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CHAPTER XXVI
NOT MUCH SHOW

Tired out, Janet went to bed shortly after Stillman left, but Locke, knowing he could not sleep, sat up to think the situation over. The difficulties and problems of his own position seemed greater than ever. If the plot was as deep and intricate as the reporter believed, and if the men behind it were moving with haste and certainty to the accomplishment of their designs, there seemed scarcely a ghost of a chance for him, practically alone and unaided, to block them.

For Lefty now felt that, in a way, he was standing alone. Even Kennedy, having no power, could do little more than offer advice. And where was Kennedy?

The southpaw had fancied that he would be given more time to muster his opposing forces for the battle. He had even imagined, at first, that the man he would need to contend against and defeat was Weegman. But now Weegman, the blind tool of craftier creatures, looked insignificant and weak. In order to defeat him it would be necessary to strike higher.

How was he to strike? That was the question. Locke had suggested to Stillman complete exposure of the plot by newspaper publicity. And right there the reporter, who had seemed so confident of his ground, had betrayed that, after his usual method, he was working by intuition, and had no positive and unassailable verification of his conclusions. It would not do for his paper to charge criminal conspiracy without proper evidence to back up such an indictment.

Recalling this, Lefty remembered that Stillman, having heard all the southpaw could tell, had ended by giving his own theory, and had offered proof to substantiate it. And then he had been compelled to acknowledge that the proof he had to offer was not sound enough to base exposure and open action upon.

If Stillman were right, doubtless Parlmee had gone abroad with full knowledge of Charles Collier’s whereabouts. That knowledge being denied Lefty, he could not warn Collier, and the plot would be carried through as arranged. Then, as the reporter had predicted, at the annual meeting of the magnates, shortly to be held, Garrity would appear as owner of the Blue Stockings. When that happened, the fight would be over, and the conspirators would be triumphant.

With the door to Janet’s chamber closed, Locke walked the floor, striving for a clear conception of what ought to be done. He felt like a man bound hand and foot. Of course, he could go on with his project to strengthen the team, but the harvest of his success would be reaped by the plotters, if they, too, were successful. There was little uncertainty about what would happen to him, for he knew that his conscience would not permit him to become an understrapper for Garrity. He had left Fernandon with courage and high hope to do battle; but now the helplessness of the situation threatened to appall him.

If there were only some way to get into communication with Collier. Again he thought of his somewhat shaken conviction that Virginia was in New York. If that were true, some of her family or friends must know it, and, of course, Virginia would know how to communicate without delay with her father.

With this thought came the conviction that in Virginia lay his only hope. If he had been mistaken, and she were not in the United States, his chance of doing anything to foil the conspirators was not one in a thousand. His work for the morrow was cut out for him; he must learn positively if Charles Collier’s daughter was on American soil, and, if so, he must find her.

The telephone rang, and when he answered it he was informed that Kennedy was calling. The faithful old veteran had come, after all! Lefty said that he was to be sent up at once.

“Well, son,” said old Jack, as he came in, “how are things moving?”

“None too well,” answered Lefty, shaking his hand.

“So?” grunted Kennedy. “I wondered just what was up, and I came right along in answer to your call, but my train was delayed. What are the new developments?”

“Sit down,” said Locke, “and I’ll tell you. Since I sent you that message I’ve heard something that’s got me guessing–and worried.”

“The contracts?” questioned old Jack, sitting down. “The boys signed up, didn’t they?”

“Every one of them. That’s not the trouble. I’ve had a talk with Jack Stillman.”

“The only reporter I know with a noodle screwed on right,” said Kennedy. “His bean’s packed with sound sense. When he gets an idea it’s generally correct.”

“In that case, unless he’s made a bobble this time, the situation’s worse than we suspected, Jack.”

“Give me the dope,” urged Kennedy.

The old man listened to Locke without comment, and when Lefty had finished, he sat thoughtfully plucking at his under lip with his thumb and forefinger.

“Well,” he said, after a time, “Stillman usually puts them in the groove when he shoots.”

“Then you think he’s hit it right in this case?”

“I haven’t said so. If anybody else had passed this one up, I’d have said it missed the plate by a rod. With Stillman doing the pitching, I’m not so ready to give a decision against him. But you say he finished a lot more confident than he began?”

“Yes. Instead of seeking information, he finished up by giving it.”

“Just as though he had talked himself into a settled conviction as he went along?”

“That’s it.”

“Then we won’t accept his statement as fact until he gets some kind of proof, son. You know more about Parlmee than I do, and you’ve always figured that gent on the level, haven’t you?”

