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"Twenty."
"Good night, sir."
"Fifty."
"Good night and good morning!"
"A hundred!"
"Now you've got me interested. What kind of a joy ride do you want?"
"No joy ride. Listen."
Briefly the conspirator outlined his needs, and finally the chauffeur nodded. Five twenties were pressed into his hand and he curled up in his seat again.
Servan entered his box. In the box next to his sat a handsomely gowned young woman. He threw her an idle glance, which was repaid in kind.
Later, Braine came in and sat down beside Olga.
"Everything looks like plain sailing," he whispered.
Olga shrugged slightly.
During the intermission between the first and second acts, Servan took the rear chair of his box, near the curtains. Braine, watching with the eyes of a lynx, suddenly observed the curtains stirring. A hand was thrust through. In that hand was a packet of papers. With seeming indifference Servan reached back and took the papers, stowing them away in a pocket.
Braine rose at the beginning of the second act.
"Where are you going?" asked Olga nervously.
"To see Otto."
A bold attempt was made to rob Servan while in the box, but the timely arrival of Jim frustrated this plan. So Braine was forced to rely on the chauffeur of the limousine.
As Farrar's last thrilling note died away Braine and Olga rose.
"Be careful. And come to the apartments just as soon as you can."
"I'll be careful," Braine declared easily. "You can watch the play if you wish."
When Servan entered the limousine he was quietly but forcibly seized by two men who had been lying in wait for him, due to the apparent treachery of the chauffeur. Servan fought valiantly, for all that he knew what the end of this exploit was going to be. One of the men succeeded in getting the doc.u.ments from Servan's pocket.
"Done, my boy!" cried the victor. "Give him a crack on the coco and we'll beat it."
"Just a minute, gentlemen!" said a voice from the seat at the side of the chauffeur. "I'll take those papers!" And the owner of the voice, backed by a cold, sinister-looking automatic, reached in and confiscated the spoils of war. "And I shouldn't make any attempt to slip out by the side door."
"Thanks, my friend," said Servan, shaking himself free from his captors.
"Don't mention it," said Norton amiably. "We thought something like this would happen. Keep perfectly quiet, you chaps. Drive on, chauffeur; drive on!"
"Yes, my lord! To what particular police station shall I head this omnibus?"
"The nearest, Jones; the very nearest you can think of! Some day, when I'm rich, I'll hire you for my chauffeur. But for the present I shall expect at least a box of Partagas out of that hundred."
Jones chuckled. "I'll buy you a box out of my own pocket. That hundred goes to charity."
"Here we are! Out with you," said Jim to his prisoners. He shouldered them into the police station, to the captain's desk.
"What's this?" demanded the captain.
"Holdup men," said Jim. "Entered this man's car and tried to rob him."
"Uh-huh! An' who're you?"
Jim showed his badge and card.
"Oho! Hey, there; I mean you!" said the captain, leveling a finger at Otto. "Lift up that hat; lift it up. Sure, it's Fountain Pen Otto!
Well, well; an' we've been lookin' for you for ten months on the last forgery case. Mr. Norton, my thanks. Take 'em below, sergeant.
You'll be here to make the complaint in th' mornin', sir," he added to Servan.
"If it is necessary."
"It may be against Otto's pal. I don't know him."
"Very well."
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE POLICE CAPTAIN'S DESK]
And Jones and Norton and Servan trooped out of the station.
At last Jones and the reporter entered a cheap restaurant and ordered coffee and toast.
"You're a wonderful man, Jones, even if you are an Englishman," said Jim as he called for the check.
"English? What makes you think I am English?" asked Jones with a curious glitter in his eyes.
"I'll tell you on the night we put the rollers under Braine and company."
Jones stared long and intently at his young partner. What did he really know?
CHAPTER XXII
The federal government agreed to say nothing, to put no obstacles in the way of the Russian agent, provided he could abduct his trio without seriously clashing with the New York police authorities. It was a recognized fact that the local police force wanted the newspaper glory which would attend the crushing of the Black Hundred. It would be an exploit. But their glory was nil; nor did Servan take his trio back with him to Russia.
Many strange things happened that night, the night of the final adventure.
Florence sat in her room reading. The book was Oliver Twist, not the pleasantest sort of book to read under the existing circ.u.mstances.
Several times--she had reached the place where f.a.gin overheard Nancy's confession--she fancied she heard doors closing softly, but credited it to her imagination. Poor Nancy, who wanted to be good but did not find time to be! Florence possessed a habit familiar to most of us; the need of apples or candy when we are reading. So she rang the bell for her maid, intending to ask her to bring up some apples. She turned to her reading, presently to break off and strike the bell again. Where was that maid? She waited perhaps five minutes, then laid down the book and began to investigate.