Torchy Part 29

Well, say, I don't do a thing but hustle into my clothes and chase down the corridor to Mr. Ellins' room. Is he int'rested in the tale? He's all of that.

"Torchy," says he, "if you can lead me down to that game, I--I'll forgive you. Perhaps I'll do better than that."

I used up half a box of matches findin' the way; but at last we located the light comin' through the transom.

"Good work!" he whispers. "Now you go back to bed and enjoy a long night's rest."

Sure I did--not. I wouldn't have missed hearin' that exchange of happy greetin's for a farm. And the way the Doc chokes up and splutters tryin'

to explain things was somethin' lovely. He was gettin' himself as twisted as a pretzel, when Old Hickory breaks in.

"That's all right, Doc," says he. "Innocent little relaxation. I understand perfectly. Now, what's the ante?"

Well, after that the conversation wasn't so excitin'; nothing but, "I'll take three cards," or "Raise you two more blues." So I sneaks back and falls into the hay once more.

At breakfast Mr. Ellins shows up more smilin' and chipper than I'd ever seen him anywhere before. He puts away three soft boiled eggs, a couple of lamb chops, and two cups of coffee made special for him. The Doc he follows us out to the limousine.

"Sorry to have you go so soon, Mr. Ellins," says he, rubbin' one hand over the other, "very sorry indeed, sir. And--er--about those memoranda from my a.s.sistants. I will see that they are redeemed, you know."

"Those I O U's?" says Mr. Ellins. "Oh, you tell the boys I tore 'em up.

Yours, too, Doctor. I had my fun out of the game. So long."

And for the next four miles Old Hickory don't do much but gaze out on the landscape and chuckle.

"Was that a bluff about buildin' that hotel?" says I after awhile.

"Well," says Mr. Ellins, "not exactly; but I think I shall present the Restorium with a pipe organ instead."

CHAPTER XIV

IN ON THE OOLONG

Course it was a cinch; but Piddie ain't got done wonderin' yet how I did it. I can tell that by the puzzled way he has of lookin' me over when he thinks I ain't noticin'.

You see, we'd been havin' a quiet week at the Corrugated. This fine spell of weather has braced Old Hickory up until he almost forgets how he's cast himself for the great grouch collector. Things must have been runnin' smooth, too; for he can even read about the Return from Elba plans without chuckin' the mornin' paper into the waste basket and gettin' purple behind the ears.

Then, all of a sudden here the other afternoon, Piddie comes trottin'

out of the private office all fl.u.s.tered up and begins pawin' excited through the big bond safe. He's hardly got started at that before there comes three rings on the buzzer for him, and he trots back to see what the old man wants now. Next there are hurry calls for the general auditor and the head of the contract department, and before Mr. Ellins gets through he's had every chief in the shop up on the carpet and put 'em through the third degree. Way out by my gate I could hear him layin'

down the law to 'em, and they comes out lookin' wild and worried.

Which don't get me excited any at all. I worked in the newspaper office too long and saw too many Sunday editions go to press for that. So when I hears him yell for me I don't jump over the desk and get goose flesh up the back. I keeps right on snappin' rubber bands at the spring water bottle until he's shouted a couple more times. Then I winks at the row of lady typists and strolls in, calm and easy.

"Yes, sir?" says I.

"See here, boy!" says he. "Do you happen by any chance to know where that son of mine might be found at this moment?"

"Mr. Robert?" says I. "Nix."

"No, of course you don't!" says Old Hickory, glarin' at me. "No one around this precious asylum for undeveloped cerebellums seems to know anything they ought to. Bah!"

"Yes, sir," says I.

"Don't grin at me that way!" he snaps. "Get out! No, stay where you are!

If you don't know where Robert is, where do you think he might be found?"

"Tried any of his clubs?" says I.

He had, all of 'em. Also he'd had him paged through four hotel grill rooms and called up three brokers' offices.

"Well, if he ain't havin' a late lunch, or playin' billiards, or watchin' the stock board, I give it up," says I. "Maybe you've noticed that Mr. Robert ain't been in many afternoons lately."

"Huh! Perhaps I haven't, though!" grunts Old Hickory. "But this time it is important that he should be here. Young man, you seem to have less wool on your wits than most of the office force; so I am going to confide to you that unless we find Robert before four-thirty o'clock this afternoon the Corrugated Trust Company will lose a lot of money."

"Oh, if it's a case of savin' the next dividend," says I, "I'll take another think. I expect you asked for him at the house?"

"He was there at one-fifteen and left twenty minutes later," says Mr.

Ellins.

"Yes; but what kind of clothes was he wearin'?" says I.

"Clothes!" snorts out Old Hickory. "What the blithering----"

"Lemme ask his man," says I, grabbin' the desk 'phone. "Plaza--yes, Plaza, double O double three sixty-one. Sure! You got it. Say, Mr.

Ellins, that butler of yours don't burn the carpet movin' fast, does he?

He must----h.e.l.lo! I want to talk to Walters. Ah, never mind who I am, switch him on!" And inside of two minutes I have the report. "Frock coat and silk lid," says I. "See? Society date."

"Huh!" says the old man. "That settles it. He's tagging around after that young lady violinist again. Might have guessed; for since she's come back from Paris he has taken about as much interest in business as a cat does in astronomy. But to-morrow morning we'll----"

"Say," I breaks in, "if it's a case of young lady, why not locate her and then scout for Mr. Robert in the neighborhood? That ought to be easy."

"Think so?" says he. "Well, young man, you have my permission to tackle the job. Her name is Inez Webster. I don't know where she lives, or with whom she's staying; but she's somewhere in New York. Now, how will you begin?"

"By rubberin' at Mr. Robert's date pad," says I.

"Good!" says Old Hickory. "No one else thought of that," and he leads the way in and unlocks Mr. Robert's rolltop. "Now what do those scratches mean?"

"I. W. 2:15," says I, readin' it off. "The arrow points to Inez. He must be with her now."

"Wherever that is!" growls Mr. Ellins. "Go on."

"Say, lemme think a minute," says I, slippin' into the swing chair and doin' the Sherlock gaze at the desk.

"Oh, certainly!" says he, snappy and sarcastic. "Take a nap over it!

Plenty of time!" and with that he pads back into his office and slams the door.

Now I didn't like pawin' through the pigeon-holes or drawers; but when I happens to glance at the waste basket I feels more at home. In a jiffy I has it dumped on the rug. There was an empty cigarette box, the usual collection of circulars, a dozen torn business letters, and so on. It looked like a hopeless hunt, too, until I runs across this invitation card announcin' that the Misses Pulsifer will be at home from two-fifteen until five-thirty. There's a Fort Washington Road address, and down in one corner it says "music." Also to-day's the day.