“Yes; but I’m compelled to admit that I haven’t had sufficient dealings with him to feel certain that my estimation of his character is correct. Furthermore, my first impression was unfavorable.”

“First impressions are sometimes the best.”

“But at that time, as you know, my judgment could hardly be unprejudiced. It was when Collier first took over the team and I had trouble with Carson, the manager he put in your place. Everything seemed going wrong then.”

A grin broke over Kennedy’s face, and he chuckled softly, a reminiscent expression in his keen old eyes.

“Those were some stirring times, boy,” he said. “Collier fired me for Al Carson, and Carson made a mess of it. He’s managing a dub league team now. He thought he could get along without you, just as Collier reckoned he could dispense with me; but at the finish it was you and me that came back and saved the day for the Stockings. You pitched the game of your life that last day of the season. Now it’s up to you to come back again, and I’ve got a hunch that you will. You’ll return, better than ever. You’re going to make the wiseacres that think you’re down and out look foolish.”

Locke shook his head. “Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn’t have the heart to work for that scoundrel. Back in the time we’re speaking of, it was Stillman’s cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake.”

“Right you are,” admitted old Jack.

“All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can’t dodge that fact. To-morrow I’m going to make every effort to find some method of getting into communication with Charles Collier. It’s my only play in this game. If it fails–good night!”

Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy’s advice on other matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and prestige could be solved later.

Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man’s habit when perplexed. “Yes, son,” he said, after a time, “that’s what you’re up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn’t look like you have.”

CHAPTER XXVII
THE SUSPENDED AX

All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He ’phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.

It was a little after noon when he called the office of the Blade. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship’s sake Stillman would attempt it.

Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of the Blade. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw’s call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.

Returning the card to his pocket, the man pretended to busy himself again over one of the directories, keeping his back partly turned toward the pitcher. Soon he heard the switchboard girl repeat Lefty’s number, and direct him to booth No. 1.

The man closed his book and turned round slowly. The southpaw was disappearing into a booth at the end of one of the rows, and, in closing the door behind him, he unintentionally left it slightly open. The watching man moved quietly forward until he was close to this booth, through the glass of which he could see that Lefty’s back was partly turned toward him. There he paused, taking some letters and papers from his pocket and running them over as if searching for something. While appearing to be absorbed in his own affairs, he could hear every word that the pitcher spoke into the receiver.

Getting the editorial rooms of the Blade, Locke asked for Stillman. After a slight delay, he was informed that the reporter was not there. No one could say just when he would be in.

“This is important,” stated Lefty; “a matter in which he is greatly interested. I must talk with him as soon as possible. Will you ask him, as soon as he comes in, to call Philip Hazelton at the Great Eastern? Yes, Hazelton; that’s right. Why, yes, I’m Lefty Locke. All right; don’t fail to tell him immediately he arrives.”

The man outside slipped the letters and papers into his pocket, and turned away after the manner of a person who has suddenly decided upon something. He had not walked ten steps, however, before he turned back. The southpaw was paying for the call. The man watched him now without further effort to avoid notice, and when the pitcher turned from the switchboard he stepped forward deliberately to meet him.

“Hello!” said the man in a voice distinctly husky and unpleasant. “How are you, Locke?”

Lefty stopped short and stared. It was Garrity, coarse, complacent, patronizing. The owner of the Rockets grinned, showing the numerous gold fillings in his teeth. His features were large, and his jaw was square and brutal. His clothes were those of a common race-track follower.

“Quite well, thank you,” answered Lefty coldly, thinking of the pleasure it would be to tell Garrity his private opinion of him.

“Seems to me you look worried. I don’t wonder, though, considering the job they’ve handed you. Some job piecing together the tattered remnants, hey? It’s going to make you a busy little manager.”

“I’m busy now,” said the southpaw, moving as if to pass on; but Garrity detained him. “You’ve got some positions to fill. The Feds got at you hard. Shame to see a team like the Stockings shot to pieces. You’ve got three or four bad holes, and I’d like to help you.”

“You would?”

“Sure. I’ve got the very lads you need, too–Mundy and Pendexter. Both fast men. They work together like two parts of a machine. Mundy covers the short field like Maranville, and Pendexter sure can play that keystone cushion. They’re the boys for you.”

“How’s it happen you are willing to let go of them?” asked Locke, feeling some curiosity to know what lay behind this particular proposition.

