CHAPTER XXXVI

Larry caught and whirled around Barney Palmer just as the hand of the

escaping Barney was on the knob of the outer door.

“No, you don't, Barney Palmer!” he cried. “You stay right here!”

Startled as Barney was by this appearance of his dearest enemy, he

wasted no precious time on mere words. He swung a vicious blow at Larry,

intended to remove this barrier to his freedom. But the experienced

Larry let it glance off his forearm, and with the need of an

instantaneous conclusion he sent a terrific right to Barney's chin.

Barney staggered back, fell in a crumpled heap, and lay motionless.

Sparing only the fraction of a second to see that Barney was momentarily

out of it, Larry sprang upon Joe Ellison and tried to break the deadly

grips Joe held upon Old Jimmie.

“Stop, Joe--stop!” he cried peremptorily. “Your killing Jimmie Carlisle

isn't going to help things!”

Without relaxing his holds, Joe turned upon this interferer.

“Larry Brainard! How'd you come in here?”

“I've been here all the time. But, Joe--don't kill Jimmie Carlisle!”

“You keep out--this is my business!” Joe fiercely replied. “If you've

been here all the time, then you know what he's done to me, and what

he's done to my girl! You know he deserves to have his neck twisted

off--and I'm going to twist it off!”

Larry perceived that Joe's sense of tremendous injury had made him for

the moment a madman in his rage. Only the most powerful appeal had a

chance to bring him back to sanity.

“Listen, Joe--listen!” he cried desperately, straining to hold back the

other's furious strength from its destructive purpose. “After what's

happened, every one is bound to know that Maggie is your daughter!

Understand that, Joe?--every one will know that Maggie is your daughter!

It's not going to help you to be charged with murder. And think of

this, Joe--what's it going to do to your daughter to have her father a

murderer?”

“What's that?” Joe Ellison asked dazedly.

Larry saw that his point had penetrated to the other's reason. So he

drove on, repeating what he had said.

“Understand this, Joe?--every one will now know that Maggie is your

daughter! You simply can't prevent their knowing that now! Remember how

for over fifteen years you've been trying to do the best you could for

her! Do you now want to do the worst thing you can do? The worst thing

you can do for Maggie is to make her father a murderer!”

“I guess that's right Larry,” he said huskily. “Thanks.”

He pushed the half-strangled Jimmie Carlisle away from him. “You'll get

yours in some other way!” he said grimly.

Old Jimmie, staggering, caught the back of a chair for support. He

tenderly felt his throat and blinked at Larry and Joe and Maggie. He

did not try to say anything. In the meantime Barney had recovered

consciousness, had struggled up, and was standing near Old Jimmie.

Their recognition that they were sharers of defeat had served to restore

something of the sense of alliance between the two.

“Well, anyhow, Larry Brainard,” snarled Barney, “you haven't had

anything to do with putting this across!”

It was Joe Ellison who replied. “Larry Brainard has had everything to

do with putting this across. He's been beating you all the time from the

very beginning, though you may not have known it. And though he's seemed

to be out of things for the last few hours, he's been the actual power

behind everything that's happened up to this minute. So don't fool

yourself--Larry Brainard has beaten you out at every point!”

A sense of triumph glowed within Larry at this. There had been a time

when he had wanted the animal satisfaction which would have come from

his giving violent physical punishment to these two--particularly to

Barney. But he had no desire now for such empty vengeance.

“Well, I guess you've got nothing on me,” Barney growled at them, “so

I'll be moving along. Better come, too, Jimmie.”

While he spoke a figure had moved from Larry's closet with the silence

of a swift shadow. It's thin hand gripped Barney's shoulder.

“I guess _I've_ got something on you!” it said.

Barney whirled. “Red Hannigan!” he gasped.

“Yes, Red Hannigan!--you stool--you squealer!” said Red Hannigan. “I

heard you brag about being Barlow's stool, and I heard everything else

you bragged about to Joe Ellison's girl. I'd bump you off right now if

I had my gat with me and if I had any chance at a get-away. But I'll

be looking after you, and the gang will be looking after you, till you

die--the same as you set us after Larry Brainard! No matter what else

happens to you, you'll always have that as something extra waiting for

you! And when the time comes, we'll get you!”

As silently as he had appeared from the closet, as silently he let

himself out of the room. The glowering features of Barney had faded to

a pasty white while Hannigan had spoken, and now the hand which tried to

bring a handkerchief to his lips shook so that he could hardly find his

face. For none knew so well as Barney Palmer how inescapable was this

thing which would be hanging over him until the end of his days.

Before any one in the room could speak there came a loud pounding from

within the door of the closet Larry and Red Hannigan had not occupied.

“Oh, I'd completely forgotten!” exclaimed Maggie--and indeed she had

forgotten all that was not immediately connected with the situation

created by her father's unexpected entrance. She crossed and unlocked

the door, and Barlow stepped out.

“Chief Barlow!” exclaimed the astonished Larry, and all the other men

gazed at the Chief of Detectives with an equal surprise.

“He is part of my frame-up,” Maggie explained at large. “I wanted both

the police and Larry's old friends to know the truth at first hand--and

clear him before I went away.”

“Wasn't that Red Hannigan who just spoke?” were Barlow's first words.

“Yes,” said Larry.

Barney, and Old Jimmie as well, had perked up at the appearance of

Barlow, as though at aid which had come just in time. But Barlow turned

upon Barney a cold police eye.

“I heard you brag that you were my stool. That's a lie.”

