Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 31

Feehan had found an appreciative audience at last, and it was half after eleven before he broke off suddenly and announced that at midnight he was to get reports of the results of the search and offer his own services in the effort to find the missing player.

"I will telephone you when I reach the office whether anything has been ascertained," he promised, as he left them at their apartments. "After that I will not disturb you until seven o'clock, unless McCarthy is found. We must find him and get him to the station to catch the train at 6.35 or our effort is wasted in so far as baseball is concerned, although, of course, that will not cause us to cease our efforts."

"You'll telephone me the moment you have news?" asked Miss Tabor. "Any time--I shall not sleep much, any news--good--or bad."

Feehan found the office force in the throes of getting out an edition, and he sidled through the hurrying, jostling office force to the city editor.

"Any news?" he asked quietly.

"h.e.l.lo, Technicalities. Nothing yet. You take the case."

Feehan hurried to his desk, instructed the telephone girls to connect all reporters working on the McCarthy case with his desk, then extracted a ma.s.s of papers from various pockets and commenced to study and compile his unending statistics.

The reporters engaged in the search were under instructions to report at once any trace of the missing player and to report once an hour their whereabouts and progress. Every five or ten minutes one reported, and Feehan, laying aside his work, answered the call and suggested new lines of investigations.

Two o'clock came. The office was growing quieter. Weary news gatherers slipped into their coats and departed quietly. Copy readers and editors completed their tasks and went away.

Three o'clock came, and Feehan was busy tabulating the statistics of some player in a far-off league, when the telephone rang. By some inspiration he knew a trail had been found and he reached for the instrument with more haste than he had shown, his seventh sense spurring him on.

"h.e.l.lo! Yes--that you, Jimmy?"

"I've hit a trail."

The voice was that of little Jimmy Eames, the most tireless and persistent member of the force of news hounds employed by the paper.

"Where?" Feehan was as calm as if only recording a fly out.

"North Ninetieth Street Police Station," said Eames rapidly. "I picked up a clue over on the other side of the city--inside police dope. Man taken there last night in taxi. I'm off for there."

Feehan pocketed his statistics and prepared for action. His voice had ceased to drag. He uttered commands in sharp, quick words. Briefly he detailed to each man as he called on the telephone the nature of Eames's discovery. "Get to North Ninetieth Street Station."

Thirty-five minutes after Eames flashed the first word to the office, Cramer, the star police reporter, announced over the telephone.

"McCarthy is in the black hole at North Ninetieth street. Orders from captain. No one permitted to see him. Not booked. Sergeant in charge don't know what he is accused of."

"Get him out. Report in ten minutes."

"Two hours and a half to get him out and put him on that train," Feehan muttered.

It was twelve minutes before Cramer called again.

"Sergeant says he dares not turn the fellow loose. Don't know he is McCarthy. Says orders are strict to keep him and to keep everyone away from him."

"Is he hurt?"

"Turnkey says he has cut in head and bruised, but all right."

"Pound him--pound the sergeant; make him act. Scare him! Who is the captain?"

"Raferty."

"I'll reach him by 'phone." Feehan hung up the receiver. "Joe," he said to the night man, "raise Minette, the office lawyer. Lives somewhere up that way. His home is only a short distance from Judge Mana.s.se's house. Ask him for a writ of habeas corpus or something."

Feehan was rapidly calling numbers. In fifteen minutes he had aroused Captain Raferty.

"Raferty," said the little man, "sorry to disturb you, but you've got a man in the black hole in your station that we want."

"Can't be done. Orders to hold him."

"Orders from whom?"

"Higher up."

"How high?"

"None of your business."

"Raferty, I'm going to the top," said Feehan quickly. "If that man isn't out by six o'clock, you'll be broken."

"What's all this fuss about some skate?" Raferty was alarmed. "It ain't any of my business. I'm told to hold him and not book him and I do it. What have you got it in for me for?"

"You'd better get to the station and get that man out or you'll have this sheet all over you," threatened Feehan, transformed. "I'm going higher now."

He cut off the spluttering police captain in the midst of a snarling complaint, half whine, half defiance.

Half an hour of hard work brought the indignant superintendent of police to the telephone. He curtly declined to interfere, denied all knowledge of any such prisoner, and hung up the receiver while Feehan was expostulating with him.

The mild mannered, gentle little reporter was rising to the emergency.

He wiped his forehead free from the beads of sweat and looked at his watch. It was two minutes to five when the night man reported again.

"Minette's on his way to the station," he said. "He'll try to get Judge Mana.s.se to order the release, and he is carrying ten thousand dollars in securities as a bond."

"Good," said Feehan rapidly. "Give me Gracemont 1328," he called quickly.

"Going after the mayor?" inquired the night man casually. "He'll be sore as a boil. Orders are not to disturb him after midnight."

"I've got to get him," said Feehan. "We can't fall down now after we've located McCarthy."

There was no reply to the call for the mayor's telephone number, and while waiting, Feehan slipped to another telephone and called the hotel at which the ball players lived, asking for the Clancy apartments.

Betty Tabor answered the summons.

"We've found him," said Feehan. "He's alive and well."

"Where is he?" asked the girl breathlessly.

"He's in a cell at the North Ninetieth Street Police Station--about half a mile from your hotel. I want you to do something."

"What is it?" she asked. "Hurry--I haven't undressed. Is there anything I can do?"