“Well, this is between us, mind? I’d just about as soon give up an eye as part with either Mundy or Pendexter, but it’s easier to lose them than dispense with Pressly, my third sacker. That’s been the trouble with my team. Pressly loves Mundy and Pendexter as he loves aconite, and they reciprocate. You know what a feud like that means. It knocks the bottom out of any team. I can’t fill Pressly’s place, but I’ve got a couple of youngsters that I can work in at short and second. I’m not going through another season with those three scrapping. You need the very players I’m willing to part with, and there we are.”

Locke knew the man was not honest, and that he was holding something up his sleeve. In order to make him show his hand, the southpaw asked:

“What do you want for Mundy and Pendexter?”

Garrity considered for a minute. “Well,” he answered slowly, “I’ll trade them with you for Spider Grant–and cash.”

Lefty stared at him in amazement. Was it possible the man could think he was such a soft mark? He laughed loudly.

“You don’t want much, do you, Garrity? The ‘and cash’ was a capper! Man, I wouldn’t trade you Spider Grant for your whole team–and cash!”

The owner of the Rockets scowled, glaring at Locke, the corners of his thick-lipped mouth drooping.

“Oh, you wouldn’t, hey?” he growled huskily. “I suppose you think that’s a joke?”

“Not at all; it’s serious. I couldn’t use the players you offer, anyhow. Mundy does cover the short field like Rabbit Maranville–sometimes; but he’s got a yellow streak, and he quits. Pendexter knows how to play second, and at the beginning of last season he hit like old Sockalexis when the Indian first broke into the league. But the pitchers all got wise to his weak spot, close and across the knees, and from a three-hundred-and-sixty batter he slumped into the two-hundred class. You were thinking of asking for waivers on him. Spider Grant–and cash–for that pair! I didn’t imagine that even you could think me such a boob.”

As he listened, Garrity’s face showed his anger; his breath came short and quick; his eyes were blazing with the fury of a wild animal.

“Have you got that all out of your system?” he asked, when Lefty stopped. “You’re a wise gazabo, ain’t you? You know all about baseball and players and such things! You’ve got a head bigger than a balloon. But it’ll shrink, give it time. It’s plain you think you really know how to manage a team. By the middle of the season, and maybe considerable before that, your head will be about the size of a bird shot. And you’ll know a lot more then than you do now, believe me!”

The southpaw laughed in his face. “Don’t lose your temper,” he advised, “just because you couldn’t put a raw one over on me. Go ahead and ask waivers on Pendexter. You’ll get mine. I wouldn’t carry him on my team if you agreed to pay his season’s salary for me. My trade with Frazer gave you the notion that you could pick another good man off me, and weaken the Stockings still more. You fooled yourself that time, Garrity. Perhaps you’ll find out before long that you are fooling yourself in other ways.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll let you guess. But just remember what Bobby Burns said about ‘the best-laid plans o’ mice and men.’”

With this, Locke passed on, leaving the wrathy owner of the Rockets glaring after him.

“You poor fool!” muttered Garrity. “I’ll have you whimpering like a whipped dog before I’m done with you. Your head’s liable to roll into the basket before the season opens. When the time comes, I’ll lift my finger, and the ax’ll fall.”

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE GAGE OF WAR

Janet had let some friends know that she was in the city, and had been invited out to a matinée performance at one of the theaters. Lefty urged her to go. “That’s better than sitting around the rooms alone,” he said, “and I’ll be so busy that I can’t be with you.”

So when, shortly after lunch, her friends appeared in a comfortable limousine, they had little trouble in persuading her to join them.

Kennedy dropped in a little later, and Locke told him of Garrity’s proposed trade.

“He sure did pick you for a mark,” said the ex-manager. “You handed it to him straight about Mundy and Pendexter. You’re going to need a pair of fast boys to stop the holes, but there’s better men in the minors than those two. You’ve got better ones on the reserve list. Besides that, I’m doin’ a little free scouting on my own hook. I’ve got friends scattered all over the country. Whenever an old player, gone to the scraps, has touched me up for a five or a ten, I’ve stood for the touch, asking him to keep his eyes open for anything good he might run across in the sticks. That way I’ve got a good deal of inexpensive scouting done for me. Maybe it’ll be worth something in this pinch. I’m going to interview an old friend over in Jersey this afternoon.”

“I’m not worrying over players just now,” said Lefty. “I’m anxious to get hold of Stillman.”

“You’ll hear from him in time–and Weegman, too. What Garrity knows Weegman knows, and so he’s wise that you’re right here. Be ready for him when he shows up.”

Kennedy had only just gone when Weegman appeared. He laughed when he saw Locke, but it was an ugly laugh.

