CHAPTER IX
THE RAID
Garrick was evidently turning over and over in his mind some plan ofaction.
"This thing has gone just about far enough," he remarked meditatively,looking at his watch. It was now well along in the afternoon.
"But what do you intend doing?" I asked, regarding the whole affair sofar as a hopeless mystery from which I could not see that we hadextracted so much as a promising clew.
"Doing?" he echoed. "Why, there is only one thing to do, and that is totake the bull by the horns, to play the game without any furtherattempt at finessing. I shall see Dillon, get a warrant, and raid thatgambling place--that's all."
I had no counter suggestion to offer. In fact the plan rather appealedto me. If any blow were to be struck it must be just a little bit aheadof any that the gamblers anticipated, and this was a blow they wouldnot expect if they already had wind of Warrington's intention to cancelthe lease.
Garrick called up Dillon and made an appointment to meet him early inthe evening, without telling him what was afoot.
"Meet me down at police headquarters, Tom," was all that Garrick saidto me. "I want to work here at the office for a little while, first,testing a new contrivance, or, rather, an old one that I think may beput to a new use."
Meanwhile I decided to employ my time by visiting some newspaperfriends that I had known a long time on the Star, one of the mostenterprising papers in the city. Fortunately I found my friend,Davenport, the managing editor, at his desk and ready to talk in theinfrequent lulls that came in his work.
"What's on your mind, Marshall?" he asked as I sat down and began towonder how he ever conducted his work in the chaotic clutter of stuffon the top of his desk.
"I can't tell you--yet, Davenport," I explained carefully, "but it's abig story and when it breaks I'll promise that the Star has the firstchance at it. I'm on the inside--working with that young detective,Garrick, you know."
"Garrick--Garrick," he repeated. "Oh, yes, that fellow who came backfrom abroad with a lot of queer ideas. I remember. We had an interviewwith him when he left the steamer. Good stuff, too,--but what do youthink of him? Is he--on the level?"
"On the level and making good," I answered confidently. "I'm not atliberty to tell much about it now, but--well, the reason I came in wasto find out what you could tell me about a Miss Winslow,--VioletWinslow and her aunt, Mrs. Beekman de Lancey."
"The Miss Winslow who is reported engaged to young Warrington?" herepeated. "The gossip is that he has cut out Angus Forbes, entirely."
I had hesitated to mention all the names at once, but I need not havedone so, for on such things, particularly the fortunes in finance andlove of such a person as Warrington, the eyes of the press wereall-seeing.
"Yes," I answered carefully, "that's the Miss Winslow. What do you knowof her?"
"Well," he replied, fumbling among the papers on his desk, "all I knowis that in the social set to which she belongs our society reporterssay that of all the young fellows who have set out to capture her--andshe's a deuced pretty girl, even in the pictures we have published--itseems to have come down to Mortimer Warrington and Angus Forbes. Ofcourse, as far as we newspapermen are concerned, the big story for uswould be in the engagement of young Warrington. The eyes of people arefixed on him just now--the richest young man in the country, and allthat sort of thing, you know. Seems to be a pretty decent sort offellow, too, I believe--democratic and keen on other things besidestango and tennis. Oh, there's the thing I was hunting for. Mrs. deLancey's a nut on gambling, I believe. Read that. It's a letter thatcame to us from her this morning."
It was written in the stilted handwriting of a generation ago and read:
"To the Editor of the Star, Dear Sir:--I believe that your paper pridesitself on standing for reform and against the grafters. If that is so,why do you not join in the crusade to suppress gambling in New York?For the love that you must still bear towards your own mother, listento the stories of other mothers torn by anxiety for their sons anddaughters, and if there is any justice or righteousness in this greatcity close up those gambling hells that are sending to ruin scores ofour finest young men--and women. You have taken up other fights againstgambling and vice. Take up this one that appeals to women of wealth andsocial position. I know them and they are as human as mothers in anyother station in life. Oh, if there is any way, close up these gildedsociety resorts that are dissipating the fortunes of many parents,ruining young men and women, and, in one case I know of, slowlybringing to the grave a grey-haired widow as worthy of protection asany mother of the poor whose plea has closed up a little poolroom orpolicy shop. One place I have in mind is at ---- West Forty-eighthStreet. Investigate it, but keep this confidential.
"Sincerely,
"(MRS.) EMMA DE LANCEY."
"Do you know anything about it?" I asked casually handing the letterback.
