CHAPTER XXVII
PSMITH CONCLUDES HIS RIDE
The Kid, as he had stated to Psmith at their last interview that heintended to do, had begun his training for his match with EddieWood, at White Plains, a village distant but a few miles from NewYork. It was his practice to open a course of training with alittle gentle road-work; and it was while jogging along the highwaya couple of miles from his training-camp, in company with the twothick-necked gentlemen who acted as his sparring-partners, that hehad come upon the broken-down taxi-cab.
If this had happened after his training had begun in real earnest,he would have averted his eyes from the spectacle, howeveralluring, and continued on his way without a pause. But now, as hehad not yet settled down to genuine hard work, he felt justified inturning aside and looking into the matter. The fact that thechauffeur, who seemed to be a taciturn man, lacking theconversational graces, manifestly objected to an audience, deterredhim not at all. One cannot have everything in this world, and theKid and his attendant thick-necks were content to watch the processof mending the tyre, without demanding the additional joy ofsparkling small-talk from the man in charge 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 tyre'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 atyre."
"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.
"Guy ran over a nail, I guess," said thick-neck number one.
"Surest thing you know," said the other, who, while perhapssomewhat lacking in the matter of original thought, was a mostuseful fellow to have by one. A sort of Boswell.
"Did you run over a nail?" the Kid inquired of the chauffeur.
The chauffeur ignored the question.
"This is his busy day," said the first thick-neck with satire."Guy's too full of work to talk to us."
"Deaf, shouldn't wonder," surmised the Kid.
"Say, wonder what he's doin' with a taxi so far out of the city."
"Some guy tells him to drive him out here, I guess. Say, it'll costhim something, too. He'll have to strip off a few from his roll topay for this."
Psmith, in the interior of the cab, glanced at Mr. Parker.
"You heard, Comrade Parker? He is right, I fancy. The bill--"
Mr. Parker dug viciously at him with the revolver.
"Keep quiet," he whispered, "or you'll get hurt."
Psmith suspended his remarks.
Outside, the conversation had begun again.
"Pretty rich guy inside," said the Kid, following up hiscompanion's train of thought. "I'm goin' to rubber in at thewindow."
Psmith, meeting Mr. Parker's eye, smiled pleasantly. There was noanswering smile on the other's face.
There came the sound of the Kid's feet grating on the road as heturned; and as he heard it Mr. Parker, that eminent tactician, forthe first time lost his head. With a vague idea of screening Psmithfrom the eyes of the man in the road he half rose. For an instantthe muzzle of the pistol ceased to point at Psmith's waistcoat. Itwas the very chance Psmith had been waiting for. His left hand shotout, grasped the other's wrist, and gave it a sharp wrench. Therevolver went off with a deafening report, the bullet passingthrough the back of the cab; then fell to the floor, as the fingerslost their hold. The next moment Psmith's right fist, dartingupwards, took Mr. Parker neatly under the angle of the jaw.
The effect was instantaneous. Psmith had risen from his seat as hedelivered the blow, and it consequently got the full benefit of hisweight, which was not small. Mr. Parker literally crumpled up. Hishead jerked back, then fell limply on his chest. He would haveslipped to the floor had not Psmith pushed him on to the seat.
The interested face of the Kid appeared at the window. Behind himcould be seen portions of the faces of the two thick-necks.
"Ah, Comrade Brady!" said Psmith genially. "I heard your voice,and was hoping you might look in for a chat."
"What's doin', Mr. Smith?" queried the excited Kid.
"Much, Comrade Brady, much. I will tell you all anon. Meanwhile,however, kindly knock that chauffeur down and sit on his head. He'sa bad person."
"De guy's beat it," volunteered the first thick-neck.
"Surest thing you know," said the other.
"What's been doin', Mr. Smith?" asked the Kid.
"I'll tell you about it as we go, Comrade Brady," said Psmith,stepping into the road. "Riding in a taxi is pleasant provided itis not overdone. For the moment I have had sufficient. A bit ofwalking will do me good."
"What are you going to do with this guy, Mr. Smith?" asked theKid, pointing to Parker, who had begun to stir slightly.