“What do you think you’re trying to do?” he demanded. “Didn’t you get my telegram ordering you to report at the office of the club?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t you obey? What did you mean by coming right through without even sending me word?”

“I had immediate business here in New York.”

“Business! I had business for you to attend to. You’ve been doing a lot of things without consulting me. Why didn’t you wait until I gave you the contracts for the old players?”

“There had been too much waiting, and time was precious. Kennedy had plenty of blanks, so I got them from him, filled them out, and sent them to the boys without further delay. It was the proper thing to do.”

“Don’t tell me what’s proper to do! I’ll tell you. That was the distinct understanding, and you know it. Sent out the contracts, did you? Well, some of them ought to be coming back by this time.”

“They’ve all come back.”

“What?”

“Every one of them. The Federals’ll get no more players off us this year.”

Weegman choked, and the sound that came from his lips was not a laugh.

“I haven’t seen anything of them. They didn’t come to the office.”

“No, certainly not.”

“Certainly not! Then where–where are they?”

“I have them in my pocket.”

Lefty said it quietly, not at all disturbed by the wrath of the outraged schemer. It gave him much satisfaction to see Bailey Weegman shake and squirm.

“In your pocket!” spluttered the rascal. “You had them returned to a different address? Confound your crust! How’d you ever have the nerve to do a thing like that? Let’s see them. Hand them over!”

Locke made no move to obey. “I think I’ll keep them a while,” he answered coolly. “I’ll deliver them personally to be locked in the club safe.”

For a moment it seemed that Weegman would lose all control of himself and attack the southpaw.

“You fool!” he raged. “Do you think you’re going to get by with this stuff?”

“I’ve made a pretty fair start at it.”

“So you never meant to stand by the private agreement between us when you signed as manager? That’s it, eh?”

“There never was any private agreement between us. I signed to handle the team, but I did not agree to become your puppet.”

“You did. You said that–”

“That I understood the conditions you had proposed, but I did not say that I consented to them. I had no intention of letting you dictate to me.”

“Fool! Fool!” snarled Weegman. “How long do you think you’ll last? And you made that crazy trade with Frazer! Do you know what I’ve done? Well, I’ve notified Frazer that the deal was irregular, and won’t be recognized by the club. Not a dollar of that five thousand will he ever get.”

“You know better than that. The trade was legitimate, and it will stand. Frazer can collect by law. Any other deal that I make will go through, too, whether you are aware of it at the time or not. Until Charles Collier himself takes away my authority, I’m manager of the team with the legal right to carry out my own plans, and I intend to do so. I shall ask no advice from you, and any suggestion you may make I shall look upon with distrust.”

They fought it out, eye to eye, and presently Weegman’s gaze wavered before that of the unawed southpaw. The man he had sought to make his blind tool was defying him to his face.

“I see your finish!” he declared.

“And I see yours,” countered Locke. “You think you’re a clever crook. You’re merely an instrument in the hands of a bigger and cleverer scoundrel who doesn’t care a rap what happens to you if he can put his own miserable scheme over. Your partnership with him will be your ruin, anyhow. If you had half the sense you think you possess, you’d break with him without losing any time.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve only planned to do my best to save a team that has been raided by the Feds. You’re killing the last chance for the Blue Stockings.”

“Tell it to Sweeny!” exclaimed Lefty. “You’re trying to deliver the team into the hands of Tom Garrity. Deny it if you wish, but it isn’t necessary to lie. You’ve played Judas with Collier.”

“Be careful! Better take that back!”

Lefty laughed. “I’m ready to add more to it. I haven’t told you half what I know. If I were to do so, you’d realize what a dumb fool you have made of yourself. You think you’re wise to all that was planned, but you’ve been let in on only a very little of it. You’ll tear your hair when you get a squint at the foundation stone of this neat little conspiracy.”

“I–I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s right, you don’t; but you will know in time. You’ll be kept in the dark as long as it suits Tom Garrity.”

“What’s Garrity got to do with it?”

Locke smiled on him pityingly. “Don’t be childish, Weegman. That sort of a bluff is too thin. I was wise when I signed to manage the team.”

In vain the man stormed, threatened, coaxed, cajoled; he could not bend Lefty in the least, and at last he realized that he had made a big blunder in estimating the character of the southpaw.

“So it’s war between us, is it?” he finally asked.

“I have looked for nothing else,” answered the pitcher.

Weegman snapped his fingers in Locke’s face. “All right!” he cried. “You would have it! Just you wait! You’re going to regret it! We’ll see how long you last!” And, turning round, he strode away, muttering to himself.