"Only by hearsay. I understand it is the crookedest gambling joint inthe city, at least judging by the stories they tell of the lossesthere. And so beastly aristocratic, too. They tell me young Forbes haslost a small fortune there--but I don't know how true it is. We gethundreds of these daintily perfumed and monogramed little missives inthe course of a year."
"You mean Angus Forbes?" I asked.
"Yes," replied the managing editor, "the fellow that they say has beentrying to capture your friend Miss Winslow."
I did not reply for the moment. Forbes, I had already learned, wasdeeply in debt. Was it part of his plan to get control of the littlefortune of Violet to recoup his losses?
"Do you know Mrs. de Lancey?" pursued the editor.
"No--not yet," I answered. "I was just wondering what sort of personshe is."
"Oh I suppose she's all right," he answered, "but they say she's prettystraight-laced--that cards and all sorts of dissipation are anobsession with her."
"Well," I argued, "there might be worse things than that."
"That's right," he agreed. "But I don't believe that such a puritanicalatmosphere is--er--just the place to bring up a young woman like VioletWinslow."
I said nothing. It did not seem to me that Mrs. de Lancey had succeededin killing the natural human impulses in Violet, though perhaps thegirl was not as well versed in some of the ways of the world as othersof her set. Still, I felt that her own natural common sense wouldprotect her, even though she had been kept from a knowledge of muchthat in others of her set was part of their "education."
My friend's telephone had been tinkling constantly during theconversation and I saw that as the time advanced he was getting moreand more busy. I thanked Davenport and excused myself.
At least I had learned something about those who were concerned in thecase. As I rode uptown I could not help thinking of Violet Winslow andher apparently intuitive fear concerning Warrington. I wondered howmuch she really knew about Angus Forbes. Undoubtedly he had nothesitated to express his own feelings toward her. Had she penetratedbeneath the honeyed words he must have spoken to her? Was it that shefeared that all things are fair in war and love and that the favour shemust have bestowed on Warrington might have roused the jealousy of someof his rivals for her affections?
I found no answer to my speculations, but a glance at my watch told methat it was nearing the time of my appointment with Guy.
A few minutes later I jumped off the car at Headquarters and metGarrick, waiting for me in the lower hall. As we ascended the broadstaircase to the second floor, where Dillon's office was, I told himbriefly of what I had discovered.
"The old lady will have her wish," he replied grimly as I related theincident of the letter to the editor. "I wonder just how much shereally does know of that place. I hope it isn't enough to set heragainst Warrington. You know people like that are often likely toconceive violent prejudices--and then refuse to believe somethingthat's all but proved about someone else."
There was no time to pursue the subject further for we had reachedDillon's office and were admitted immediately.
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p; "What's the news?" asked Dillon greeting us cordially.
"Plenty of it," returned Garrick, hastily sketching over what hadtranspired since we had seen him last.
Garrick had scarcely begun to outline what he intended to do when Icould see from the commissioner's face that he was very sceptical ofsuccess.
"Herman tells me," he objected, "that the place is mighty wellbarricaded. We haven't tried raiding it yet, because you know the newplan is not only to raid those places, but first to watch them, traceout some of the regular habitues, and then to be able to rope them inin case we need them as evidence. Herman has been getting that all inshape so that when the case comes to trial, there'll be no slip-up."
"If that's all you want, I can put my finger on some of the wildestscions of wealth that you will ever need for witnesses," Garrickreplied confidently.
"Well," pursued Dillon diffidently, "how are you going to pull it off,down through the sky-light, or up through the cellar?"
"Oh, Dillon," returned Garrick reproachfully, "that's unworthy of you."
"But, Garrick," persisted Dillon, "don't you know that it is averitable National City Bank for protection. It isn't one of thosecommon gambling joints. It's proof against all the old methods. Axesand sledgehammers would make no impression there. Why, that place hasbeen proved bomb-proof--bomb-proof, sir. You remember recently theso-call 'gamblers' war' in which some rivals exploded a bomb on thesteps because the proprietor of this place resented their intrusionuptown from the lower East Side, with their gunmen and lobbygows? Itdid more damage to the house next door than to the gambling joint."
Dillon paused a moment to enumerate the difficulties. "You can get pastthe outside door all right. But inside is the famous ice-box door. It'sno use to try it at all unless you can pass that door with reasonablequickness. All the evidence you will get will be of an innocent socialclub room downstairs. And you can't get on the other side of that doorby strategy, either. It is strategy-proof. The system of lookouts isperfect. Herman---"
"Can't help it," interrupted Garrick, "we've got to go over Herman'shead this time. I'll guarantee you all the evidence you'll ever need."
