abhorrent to him. So he did not hear all that happenednext, except in broken snatches.
He gathered though, from what he did hear, that Bob Slack and Mr. EdwardBraydon were coming up the stairs, and that a third male whom theycalled Officer was coming with them, and that the janitress was cominglikewise, and that divers lower-floor tenants were joining in the march,and that as they came the janitress was explaining to all and sundry howthe weird miscreant had sought to inveigle her into admitting him to Mr.Slack's rooms, and how she had refused, and how with maniacal craft--orwords to that effect--he had, nevertheless, managed to secure admittanceto the house, and how he must still be in the house. And through all herdiscourse there were questions from this one or that, crossing its flowbut in no-wise interrupting it; and through it all percolated hootinglythe terrorised outcries of Mr. Braydon's maiden aunt-in-law, issuingthrough the keyhole of the door behind which she cowered. Only now shewas interjecting a new harassment into the already complicated mysteryby pleading that someone repair straightway to her and renderassistance, as she felt herself to be on the verge of fainting deadaway.
With searches into closets and close scrutiny of all dark corners passeden route, the procession advanced to the top floor, mainly guided in itsoncoming by the clew deduced from the circumstances of the mad intruderhaving betrayed a desire to secure access to Mr. Slack's apartment,with the intention, as the caretaker more than once suggested on her wayup, of murdering Mr. Slack in his bed. Before the ascent had beencompleted she was quite certain this was the correct deduction, and socontinued to state with all the emphasis of which she was capable.
"He couldn't possibly have got downstairs again," somebody hazarded; "sohe must be upstairs here still--must be right round here somewhere."
"Didn't I tell you he was lookin' for Mr. Slack to lay in wait for himand destroy the poor man in his bed?" shrilled the caretaker.
"Watch carefully now, everybody. He might rush out of some corner atus."
"Say, my transom's halfway open!" Mr. Bob Slack exclaimed. "And, byJove, there's a light shining through it yonder from the bedroom. He'sinside--we've got him cornered, whoever he is."
Boldly Mr. Slack stepped forward and rapped hard on the door.
"Better step on out peaceably," he called, "because there's an officerhere with us and we've got you trapped."
"It's me, Bob, it's me," came in a wheezy, plaintive wail from somewherewell back in the apartment.
"Who's me?" demanded Mr. Slack, likewise forgetting his grammar in thethrill of this culminating moment.
"Algy--Algernon Leary."
"Not with that voice, it isn't. But I'll know in a minute who it is!"Mr. Slack reached pocketward for his keys.
"Better be careful. He might have a gun or something on him."
"Nonsense!" retorted Mr. Slack, feeling very valiant. "I'm not afraid ofany gun. But you ladies might stand aside if you're frightened. Allready, officer? Now then!"
"Please come in by yourself, Bob. Don't--don't let anybody else comewith you!"
XIV
If he heard the faint and agonised appeal from within Mr. Slack chosenot to heed it. He found the right key on his key ring, applied it tothe lock, turned the bolt and shoved the door wide open, giving backthen in case of an attack. The front room was empty. Mr. Slack crossedcautiously to the inner room and peered across the threshold into it,Mr. Braydon and a grey-coated private watchman and a procession ofhalf-clad figures following along after him.
Where was the mysterious intruder? Ah, there he was, huddled up in a farcorner alongside the bed as though he sought to hide himself away fromtheir glaring eyes. And at the sight of what he beheld Mr. Bob Slackgave one great shocked snort of surprise, and then one of recognition.
For all that the cowering wretch wore a quaint garment of a bright andwatermelonish hue, except where it was streaked with transom dust andmarked with ash-can grit; for all that his head was bare, and his knees,and a considerable section of his legs as well; for all that he hadwhite socks and low slippers, now soaking wet, upon his feet; for allhis elbow sleeves and his pink garters and his low neck; and finally forall that his face was now beginning, as they stared upon it, to wearthe blank wan look of one who is about to succumb to a swoon ofexhaustion induced by intense physical exertion or by acutely prolongedmental strain or by both together--Mr. Bob Slack detected in thisfabulous oddity a resemblance to his associate in the practice of law atNumber Thirty-two Broad Street.
"In the name of heaven, Leary----" he began.
But a human being can stand just so many shocks in a given number ofminutes--just so many and no more. Gently, slowly, the gartered legsgave way, bending outward, and as their owner collapsed down upon hisside with the light of consciousness flickering in his eyes, his figurewas half-turned to them, and they saw how that he was ornamentally butsecurely buttoned down the back with many large buttons and how thatwith a last futile fluttering effort of his relaxing hands he fumbledfirst at one and then at another of these buttons.
"Leary, what in thunder have you been doing? And where on earth have youbeen?" Mr. Slack shot the questions forth as he sprang to his partner'sside and knelt alongside the slumped pink shape.
Languidly Mr. Leary opened one comatose eye. Then he closed it again andthe wraith of a smile formed about his lips, and just as he went soundasleep upon the floor Mr. Slack caught from Mr. Leary the softlywhispered words, "I've been the life of the party!"
The Life of the Party Page 10
