Chapter 11

Jack was at a loss which way to turn. Suddenly at a street level window of the apartment house he had just left, he saw a fat woman resting her folded arms on a pillow on the sill. She looked as if she had been there for hours. He approached, lifting his hat.

"Excuse me, madam, but did you see my friend get out of the car?"

"Sure, I see him," she replied in scornful accents. "Didn't he get out and walk up and down gapping and stretching like he was tired of waiting for you!"

"I'm sorry," murmured Jack. She seemed to expect it. Then: "Which way did he go?"

"Well, a fellow come along from Lexington avenue way, and they got into talk like. The fellow said: 'Fine night, friend.' And your friend said: 'Right you are!' One thing led to another, and the fellow said: 'That your car?' And your friend says: 'One of them.'"

"Oh, the fool!" groaned Jack inwardly. Aloud he asked: "When was this?"

"Half an hour ago, maybe. And the fellow says: 'What make is it?' 'Goodwin twelve, ninety horse,' said the other fellow. And——"

"Yes, I know, but which way did they go?"

But the fat woman was not going to be cheated of the telling of her tale. "I'm coming to that. And the fellow said—I don't mean your friend, but the other fellow, he said: 'She's new, ain't she?' And the other fellow said, that's the swell guy I'm referrin' to, the swell guy says: 'Just out of the shop!' Bye and bye the fellow said: 'Will you drink with me? And your friend says: 'Sure!' And they went in the side door of the saloon on the corner yonder."

"Much obliged," said Jack, darting across the road.

His quarry had flown. There were half a dozen men lined up before the mahogany, but Bobo was not among them. Neither was he in the small sitting-room behind. Jack applied himself to the white-jacketed bar-tender.

"Did a friend of mine come in here about half an hour ago?"

"Fellow dressed like yourself?"

Jack nodded.

"Sure, he come in here with a little guy with a bad eye."

"What d'ye mean, bad eye?"

"Crooked. He had a face you could break rocks on. I thought at the time it was a case of a come-on, but it weren't my place to interfere. 'Specially as your friend seemed sober enough. But he certainly was lappin' 'em up!"

Jack began to get seriously anxious.

"They downed four whiskeys in less'n ten minutes. Least your friend did. Little guy just tasted hisn. Then they left."

"Where did they go?"

"Search me! Little guy says he knows a better place down the Avenue, but I didn't hear the name of it. Swell guy says he can't go because he's waiting for his friend, but little fellow says: 'Ahh, we'll be back in fifteen minutes', and swell guy says: 'He's callin' on a dame acrost the street, so I guess he's good for another half hour.' Then they went out the front door."

One of the regulars of the place who had heard Jack's inquiry took up the story here. "They got in a taxi-cab," he said. "I was watching out of the window. It was Gus Harris' car, it was."

"Gus'll tell you where he took 'em," said the bar-tender soothingly.

"He'll be back in a minute if he don't pick up another fare in the street," the other speaker said. "Just stick around awhile."

By this time everybody present was interested in Jack's quest. "Here he is! Here's Gus!" half a dozen voices cried, as a battered taxi-cab came to a stand before the door. They all followed him out on the pavement.

"Did you pick up a friend of mine here?" asked Jack of the driver.

"You know, Gus. Swell guy with the tile and the wedding fixings," some one added.

"Sure!" said Gus.

"Where did you take him?"

"McGann's, Third near Fifty-Eighth."

The name had an ominous ring. "McGann's?" said Jack. "Hasn't that place a bad name?"

"The worst in town," said Gus cheerfully. "Want me to take you there?"

"Thanks, my own car is around the corner," said Jack.

He hastened to it.

Jack's heart sank at the aspect of McGann's. Never had he been in a place better suited to deeds of evil. In front there was an ordinary bar of the humbler kind. It was empty except for the bartenders busy pouring drinks, which were carried behind a screen at the rear by a waiter whose blotched face and furtive eyes suggested an unimagined degradation. Bartender and waiter stared at Jack with a sneer.

"What, another!" the former said under his breath.

Behind the screen Jack found himself in a big, low-ceiled room set with tables more than half filled with drinkers of both sexes. The walls were dark and greasy, the air thick with the smoke of unspeakable cigars. The strangest feature of the place was the silence that filled it. The drinkers for the most part sat huddled in their chairs with eyes cast down or caps pulled low. When they conversed it was in hoarse whispers. When one wanted more drink he held up a finger. It was a strange scene of merrymaking.