Dillon and Garrick faced each other for a moment.
It was a supreme test of Dillon's sincerity.
Finally he spoke slowly. "All right," he said, as if at last the diewere cast and Garrick had carried his point, "but how are you going todo it? Won't you need some men with axes and crowbars?"
"No, indeed," almost shouted Garrick as Dillon made a motion as if tofind out who were available. "I've been preparing a little surprise inmy office this afternoon for just such a case. It's a rather cumbersomearrangement and I've brought it along stowed away in a taxicab outside.I don't want anyone else to know about the raid until the last moment.Just before we begin the rough stuff, you can call up and have thereserves started around. That is all I shall want."
"Very well," agreed Dillon, after a moment.
He did not seem to relish the scheme, but he had promised at the outsetto play fair and he had no disposition to go back on his word now infavor even of his judgment.
"First of all," he planned, "we'll have to drop in on a judge and get awarrant to protect us."
Garrick hastily gave me instructions what to do and I started uptownimmediately, while they went to secure the secret warrant.
I had been stationed on the corner which was not far from theForty-eighth Street gambling joint that we were to raid. I had a keensense of wickedness as I stood there with other loiterers watching thepassing throng under the yellow flare of the flaming arc light.
It was not difficult now to loiter about unnoticed because the streetswere full of people, all bent on their own pleasure and not likely tonotice one person more or less who stopped to watch the passing throng.
From time to time I cast a quick glance at the house down the street,in order to note who was going in.
It must have been over an hour that I waited. It was after ten, and itbecame more difficult to watch who was going into the gambling joint.In fact, several times the street was so blocked that I could not seevery well. But I did happen to catch a glimpse of one familiar figureacross the street from me.
It was Angus Forbes. Where he kept himself in the daytime I did notknow, but he seemed to emerge at night, like a rat, seeking what to himwas now food and drink. I watched him narrowly as he turned the corner,but there was no use in being too inquisitive. He was bound ascertainly for the gambling joint as a moth would have headed toward oneof the arc lights. Evidently Forbes was making a vocation of gambling.
Just then a taxicab pulled up hurriedly at the curb near where I wasstanding and a hand beckoned me, on the side away from the gamblinghouse.
I sauntered over and looked in through the open window. It was Garrickwith Dillon sunk back into the dark corner of the cab, so as not to beseen.
"Jump in!" whispered Garrick, opening the door. "We have the warrantall right. Has anything happened? No suspicion yet?"
I did so and reassured Garrick while the cab started on a blind cruisearound the block.
On the floor was a curiously heavy instrument, on which I had stubbedmy toe as I entered. I surmised that it must have been the thing whichGarrick had brought from his office, but in the darkness I could notsee what it was, nor was there a chance to ask a question.
"Stop here," ordered Garrick, as we passed a drug store with atelephone booth.
Dillon jumped out and disappeared into the booth.
"He is calling the reserves from the nearest station," fretted Garrick."Of course, we have to do that to cover the place, but we'll have towork quickly now, for I don't know how fast a tip may travel in thissubterranean region. Here, I'll pay the taxi charges now and save sometime."
A moment later Dillon rejoined us, his face perspiring from thecloseness of the air in the booth.
"Now to that place on Forty-eighth Street, and we're square," orderedGarrick to the driver, mentioning the address. "Quick!"
There had been, we could see, no chance for a tip to be given that araid was about to be pulled off. We could see that, as Garrick and Ijumped out of the cab and mounted the steps.
The door was closed to us, however. Only someone like Warrington whowas known there could have got us in peacefully, until we had becomeknown in the place. Yet though there had been no tip, the lookout onthe other side of the door, with his keen nose, had seemed to scenttrouble.
He had retreated and, we knew, had shut the inside, heavy door--perhapseven had had time already to give the alarm inside.
The sharp rap of a small axe which Garrick had brought sounded on theflimsy outside door, in quick staccato. There was a noise and scurry offeet inside and we could hear the locks and bolts being drawn.
Banging, ripping, tearing, the thin outer door was easily forced.Disregarding the melee I leaped through the wreckage with Garrick. The"ice-box" door barred all further progress. How was Garrick to surmountthis last and most formidable barrier?
"A raid! A raid!" cried a passer-by.
Another instant, and the cry, taken up by others, brought a crowdswarming around from Broadway, as if it were noon instead of midnight.
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