CHAPTER XI
THE GANGSTER'S GARAGE
"I have it," exclaimed Garrick, as we were retracing our steps upstairsfrom the dank darkness of the cellar. "I would be willing to wager thatthat tunnel runs back from this house to that pool-room for women whichwe visited on Forty-seventh Street, Marshall. That must be the secretexit. Don't you see, it could be used in either direction."
We climbed the stairs and stood again in the wreck of things, taking ahasty inventory of what was left, in hope of uncovering some new clew,even by chance.
Garrick shook his head mournfully.
"They had just time enough," he remarked, "to destroy about everythingthey wanted to and carry off the rest."
"All except the markers," I corrected.
"That was just a lucky chance," he returned. "Still, it throws aninteresting sidelight on the case."
"It doesn't add much in my estimation to the character of Forbes," Iventured, voicing my own suspicions.
The telephone bell rang before Garrick had a chance to reply. Evidentlyin their haste they had not had time to cut the wires or to spread thenews, yet, of the raid. Someone who knew nothing of what had happenedwas calling up.
Garrick quickly unhooked the receiver, with a hasty motion to us toremain silent.
"Hello," we heard him answer. "Yes, this is it. Who is this?"
He had disguised his voice. We waited anxiously and watched his face togather what response he received.
"The deuce!" he exclaimed, with his hand over the transmitter so thathis voice would not be heard at the other end.
"What's the matter?" I asked eagerly.
"Whoever he was," replied Garrick, "he was too keen for me. He caughton. There must have been some password or form that they used which wedon't know, for he hung up the receiver almost as soon as he heard me."
Garrick waited a minute or two. Then he whistled into, the transmitter.It was done apparently to see whether there was anyone listening. Butthere was no answer. The man was gone.
"Operator, operator!" Guy was calling, insistently moving the hook upand down rapidly. "Yes--I want Central. Central, can you tell me whatnumber that was which just called up?"
We all waited anxiously to learn whether the girl could find out or not.
"Bleecker seven--one--eight--o? Thank you very much. Give meinformation, please."
Again we waited as Garrick tried to trace the call out.
"Hello! What is the street address of Bleecker seven--one--eight--o?Three hundred West Sixth. Thank you. A garage? Good-bye."
"A garage?" echoed Dillon, his ears almost going up as he realized theimportance of the news.
"Yes," cried Garrick, himself excited. "Tom, call a cab. Let us hustledown there as quickly as we can."
"One of those garages on the lower West Side," I heard Dillon say as Ileft. "Perhaps they did work for the gambling joint--sent drunks home,got rid of tough customers and all that. You know already that thereare some pretty tough places down there. This is bully. I shouldn't besurprised if it gave us a line on the stealing of Warrington's car atlast."
I found a cab and Dillon and Garrick joined me in it.
"I tried to get McBirney," said Garrick as we prepared to start on ournew quest, "but he was out, and the night operator at his place didn'tseem to know where he was. But if they can locate him, I imagine he'llbe around at least shortly after we get there. I left the address."
Dillon had issued his final orders to his raiders about guarding theraided gambling joint and stationing a man at the door. A moment laterwe were off, threading our way through the crowd which in spite of thelate hour still lingered to gape at the place.
On the way down we speculated much on the possibility that we might begoing on a wild goose chase. But the very circumstances of the call andthe promptness with which the man who had called had seemed to sensewhen something was wrong and to ring off seemed to point to the factthat we had uncovered a good lead of some kind.
After a quick run downtown through the deserted avenues, we entered aseries of narrow and sinuous streets that wound through some prettytough looking neighborhoods. On the street corners were saloons thatdeserved no better name than common groggeries. They were all viciouslooking joints and uniformly seemed to violate the law about closing.The fact was that they impressed one as though it would be as much asone's life was worth even to enter them with respectable lookingclothes on.
The further we proceeded into the tortuous twists of streets that stampthe old Greenwich village with a character all its own, the worse itseemed to get. Decrepit relics of every style of architecture fromalmost the earliest times in the city stood out in the darkness, likeso many ghosts.
"Anyone who would run a garage down here," remarked Garrick, "deservesto be arrested on sight."
"Except possibly for commercial vehicles," I ventured, looking at thewarehouses here and there.
"There are no commercial vehicles out at this hour," added Garrickdryly.
At last our cab turned down a street that was particularly dark.
"This is it," announced Garrick, tapping on the glass for the driver tostop at the corner. "We had better get out and walk the rest of theway."
The garage which we sought proved to be nothing but an old brickstable. It was of such a character that even charity could not havesaid that it had seen much better days for generations. It was dark,evil looking. Except for a slinking figure here and there in thedistance the street about us was deserted. Even our footfalls echoedand Garrick warned us to tread softly. I longed for the big stick, thatwent with the other half of the phrase.