The presiding genius of the place was a head-waiter or "bouncer," who did not soil his hands with serving, but lolled about the place watching his patrons with a hard, ironical eye like an animal-trainer. Jack, instinctively lowering his voice to suit the hushed air of the place, addressed his usual question to this individual.

The man looked him over insolently before replying. A defiant sneer turned the corners of his lips. "He ain't been here," he said curtly. His look said: "Sure, I'm lying. What are you going to do about it?"

Jack flushed, and clenched his teeth. Turning his back on the man, he addressed the room at large with raised voice.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Young fellow about twenty-four, full habit, red cheeks, wearing a silk hat, white muffler, black overcoat. Have any of you seen him? I'll pay for information."

Those huddled around the walls stirred in discomfort at the sound of a voice so boldly raised in that place of whispers. None answered Jack. None would look at him directly. The bouncer laughed unpleasantly.

"Are you satisfied? Now you can get out!"

It was galling to Jack's pride, but he saw nothing for it but to obey. He walked out slowly with as much dignity as a man could muster under the circumstances. He was in horrid expectation of a cowardly kick from behind. But he would not turn around.

He paused in front of the place, and looked up and down for a policeman. While he stood there one of the furtive figures slouched out of the doorway behind him, and without stopping, whispered:

"Follow me a little way, and I'll tell you."

The man led him into the shadow of a nearby doorway. There were plenty of people passing, and Jack's own chauffeur was still within hail. He was not under any apprehension of an attack.

"Is it worth a fiver to you?" the man whined. "McGann would half kill me if he knew I told."

Jack displayed a five-dollar bill. "It is worth a fiver," he said, "but I'll hang on to it, until I hear what you have to say."

"That's fair enough. Your friend come into McGann's about half an hour back. He was with a guy that's well known there. Wouldn't do you no good to know his name. He's a friend of the boss and a bad egg. They had one or two and your friend got groggy."

"Doped?" said Jack.

The man shrugged. "I didn't name it. Pretty soon the fellow that brought him there says to Stinger—Stinger's the big guy, the bouncer there—he says to Stinger: 'Me friend's real sick,' he says. 'We better put him to bed.' We all knows what that means."

"What does that mean?" demanded Jack.

"Oh, they was just going to roll him. But just as they was liftin' him up, a stranger come in, old man short and stoutish with a big mustache and a little chin whisker, not to say a swell guy but dressed real decent and genteel-like. He was old, but My God! he had his nerve with him.

"'Put that man down,' says he.

"'W'at the Hell is it to you?' says Stinger.

"'He's a friend of mine,' the old feller says; 'I'll take him home.'

"'The Hell you will!' says Stinger. 'Get out of here before I throw you out!'

"'You won't do that,' the old man says, smiling real polite.

"Then Stinger makes for him. The old guy pulled a police whistle. Stinger slung a chair at him, but he ducked the chair, and blew his whistle. The guy that brought your friend in, and some other guys that was wanted, beat it out the back way. The rest of us just sat there. Stinger rushed the old guy, but he pulled a gun and backed him off.

"Well, a cop come running in, and here's the funny part. The old guy didn't make out to lay no charge against Stinger, but all of a sudden he made out to be friends with him. The old guy says:

"'Sorry to trouble you, officer, but I had a friend here fightin' drunk, and he tried to make a rough-house when I wanted him to come home. But he's all in now; he won't give no more trouble. Just help me carry him out to my car, will you?'

"Well, the cop on this beat didn't want to get in wrong with McGann, and Stinger didn't want no trouble with the police neither. So it all ended friendly-like. The cop and Stinger carried your friend out between them, and put him in the old guy's automobile. But say, Stinger cursed the old guy good when he was gone.

"You don't know where they took my friend?" Jack asked.

The man shrugged. "Headed downtown," he said. "That's all I know. But I took good note of the car, if it's any good to you. It was one of these here, now, limousines, like yours yonder, but with a long body like a private ambulance, and painted black. It carried a Connecticut license."

"What number?"

"Ahh! I didn't have no pencil to take it down. I forget."

This was all the information Jack could extract. He handed over the bill, and the man scuttled away. Jack returned to his car, and stood with his foot on the running-board, trying to plan out some reasonable course of action.

"Old man, short and thick-set," he thought, "heavy mustache and a little chin whisker; sounds like our friend who dropped us the note last night. Looks like out of the frying-pan into the fire for Bobo. But why should the Red Gang kidnap him when we've paid up? Maybe my whole theory of the case is wrong."

