CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FINAL ATTEMPT
Proof that his shot had not missed its mark was supplied to Johnimmediately upon his arrival at the office on the following morning,when he was met by Pugsy Maloney with the information that a gentlemanhad called to see him.
"With or without a black-jack?" enquired John. "Did he give any name?"
"Sure. Parker's his name. He blew in oncst before when Mr. Smith washere. I loosed him into de odder room."
John walked through. The man he had seen with Mr. Scobell at theKnickerbocker was standing at the window.
"Mr. Parker?"
The other turned, as the door opened, and looked at him keenly.
"Are you Mr. Maude?"
"I am," said John.
"I guess you don't need to be told what I've come about?"
"No."
"See here," said Mr. Parker. "I don't know how you've found things out,but you've done it, and we're through. We quit."
"I'm glad of that," said John. "Would you mind informing Spider Reillyof that fact? It will make life pleasanter for all of us."
"Mr. Scobell sent me along here to ask you to come and talk over thisthing with him. He's at the Knickerbocker. I've a cab waiting outside.Can you come along?"
"I'd rather he came here."
"And I bet he'd rather come here than be where he is. That littlesurprise packet of yours last night put him down and out. Gave him astroke of some sort. He's in bed now, with half-a-dozen doctors workingon him."
John thought for a moment.
"Oh," he said slowly, "if it's that--very well."
He could not help feeling a touch of remorse. He had no reason to befond of Mr. Scobell, but he was sorry that this should have happened.
They went out on the street. A taximeter cab was standing by thesidewalk. They got in. Neither spoke. John was thoughtful andpreoccupied. Mr. Parker, too, appeared to be absorbed in his ownthoughts. He sat with folded arms and lowered head.
The cab buzzed up Fifth Avenue. Suddenly something, half-seen throughthe window, brought John to himself with a jerk. It was the great whitemass of the Plaza Hotel. The next moment he saw that they were abreastof the park, and for the first time an icy wave of suspicion swept overhim.
"Here, what's this?" he cried. "Where are you taking me?"
Mr. Parker's right hand came swiftly out of ambush, and somethinggleamed in the sun.
"Don't move," said Mr. Parker. The hard nozzle of a pistol pressedagainst John's chest. "Keep that hand still."
John dropped his hand. Mr. Parker leaned back, with the pistol restingeasily on his knee. The cab began to move more quickly.
John's mind was in a whirl. His chief emotion was not fear, but disgustthat he should have allowed himself to be trapped, with such absurdease. He blushed for himself. Mr. Parker's face was expressionless, butwho could say what tumults of silent laughter were not going on insidehim? John bit his lip.
"Well?" he said at last.
Mr. Parker did not reply.
"Well?" said John again. "What's the next move?"
It flashed across his mind that, unless driven to it by an attack, hiscaptor would do nothing for the moment without running grave riskshimself. To shoot now would be to attract attention. The cab would beovertaken at once by bicycle police, and stopped. There would be noescape. No, nothing could happen till they reached open country. Atleast he would have time to think this matter over in all its bearings.
Mr. Parker ignored the question. He was sitting in the same attitude ofwatchfulness, the revolver resting on his knee. He seemed mistrustfulof John's right hand, which was hanging limply at his side. It was fromthis quarter that he appeared to expect attack. The cab was bowlingeasily up the broad street, past rows and rows of high houses eachlooking exactly the same as the last. Occasionally, to the right,through a break in the line of buildings, a glimpse of the river couldbe seen.
A faint hope occurred to John that, by talking, he might put the otheroff his guard for just that instant which was all he asked. He exertedhimself to find material for conversation.
"Tell me," he said, "what you said about Mr. Scobell, was that true?About his being ill in bed?"
Mr. Parker did not answer, but a wintry smile flittered across hisface.
"It was not?" said John. "Well, I'm glad of that. I don't wish Mr.Scobell any harm."
Mr. Parker looked at him doubtfully.
"Say, why are you in this game at all?" he said. "What made you buttin?"
"One must do something," said John. "It's interesting work."
"If you'll quit--"
John shook his head.
"I own it's a tempting proposition, things being as they are, but Iwon't give up yet. You never know what may happen."
"Well, you can make a mighty near guess this trip."
"You can't do a thing yet, that's sure," said John confidently. "If youshot me now, the cab would be stopped, and you would be lynched by thepopulace. I seem to see them tearing you limb from limb. 'She lovesme!' Off comes an arm. 'She loves me not!' A leg joins the little heapon the ground. That is what would happen, Mr. Parker."
The other shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into silence once more.
"What are you going to do with me, Mr. Parker?" asked John.
Mr. Parker did not reply.
