighty glad."

"I shall always remember you, Wilson, and here's my hand on it that I shall always be willing to help you up and out of the--the"----

"The muck!" supplied the thief, accepting Gladwin's hand and gripping it.

"However, we are wasting time and keeping the ladies up till an unconscionable hour. If you will get your little j.a.p down here without making a noise about it, I can use him and bid you good-night."

Gladwin went warily out into the hallway, reconnoitered the front door and vestibule, then went to the stairway and uttered a short, sharp whistle. Bateato came down as if on winged feet and halted as if turned to stone between the big man in the uniform of Officer 666 and his master.

"Come here," said Wilson, and plucked the j.a.p by the arm.

Bateato trembled with apprehension.

"Would you like to catch the thief?" the picture expert asked him.

"Ees, sair."

Bateato looked at his master, who nodded rea.s.suringly.

"Well, the thief is in your master's room," said Wilson, impressively.

"Go up there and bang on the door--take that poker out of the fireplace and make all the noise you can. Do you understand me?"

"Ees, sair," and Bateato's long lost grin returned. "I make bang, bang."

"Yes, and yell, 'Police--quick, quick, quick--catch thief.'"

"Ees, sair, big much pleece come and tief run. Bateato run too and pleece find all empty."

"Good--hurry!" and Wilson gave the j.a.p an unnecessary push toward the fireplace, for the little Oriental fairly flew on his errand.

A moment later there burst upon the stillness of the mansion a frightful uproar. The noise was distinctly audible in the street, as Wilson had slipped to the door and opened it, then concealed himself behind a curtain.

It was only a matter of seconds before Captain Stone, Kearney and the entire outside patrol rushed in and piled up the stairs.

Travers Gladwin had not stirred from where he stood in the drawing-room when Bateato got his instructions. He was intensely excited and feared that some slip might spoil this inspired plan.

"Good-by," came a m.u.f.fled hail from the hallway. Then there was silence both within and without.

"Gad, I hope he makes it!" cried the young man and rushed to the window. He had hardly reached there when the stillness was punctured by a crash of shifting gears and the racket of a sixty horsepower engine thrown into sudden, furious action.

"He's gone!" Gladwin breathed, as he saw a touring car hurl itself athwart his vision. He recognized his former servant, Watkins, at the wheel.

CHAPTER XLII.

MICHAEL PHELAN'S PREDICAMENT.

It was as if a great burden had been removed from his shoulders.

Leaving the window and stepping back into the room, Travers Gladwin stretched his arms above his head and exhaled a long breath of satisfaction.

"Now I can sit down and await developments," he said to himself, slipping into a chair and stretching out his legs, "and it will only remain for Michael Phelan to turn up or to fail to turn up and the mystery of the escape is explained. Poor Phelan, he must be a terrific simpleton, and I suppose I am partly to bla"----

His gaze had wandered to the great chest, the lid of which was distinctly rising.

Before Gladwin could jump to his feet the lid was thrown back and there sat the subject of his soliloquy in his shirt sleeves, jerking his head about like a jack-in-the-box.

"Where in blazes am I?" he groaned as his eyes made out Travers Gladwin.

"You seem to be in the chest," replied the young man, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Howly murther! me uniform is gone again!" exploded Phelan, struggling to his feet and examining his shirt sleeves as if he feared he were the victim of witchcraft.

He climbed out of the chest and turned a vindictive glance upon Gladwin, who composed his features and said:

"Not guilty this time, Officer."

Phelan stared at him stupidly for a second and then let his arms and shoulders go limp. He was a lugubriously pathetic figure as he turned up his eyes and muttered:

"Now, I remember--they took it off me and drugged me an' rammed me into the chest. Wurra! Wurra! I'm a goner now for shure."

Gladwin was about to speak when there was a run of feet on the stairs and in burst Captain Stone and Detective Kearney. At the sight of Phelan, the captain recoiled and his jaw dropped. Kearney likewise regarded him in blank astonishment.

"Where's your uniform, Phelan?" roared Captain Stone when he could get his breath.

"They took it off me--drugged me an' half murthered me--eight of 'em,"

whined Phelan.

"Eight of 'em!" yelled the captain. "There was only one of them, you numskull."

"I hope to croak if there wasn't two of 'em with the stren'th of eight," rejoined Phelan, wiping his dripping forehead and rolling his eyes. "An' they chloroformed me an' stuffed me into the chest. You can ask Mr. Gladwin."