He could think of nothing better to do than go to Police Headquarters and send out an alarm for a long black limousine with a Connecticut license. This would play havoc with his carefully laid plans. Nevertheless he was about to give the order to his chauffeur, when a boy of the street stopped beside him, and with inimitable grinning impudence said:

"Say, fella, you'll find what you're lookin' for at the Hotel Madagascar."

Jack, greatly startled, caught the boy by the arm. "Here, you, give an account of yourself!" he demanded.

The boy wriggled in his grasp and whimpered: "Ahh! I ain't done nottin'!"

"Who told you to tell me that?"

"Old guy in a big black limousine. Lemme go! I ain't done nottin'!"

"Where?"

"At the next corner there. I was just standin' there when the car come acrost Third and stopped beside me. Old guy stuck his head out and ast me did I want to make half a dollar. I says sure. And he gimme it. And he says tell that guy in the silk hat standin' by the car in front of McGann's that he'll find what he's lookin' for at the Hotel Madagascar. Then he spoke to his shuffer and they went on towards the Bridge."

"Was he alone in the car?"

"Sure. Except the shuffer."

Jack was at a loss how much of this to believe. As a matter of precaution, he decided to hang on to the boy for the present. "You come along with me," he said.

The boy obeyed with mixed feelings. He was still scared, but the prospect of such a ride cheered him. His attitude persuaded Jack that his tale was probably true. If he had had any connection with the Red Gang, he would scarcely have yielded himself up to Jack so willingly. Jack gave the word to return to the Madagascar. As they drove off the boy waved his hand to his envious companions in the street. At the hotel, Jack left him in charge of the chauffeur.

He found Bobo safe on his own bed.

Inquiry at the office revealed the fact that half an hour before he had been brought home very much the worse for wear by an elderly friend, who departed as soon as he had put him in his room. Jack dismissed the boy and sent the car to the garage.

Returning to their suite, Jack gazed grimly at the recumbent Bobo, who appeared to have suffered no permanent harm. He lay sprawling on the bed, breathing stertorously. The big white shirt bosom was rumpled and stained. His overcoat lay in a heap beside the bed. Jack was greatly relieved, but indignant, and more puzzled than ever.

"I didn't suspect our friend with the imperial of being a philanthropist," he thought. "His letters certainly didn't read that way. Why the deuce did he take the risk of kidnapping Bobo from McGann's if he only meant to bring him home? It beats the Dutch!"

Suddenly Bobo sat up with a grunt. "Wassa matter?" he asked thickly.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Jack.

Recollection returned to Bobo in a flash, and he clapped his head between his hands. "Lord! But I'm sick!" he groaned hollowly.

"Get up," said Jack coldly. "Go into the bathroom, and stick your head in cold water. I'll send for a pot of coffee for you."

Bobo put a hand to his waistcoat pocket, and seemed about to burst into tears. "My watch is gone!" he wailed.

"You're lucky to be here yourself! A nice chase you've led me!"

"What time is it?"

Jack consulted his watch. "Ten-fifteen. It's been a busy forty-five minutes!"

It was a much chastened Bobo that presently returned to the room. "What happened to me?" he asked.

"I'll tell you. You fell into the hands of the Red Gang, that's all; the same little gentleman with the Imperial that dropped us a line last night. Why, after capturing you, he was content to give you up again, I don't know."

Bobo turned pale, and his knees weakened under him. He dropped in a chair. "The Red Gang!" he murmured. "Oh, my God! Never again! Never again, s'elp me Bob! Never another drop unless you are right there to take care of me!"

Jack grunted scornfully.

Jack picked up the overcoat from the floor. As he did so, he discovered a piece of white paper pinned to the lapel.

"Ha! Maybe this is the key to the mystery!" he cried, pouncing on it.

It was written upon by the same hand that had indited the note of the night before.


"To the Secretary:

"For Heaven's sake try to teach this addle-pate the danger of drinking with strangers. His foolishness to-night almost wrecked all our plans. We have saved him from the worst den of thugs in New York, not from any love of him, you may be sure, but because when the right time comes we mean to get him ourselves.

"The Red Gang."


"Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'!" groaned Bobo. "What's the use! They'll get me anyhow!"

Jack laughed suddenly.

"What are you laughing at? I don't see anything to laugh at."

"Cheer up! This doesn't exactly mean what it says. I see it all now."

"What does it mean then?" said Bobo irritably.

"It means your skin is worth five hundred a month to the Red Gang, and they've no notion of letting McGann's crew damage their property!"