Officer 666 Part 37

As the door slammed after him Helen ran to the window and then back to the door. She was now terribly alarmed on another score. She feared to go out and she feared to remain in the house. She feared physically--feared violence.

Travers Gladwin had found the bowie knife and slipped it into his trousers pocket. Then he had gone down the stairs on the run. As he entered the room and saw that the man had gone he said:

"Is he running away--and without his pictures or his hat and coat.

What's his game, I wonder."

"He's coming back--he says my aunt sent you here," said Helen, but less afraid at his return to the room.

"Never mind what he says," Gladwin returned, gesturing excitedly. "You must go home--now. To-morrow you can learn the truth."

"But if I go out he'll be sure to see me," she protested.

Gladwin looked about him and thought a moment.

"Do you see that little alcove back of the stairs," he said quickly, pointing. Helen crossed the room and nodded.

"Well, hide in there," he commanded. "The curtains will conceal you.

If he and his man come back I'll get them in this room--then I'll press this b.u.t.ton, see?"

He indicated a b.u.t.ton and added: "That rings a buzzer; you can hear it from the alcove, and then slip out the front door."

The girl paused but an instant, then fled to the place of shelter.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

IN WHICH BLUFF IS TRUMPS.

Having disposed of the girl for the moment, Travers Gladwin decided it was time to call Michael Phelan to his a.s.sistance. There was no telling what this amazing crook might do now. He was too much for him.

That a thief and impostor could possess such superhuman nerve had never occurred to his untutored mind. He was a perfect dub to have let the situation reach such a stage of complexity, though the one thought uppermost in his mind was to save Helen from public ridicule and contempt.

He had reasoned it out that just the uniform of Officer 666 would serve him almost as a magician's wand. He had almost counted on the thief taking one craven look at his constabulary disguise and then leaping through the window--fleeing like a wolf in the night--he, Travers Gladwin, remaining a veritable hero of romance to sooth and console Helen and gently break the news to her that she had been the dupe of an unscrupulous criminal. Instead of which--he ground his teeth, went to the little panel door and shouted Phelan's name.

Mrs. Phelan's son came a-running.

He had been on his way. The vast girthed individual in the pink striped pajamas and ta.s.selled nightcap had accomplished his awful purpose, but the climax had been anti-climax and Phelan had ground his teeth in rage.

He had been on the point of bursting through the window and somehow scrambling aloft to the rescue of that helpless being who was being ground and wrenched and pounded by that porcine monster, when the monster suddenly rose to view again with a dumb-bell in each hand.

The jaw of Officer 666 slowly dropped as he watched the manipulation of the dumb-bells. There was no pa.s.sion in the stodgy movements of the great paddy arms. Even so far away as he was Phelan could see that the man puffed and blew and that his vigor was slowly waning. Then suddenly the huge man stooped and held up in plain view a dangling wrestling dummy.

The lone watcher swallowed a savage oath.

"Sure 'twas exercisin' an' not murther he was doin'," Phelan hissed through his teeth.

His anger was white hot. Again he had been the victim of delusion and had wasted heroic emotions on a stuffed dummy that served merely as an inanimate instrument in a course of anti-fat calisthenics.

Every nerve in Phelan's body was fairly a-bristle as he made his way upstairs and burst into the great drawing-room and picture gallery.

"Fer the love o' hivin," he cried, "give me me uniform and let me out o' here."

"Here's your uniform; I've had enough of it," replied Gladwin, throwing him the coat and cap, "and get into it quick. There's work for you right in this house."

"There is not, nor play neither," snapped Phelan. "I've got to go out and chase up a drunk or throw a faint or git run over or somethin'

desperate to square mesilf with the captain. I'm an hour overdue at the station."

"You'll square yourself with the captain all right if you just do what I tell you," said Gladwin eagerly, helping him on with his coat and pus.h.i.+ng him toward the window recess. "You go right in there behind those curtains and wait till I call you."

Phelan took one look at the young man's face and muttered as he obeyed. "This must be a h.e.l.l of a joke."

And just then the thief breezed in again, jerking back on his heels as he caught sight of Gladwin _sans_ uniform, _sans_ moustache and _sans_ eyebrows. But a glance at that young man meant volumes and there was no limit to his spontaneous resources. He summoned a laugh and jerked out:

"Oh, so you've resigned from the force?"

"Yes," retorted Gladwin, "and let me tell you that this little excursion of yours has gone far enough. I'll give you one chance--get away from here as quickly as you can."

The big fellow curled one corner of his lip in a contemptuous smile, then glanced about him quickly and asked:

"Where's the young lady?"

"Never mind the young lady," Gladwin flung back at him. "It was only on her account that I let you go as far as this. Now get out and keep away from that young lady--and drop my name."

The sneering smile returned and balancing himself easily as he looked down on Gladwin, he said:

"Easy, son--easy. I don't like to have little boys talk to me like that," and turning to the doorway behind him he beckoned. The obedient Watkins sidled in and stopped with head averted from Gladwin, who started with surprise at seeing him.

Stepping forward and making sure there could be no mistake, Gladwin turned to the thief and exclaimed:

"Oh, now I understand how you knew all about my house. This is what I get for not sending this man to jail where he belonged."

"Don't bother with him, Watkins," snarled the big fellow, as he noted his companion's complexion run through three shades of yellow.

"There's no time to bother with him," he went on, and reaching out he caught Travers Gladwin by the shoulder and whirled him half way across the room.

The young man spun half a dozen times as he reeled across the carpet and he had to use both hands to stop himself against a big onyx table.

As he pulled himself up standing he saw that Watkins had lifted the trunk on his shoulders and was headed for the hallway.

"Phelan!" he gasped out. "Here, quick!"

Officer 666 came out with the snort and rush of a bull.

"Stop that man," cried the thief, pointing to Watkins, "he's trying to get out of here with a trunkful of pictures."

The man's hair-trigger mind had thought this out before Phelan was half way round the table. One lightning glance at the thickness of the patrolman's neck and the general contour of his rubicund countenance had translated to him the sort of man he had to deal with.