Double Trouble Part 18

"Now as to this contract, Conlon----" he began.

"Ixcuse me, Misther Bra.s.sfield," interrupted Conlon, "but the contract may wait: some things won't. What's the matther with Edgington?"

"Edgington? The matter? What do you mean?"

Conlon leaned over the shelf of the roll-top desk, and pressed upon a paper-weight with his k.n.o.bby thumb.

"Thin ye don't know," said he impressively, "that he's out pluggin' up a dale to bate you an' nominate McCorkle!"

Bra.s.sfield faced him smilingly.

"Oh, that notion of Edgington's!" said he. "That amounts to nothing!

If you and my other strong friends stay by me, there's nothing to fear.

I'm glad you know of that little whim of Edgington's. But about this contract. Now, I usually look after these things myself, and do them by days' work. But if I am forced to take this office of mayor, I sha'n't be able to do this--won't have the time; and I'll want you to do it. Perhaps I'd better give you a check on account now--say on the terms of the Rogers' job? All right, there's five hundred. That settles the contract. Now with that off our minds, let's talk of the political situation. You can see that, being forced into this, I don't want to be skinned. Now, what can you do, Conlon?"

"Do?" said Conlon. "Ask anny of the byes that've got things in the past! Wait till the carkuses an' ye'll see. But mind, Misther Bra.s.sfield, don't be too unconscious. Edgington an' McCorkle, startin'

in on the run the day of carkuses, may have good cards. Watch thim!"

XVI

THE OFFICE GOES IN QUEST OF THE MAN

Victory brings peace without; Amity conquers within.

How can my thought hide a doubt?

Doubt in the mighty is sin!

Yet, as I watch from my height, Rearing his spears like a wood, On swarms the dun Muscovite-- Slavish, inebriate, rude!

Dim-seen, within the profound, Shapeless, insensate, malign, Fold within dragon-fold wound, Opes the dread Mongol his eyne!

_One waking, one in the field-- Foe after foe still I see.

Last of them all, half-revealed Prophecy's eye rests on--Me!_ --_A Racial Reverie_.

Mr. Bra.s.sfield sat alone, listening to Barney Conlon's retreating footsteps. A few years ago I could have described the solitude of the deserted counting-house, and made a really effective scene of it. Now, however, telephones exist to deny us the boon. No sooner do we find ourselves a moment alone, than we think of some one to whom we imagine we have something to say, and call him up over the wire; or, conversely, he thinks of us with like results. Conlon's back was scarcely turned before Bra.s.sfield took down the receiver and asked for Alvord's residence.

"Jim," said he, "I've just found out that Sheol is popping about town. . . . Yes, it's Edgington. Conlon tells me he's out for McCorkle and against me. . . . Well, maybe not, but Conlon generally knows. You must go out and run it down. We can't have McCorkle nominated--you can see why. . . . All right. I'll wait for you somewhere out of sight. . . . In the Turkish room at Tony's? . . .

Very well: I had another engagement, but I must call that off. Thanks, old man. I shall rely on you! Good-by!"

Up went the receiver, and then, almost at once was lifted to Bra.s.sfield's ear again as he sent in a call for Miss Waldron's residence.

"Is this 758? Is Miss Waldron at home? . . . Yes, if you please. . . . This you, Bess? Well, I'm in the hardest of hard luck.

Things have come up which will keep me cooped up all the evening. . . .

You're awfully good to say so! Good night, dearest!"

The lock clicked behind him, and he was out on the street once more.

Came into view a figure which was clearly that of a stranger to Bellevale, and yet had an oddly familiar air to Bra.s.sfield, as it moved uncertainly along the darkening highway. It came to the point of meeting and halted, facing Bra.s.sfield squarely.

"I peg bardon," it said, "but haf I the honor of attressing Herr Bra.s.sfield, or Herr Amidon?"

"My name is Bra.s.sfield," was the reply. "What can I do for you?"

"I am stopping at the Bellevale House," said the professor.

"Blatherwick is my name. I hat hoped that you might rekonice me, as----"

"I am sorry to dispel your hope," said Bra.s.sfield. "What do you want with me?"

"I should pe klad to haf you aggompany me to my rooms," said the professor, "vere I shouldt esdeem it a brifiliche to bresent you to my daughter, and show you some dests in occult phenomena. As the s.h.i.+ef citizen of the city----"

"My good man," said Bra.s.sfield, "whatever would be my att.i.tude ordinarily toward your very kind, if rather unlooked-for, invitation, permit me now to decline on account of pressure of business.

Ordinarily I should be curious to know just what kind of game you've got, as I haven't enough in my pockets to be worth your while to flimflam me. Pardon me, if I seem abrupt."

And he hurried down the street, leaving the professor drifting aimlessly in his wake, vibrating between anger and perplexity.

"I wonder where I've seen that man?" thought Bra.s.sfield. Dim reminiscences of such a figure sitting in shadowy background, while a glorious tigrine woman ruled over some realm only half-cognized, vexed the crepuscular and terror-breeding reaches of his mind. He met a policeman, who respectfully saluted him. Bra.s.sfield stopped as if for a chat with the officer.

"A fine evening, Mallory," said he.

"Fine, indeed, sir," said the officer.

"Who is the old gentleman whom you just pa.s.sed?" asked Bra.s.sfield.

"The one with the gla.s.ses."

"That?" asked the policeman. "Why, didn't you recognize him? That's your friend the hypnotist, up at the hotel--Professor Blatherwick."

"Oh," said Bra.s.sfield as he walked on, "I didn't know him in the dusk.

We'll have to have better street lighting, eh, Mallory?"

"No bad idea!" said Mallory. "Well, it'll be for you to say, I'm thinking."

"You don't think there's anything in this new movement, do you?" asked Bra.s.sfield.

"Oh, no, sir," said the officer. "And yet, in politics you never know.

But I feel sure it'll be all right. They can't do much this evening and to-morrow. Time's too short."

Bra.s.sfield hurried on with an air of anxiety. The policeman's words were not rea.s.suring. He turned down a side street and entered a restaurant, the proprietor of which at once placed himself and his establishment at Mr. Bra.s.sfield's command.

"Give me the Turkish room, Tony," said Bra.s.sfield.

"Yes, sir, the Turkish room: and Charles to wait?"

"Yes," said Bra.s.sfield. "Cook me a tenderloin; and don't let any one come into the room."

"Certainly, Mr. Bra.s.sfield! The Turkish room, and a steak, and no one admitted----"

"Except such people as Mr. Alvord may bring. We shall want some good cigars, and a few bottles of that blue seal."

"Yes, sir," said Tony. "Will you speak to this gentleman before you go up, sir?"

Bra.s.sfield turned and confronted an elderly man of florid countenance, whose white mustache and frock-coat presented a most respectable appearance. Mr. Bra.s.sfield bent on him a piercing look, and strove mentally to account for the impression that he had met this man before, wondering again at that hazy a.s.sociation with the mystical, dreamy region of the woman in yellow and black. It was as if he saw everything that evening through some medium capable of imparting this mystic coloring. The stranger faced him steadily.