Psmith inspected the stricken one gravely.
"I have no use for him, Comrade Brady," he said. "Our ride togethergave me as much of his society as I desire for to-day. Unless youor either of your friends are collecting Parkers, I propose that weleave him where he is. We may as well take the gun, however. In myopinion, Comrade Parker is not the proper man to have such aweapon. He is too prone to go firing it off in any direction at amoment's notice, causing inconvenience to all." He groped on thefloor of the cab for the revolver. "Now, Comrade Brady," he said,straightening himself up, "I am at your disposal. Shall we bepushing on?"
* * *
It was late in the evening when Psmith returned to the metropolis,after a pleasant afternoon at the Brady training-camp. The Kid,having heard the details of the ride, offered once more to abandonhis match with Eddie Wood, but Psmith would not hear of it. He wasfairly satisfied that the opposition had fired their last shot, andthat their next move would be to endeavour to come to terms. Theycould not hope to catch him off his guard a second time, and, asfar as hired assault and battery were concerned, he was as safe inNew York, now that Bat Jarvis had declared himself on his side, ashe would have been in the middle of a desert. What Bat said waslaw on the East Side. No hooligan, however eager to make money,would dare to act against a _protege_ of the Groome Street leader.
The only flaw in Psmith's contentment was the absence of BillyWindsor. On this night of all nights the editorial staff of _CosyMoments_ should have been together to celebrate the successfuloutcome of their campaign. Psmith dined alone, his enjoyment of therather special dinner which he felt justified in ordering in honourof the occasion somewhat diminished by the thought of Billy's hardcase. He had seen Mr William Collier in _The Man from Mexico_, andthat had given him an understanding of what a term of imprisonmenton Blackwell's Island meant. Billy, during these lean days, must besupporting life on bread, bean soup, and water. Psmith, toying withthe hors d'oeuvre, was somewhat saddened by the thought.
* * *
All was quiet at the office on the following day. Bat Jarvis,again accompanied by the faithful Otto, took up his position in theinner room, prepared to repel all invaders; but none arrived. Nosounds broke the peace of the outer office except the whistling ofMaster Maloney.
Things were almost dull when the telephone bell rang. Psmith tookdown the receiver.
"Hullo?" he said.
"I'm Parker," said a moody voice.
Psmith uttered a cry of welcome.
"Why, Comrade Parker, this is splendid! How goes it? Did you getback all right yesterday? I was sorry to have to tear myself away,but I had other engagements. But why use the telephone? Why notcome here in person? You know how welcome you are. Hire a taxi-caband come right round."
Mr. Parker made no reply to the invitation.
"Mr. Waring would like to see you."
"Who, Comrade Parker?"
"Mr. Stewart Waring."
"The celebrated tenement house-owner?"
Silence from the oth
er end of the wire. "Well," said Psmith, "whatstep does he propose to take towards it?"
"He tells me to say that he will be in his office at twelve o'clockto-morrow morning. His office is in the Morton Building, NassauStreet."
Psmith clicked his tongue regretfully.
"Then I do not see how we can meet," he said. "I shall be here."
"He wishes to see you at his office."
"I am sorry, Comrade Parker. It is impossible. I am very busy justnow, as you may know, preparing the next number, the one in which wepublish the name of the owner of the Pleasant Street Tenements.Otherwise, I should be delighted. Perhaps later, when the rush ofwork has diminished somewhat."
"Am I to tell Mr. Waring that you refuse?"
"If you are seeing him at any time and feel at a loss for somethingto say, perhaps you might mention it. Is there anything else I cando for you, Comrade Parker?"
"See here--"
"Nothing? Then good-bye. Look in when you're this way."
He hung up the receiver.
As he did so, he was aware of Master Maloney standing beside thetable.
"Yes, Comrade Maloney?"
"Telegram," said Pugsy. "For Mr. Windsor."
Psmith ripped open the envelope.
The message ran:
"Returning to-day. Will be at office to-morrow morning," and it wassigned "Wilberfloss."
"See who's here!" said Psmith softly.
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