He paused a moment to observe the place. It was near the corner and adim-lighted Raines law saloon on the next cross street ran back almostsquarely to the stable walls, leaving a narrow yard. Apparently thegarage itself had been closed for the night, if, indeed, it was everregularly open. Anyone who wanted to use it must have carried a key, Isurmised.
We crossed over stealthily. Garrick put his ear to an ordinary sizeddoor which had been cut out of the big double swinging doors of thestable, and listened.
Not a sound.
Dillon, with the instinct of the roundsman in him still, tried thehandle of the door gently. To our surprise it moved. I could notbelieve that anyone could have gone away and left it open, trustingthat the place would not be looted by the neighbours before hereturned. I felt instinctively that there must be somebody there, inspite of the darkness.
The commissioner pushed in, however, followed closely by both of us,prepared for an on-rush or a hand-to-hand struggle with anything, manor beast.
A quick succession of shots greeted us. I do not recall feeling theslightest sensation of pain, but with a sickening dizziness in the headI can just vaguely remember that I sank down on the oil and grease ofthe floor. I did not fall. It seemed as if I had time to catch myselfand save, perhaps, a fractured skull. But then it was all blank.
It seemed an age, though it could not have been more than ten minuteslater when I came to. I felt an awful, choking sensation in my throatwhich was dry and parched. My lungs seemed to rasp my very ribs, as Istruggled for breath. Garrick was bending anxiously over me, himselfpale and gasping yet. The air was reeking with a smell that I did notunderstand.
"Thank heaven, you're all right," he exclaimed, with much relief, as hehelped me struggle up on my feet. My head was still in a whirl as heassisted me over to a cushioned seat in one of the automobiles standingthere. "Now I'll go back to Dillon," he added, out of breath from thesuperhuman efforts he was putting forth both for us and to keep himselftogether. "Wh--what's the matter? What happened?" I gasped, grippingthe back of the cushion to steady myself. "Am I wounded? Where was Ihit? I--I don't feel anything--but, oh, my head and throat!"
I glanced over at Dillon. He was pale and white as a ghost, but I couldsee that he was breathing, though with difficulty. In the glare of theheadlight of a car which Garrick had turned on him, he looked ghastly.I looked again to discover traces of b
lood. But there was none anywhere.
"We were all put out of business," muttered Garrick, as he worked overDillon. Dillon opened his eyes blankly at last, then struggled up tohis feet. "You got it worst, commissioner," remarked Garrick to him."You were closest."
"Got what?" he sputtered, "Was closest to what?"
We were all still choking over the peculiar odor in the fetid air aboutus.
"The bulletless gun," replied Garrick.
Dillon looked at him a moment incredulously, in spite even of histrying physical condition.
"It is a German invention," Garrick went on to explain, clearing histhroat, "and shoots, instead of bullets, a stupefying gas whichtemporarily blinds and chokes its victims. The fellow who was in heredidn't shoot bullets at us. He evidently didn't care about adding anymore crimes to his list just now. Perhaps he thought that if he killedany of us there would be too much of a row. I'm glad it was as it was,anyway. He got us all, this way, before we knew it. Perhaps that wasthe reason he used the gun, for if he had shot one of us with a pistolI had my own automatic ready myself to blaze away. This way he got me,too.
"A stupefying gun!" repeated Dillon. "I should say so. I don't knowwhat happened--yet," he added, blinking.
"I came to first," went on Garrick, now busily looking about, as wewere all recovered. "I found that none of us was wounded, and so Iguessed what had happened. However, while we were unconscious thevillain, whoever he was, succeeded in running his car out of the garageand getting away. He locked the door after him, but I have managed towork it open again."
Garrick was now examining the floor of the garage, turning theheadlight of the machine as much as he could on successive parts of thefloor.
"By George, Tom," he exclaimed to me suddenly, "see those marks in thegrease? Do you recognize them by this time? It is the same tire-markagain--Warrington's car--without a doubt!"
Dillon had taken the photographs which Garrick had made several daysbefore from the prints left by the side of the road in New Jersey, andwas comparing them himself with the marks on the floor of the garage,while Garrick explained them to him hurriedly, as he had already doneto me.
"We are getting closer to him, every time,'" remarked Garrick. "Even ifhe did get away, we are on the trail and know that it is the right one.He could not have been at the gambling joint, or he would never havecalled up. Yet he must have known all about it. This has turned outbetter than I expected. I suppose you don't feel so, but you must thinkso."
It was difficult not to catch the contagion of Garrick's enthusiasm.Dillon grunted assent.