* * * * *
The cab moved swiftly on. Now they had reached the open country. Anoccasional wooden shack was passed, but that was all. At any moment,John felt, the climax of the drama might be reached, and he got ready.His muscles stiffened for a spring. There was little chance of itsbeing effective, but at least it would be good to put up some kind of afight. And he had a faint hope that the suddenness of his movementmight upset the other's aim. He was bound to be hit somewhere. That wascertain. But quickness might save him to some extent. He braced his legagainst the back of the cab. And, as he did so, its smooth speedchanged to a series of jarring jumps, each more emphatic than the last.It slowed down, then came to a halt. There was a thud, as the chauffeurjumped down. John heard him fumbling in the tool box. Presently thebody of the machine was raised slightly as he got to work with thejack. John's muscles relaxed. He leaned back. Surely something could bemade of this new development. But the hand that held the revolver neverwavered. He paused, irresolute. And at the moment somebody spoke in theroad outside.
"Had a breakdown?" enquired the voice.
John recognized it. It was the voice of Kid Brady.
* * * * *
The Kid, as he had stated that he intended to do, had begun histraining for his match with Eddie Wood at White Plains. It was hispractise to open a course of training with a little gentle road-work,and it was while jogging along the highway a couple of miles from histraining camp, in company with the two thick-necked gentlemen who actedas his sparring partners, that he had come upon the broken-downtaxicab.
If this had happened after his training had begun in real earnest, hewould have averted his eyes from the spectacle, however alluring, andcontinued on his way without a pause. But now, as he had not yetsettled down to genuine hard work, he felt justified in turning asideand looking into the matter. The fact that the chauffeur, who seemed tobe a taciturn man, lacking the conversational graces, manifestlyobjected to an audience, deterred him not at all. One cannot haveeverything in this world, and the Kid and his attendant thick-neckswere content to watch the process of mending the tire, withoutdemanding the additional joy of sparkling small talk from the man incharge of the operations.
"Guy's had a breakdown, sure," said the first of the thick-necks.
"Surest thing you know," agreed his colleague.
"Seems to me the tire's punctured," said the Kid.
All three concentrated their gaze on the machine.
"Kid's right," said thick-neck number one. "Guy's been an' bust atire."
"Surest thing you know," said thick-neck number two.
They
observed the perspiring chauffeur in silence for a while.
"Wonder how he did that, now?" speculated the Kid.
"Ran over a nail, I guess," said thick-neck number one.
"Surest thing you know," said the other, who, while perhaps somewhatdeficient in the matter of original thought, was a most useful fellowto have by one--a sort of Boswell.
"Did you run over a nail?" the Kid enquired of the chauffeur.
The chauffeur worked on, unheeding.
"This is his busy day," said the first thick-neck, with satire. "Guy'stoo full of work to talk to us."
"Deaf, shouldn't wonder," surmised the Kid. "Say, wonder what's hedoing with a taxi so far out of the city."
"Some guy tells him to drive him out here, I guess. Say, it'll cost himsomething, too. He'll have to strip off a few from his roll to pay forthis."
John glanced at Mr. Parker, quivering with excitement. It was his lastchance. Would the Kid think to look inside the cab, or would he moveon? Could he risk a shout?
Mr. Parker leaned forward, and thrust the muzzle of the pistol againsthis body. The possibilities of the situation had evidently not beenlost upon him.
"Keep quiet," he whispered.
Outside, the conversation had begun again, and the Kid had made hisdecision.
"Pretty rich guy inside," he said, following up his companion's trainof thought. "I'm going to rubber through the window."
John met Mr. Parker's eye, and smiled.
There came the sound of the Kid's feet grating on the road, as heturned, and, as he heard it, Mr. Parker for the first time lost hishead. With a vague idea of screening John, he half-rose. The pistolwavered. It was the chance John had prayed for. His left hand shot out,grasped the other's wrist, and gave it a sharp wrench. The pistol wentoff with a deafening report, the bullet passing through the back of thecab, then fell to the floor, as the fingers lost their hold. And thenext moment John's right fist, darting upward, crashed home.
The effect was instantaneous. John had risen from his seat as hedelivered the blow, and it got the full benefit of his weight. Mr.Parker literally crumpled up. His head jerked, then fell limply forward.John pushed him on to the seat as he slid toward the floor.
The interested face of the Kid appeared at the window. Behind him couldbe seen portions of the faces of the two thick-necks.
"Hello, Kid," said John. "I heard your voice. I hoped you might look infor a chat."
The Kid stared, amazed.
"What's doin'?" he queried.
"A good deal. I'll explain later. First, will you kindly knock thatchauffeur down and sit on his head?"
"De guy's beat it," volunteered the first thick-neck.
"Surest thing you know," said the other.
"What's been doin'?" asked the Kid. "What are you going to do with thisguy?"
John inspected the prostrate Mr. Parker, who had begun to stirslightly.
"I guess we'll leave him here," he said. "I've had all of his companythat I need for to-day. Show me the nearest station, Kid. I must begetting back to New York. I'll tell you all about it as we go. A walkwill do me good. Riding in a taxi is pleasant, but, believe me, you canhave too much of it."
The Prince and Betty Page 28