"This garage," he put in, looking it over critically, "must act as afence for stolen cars and parts of cars. See, there over in the corneris the stuff for painting new license numbers. Here's enough materialto rebuild a half dozen cars. Yes, this is one of the places that oughtto interest you and McBirney, Garrick. I'll bet the fellow who ownsthis place is one of those who'd engage to sell you a second-hand carof any make you wanted to name. Then he'd go out on the street and huntaround until he got one. Of course, we'll find out his name, but I'llwager that when we get the nominal owner we won't be able to extract athing from him in the way of actual facts."
Garrick had continued his examination of the floor. In a corner, nearthe back, he had picked up an empty shell of a cartridge. He held itdown in the light of the car, and examined it long and carefully. As heturned it over and over he seemed to be carefully considering it.Finally, he dropped it carefully into his inside vest pocket, as thoughit were a rare treasure.
"As I said at the start," quoted Garrick, turning to me, "we might geta conviction merely on these cartridges. Anyhow, our man has escapedfrom here. You can be sure that he won't come back--perhapsnever--certainly not at least for a long time, until he figures thatthis thing has completely blown over."
"I'm going to keep my eye on the place, just the same," stoutlyinsisted Dillon.
"Of course, by all means," reiterated Garrick. "The fact is, I expectour next important clew will come from this place. The only thing Iwant you to be careful of, Dillon, is not to be hasty and make anarrest."
"Not make an arrest?" queried Dillon, who still felt the fumes in histhroat, and evidently longed to make someone pay the price--at least bygiving him the satisfaction of conducting a "third degree" down atheadquarters.
"No. You won't get the right man, and you may lose one who pointsstraight at him. Take my advice. Watch the place. There's more to begained by going at it cautiously. These people understand the oldhammer-and-tongs game."
Just then the smaller outside door grated on its rusty hinges. Wesprang to our feet, startled. Dillon leaped forward. Stupefying gunshad no taming effect on his nationality.
"Well, commish, is that the way you greet an old friend?" laughedMcBirney, as a threatened strangle-hold was narrowly averted and turnedinto a handshake. "How are you fellows? I got your message, Garrick,and thought I'd drop around. What's the matter? You all look as ifyou'd been drawn through a wringer."
Briefly, to the accompaniment of many expressions of astonishment fromthe insurance detective, Garrick related what had happened, from theraid to the gas-gun.
"Well," gasped McBirney, sniffing the remains of the gas in the air,"this is some place, isn't it? Neat, cozy, well-located--for amurder--hello!--that's that ninety horsepower Despard that was stolenfrom Murdock the other day, or I'll eat my hat."
He had raised the hood and was straining his eyes to catch a glimpse ofthe maker's number on the engine, which had been all but obliterated bya few judicious blows of a hammer.
Garrick was busy telling McBirney also about the marks of the tire onthe floor, as the detective looked over one car after another, as if hehad unearthed a veritable treasure-trove.
"No, your man could not have been at either of the gambling joints,"agreed McBirney, as Garrick finished, "or he wouldn't have called up.But he must have known them intimately. Perhaps he was in the pay ofsomeone there."
McBirney was much interested in what had been discovered, and wastrying to piece it together with what we had known before. "I wonderwhether he's the short fellow who drove the car when it was seen upthere, or the big fellow who was in the car when Warrington was shot,up-state?"
The question was, as yet, unanswerable. None of us had been able tocatch a glimpse of his figure, muffled, in the darkness when he shot us.
All we knew was that even this man was unidentified and at large. Themurderer, desperate as he was, was still free and unknown, too. Werethey one and the same? What might not either one do next?
We sat down in one of the stolen cars and held a midnight council ofwar. There were four of us, and that meant four different plans. Dillonwas for immediate and wholesale arrests. McBirney was certain of onething. He would claim the cars he could identify. The garage peoplecould not help knowing now that we had been there, and we conceded thepoint to him with little argument, though it took great tact onGarrick's part to swing over Dillon.
"I'm for arresting the garage-keeper, whoever he proves to be,"persisted Dillon, however.
"It won't do any good," objected Garrick.
"Don't you see that it will be better to accept his story, or ratherseem to, and then watch him?"
"Watch him?" I asked, eager to propose my own plan of waiting there andseizing each person who presented himself. "How can you watch one ofthese fellows? They are as slippery as eels,--and as silent as amuffler," I added, taking good-humouredly the general laugh thatgreeted my mixed metaphor.
"You've suggested the precise idea, Marshall, by your very objection,"broke in Garrick, who up to this time had been silent as to his ownplan.
"I've a brand-new system of espionage. Trust it to me, and you can allhave your way."
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