“Why--why--Chief--” Barney stammered. He had counted upon help here,

where there had existed mutually advantageous relations for so long.

“I heard you say you had my protection. That's another lie. You've

squealed on a few people, but I've never given you a thing.”

Barney gasped at this. He knew, as every one in the room also knew,

that Barlow was lying. But Barlow held all the cards. Rough and ruthless

police politician that he was, he made it his business always to hold

the highest cards. As sick of soul as a man can be, Barney realized that

Barlow was doing exactly what Barlow always did--was swinging to the

side that had the most evidence and that would prove most advantageous

to him. And Barney realized that he was suffering the appointed fate

of all stool-pigeons who are found out by their fellow criminals to be

stool-pigeons. Such informers are of no further use, and according to

the police code they must be given punishment so severe as to dissipate

any unhealthy belief on the public's part that there could ever have

been any alliance between the two.

“I've used this young lady who seems to have been Jimmie Carlisle's

daughter and now seems to be the daughter of this old-timer Joe Ellison,

for a little private sleuthing on my own hook,” Barlow went on--for it

was the instinct of the man to claim the conception and leadership

of any idea in whose development he had a part. He spoke in a brusque

tone--as why should he not, since he was addressing an audience he

lumped together as just so many crooks? “Through this little stunt I

pulled to-night, I've got on to your curves, Barney Palmer. And yours,

too, Jimmie Carlisle. And I'm going to run the pair of you in.”

This was too much for Barney Palmer. Even though he knew that his

position as a stool, who was known to be a stool, was without hope

whatever, he went utterly to pieces.

“For God's sake, Chief,” he burst out frantically, “you're not going to

treat me like that! You could get me out of this easy! Think of all I've

done for you! For God's sake, Chief--for God's sake--”

“Shut up!” ordered Barlow, doubling a big fist.

Chokingly Barney obeyed. Old Jimmie, coward though he was, and lacking

entirely Barney's quality of a bravo, had accepted the situation with

the twitching calm of one to whom the worst has often happened. “Shut

up,” repeated Barlow, “and get it fixed in your beans that I'm going to

run you two in.”

“Run them in because of this Sherwood affair?” asked Larry.

“Surest thing you know. I've got all the evidence I seed.”

“But--” Larry was beginning protestingly, when the doorbell rang again.

Maggie opened the door, and there entered Miss Sherwood, with Hunt just

behind her, and Dick just behind him, and Casey and Gavegan following

these three. All in the room were surprised at this invasion with the

sole exception of Joe Ellison.

“When Mr. Dick spoke over the 'phone about your coming,” he said to Miss

Sherwood, “I asked you not to do it.”

Barlow was prompt to speak, and the sudden change in his voice would

have been amazing to those who do not know how the little great men

of the Police Department, and other little great men, can alter their

tones. He had recognized Miss Sherwood at once, as would any one else at

all acquainted with influential New York.

“Miss Sherwood, I believe,” he said, essaying a slight bow.

“Yes. Though I fear I have not the pleasure of knowing you.”

“Deputy Barlow, head of the Detective Bureau of the Police Department,”

he informed her. “Entirely at your service.”

“Just what is going on here?” she queried. “I know a part of what

has happened”--she was addressing herself particularly to Maggie and

Larry--“for Dick telephoned me about seven, and I came right into town.

He told me everything he knew--which threw a different light on a lot

of events--and Dick telephoned at about nine that I was coming over. But

something more seems to have happened.”

“Miss Sherwood, it's like--” began Barlow.

“Just a second, Chief,” Larry interrupted. Larry knew what a sensational

story this would be as it had developed--and he knew in advance just how

it would be seized upon and played up by the newspapers. And Larry did

not want unpleasant publicity for his friends (three in that room were

trying to make a fresh start in life), nor for those who had been his

friends. “Chief, do you want to make an arrest on a charge which will

involve every person in this room in a sensational story? Of course I

know most of us here don't weigh anything with you. But why drag Miss

Sherwood, who is innocent in every way, into a criminal story that will

serve to cheapen her and every decent person involved? Besides, it can

only be a conspiracy charge, and there's more than a probability that

you can't prove your case. So why make an arrest that will drag in Miss

Sherwood?”

Barlow had a mind which functioned with amazing rapidity on matters

pertaining to his own interest. He realized on the instant how it might

count for him in the future if he were in a position to ask a favor of a

person of Miss Sherwood's standing; and he spoke without hesitation:

“I don't know anything about this Sherwood matter. If anyone ever asks

me, they'll not get a word.”

There was swift relief on the faces of Barney and Old Jimmie; to be

instantly dispelled by Chief Barlow's next statement which followed his

last with only a pause for breath:

“The main thing we want is to stick these two crooks away.” He turned on

Barney and Old Jimmie. “I've just learned you two fellows are the birds

I want for that Gregory stock business. I've got you for fair on that.

It'll hold you a hundred times tighter than any conspiracy charge.

Casey, Gavegan--hustle these two crooks out of here.”

The next moment Casey and Gavegan had handcuffs on the prisoners and

were leading them out.

“Good for you, Larry,” Casey whispered warmly as he went by with Barney.

“I knew you were going to win out, though it might be an extra-inning

game!”

At the door Barlow paused. “I hope I've done everything all right, Miss

Sherwood?”

“Yes--as far as I know, Mr. Barlow.”

Again Barlow started out, and again turned. “And you, Brainard,” he

said, rather grudgingly, “I guess you needn't worry any about that

charge against you. It'll be dropped.”

And with that Barlow followed his men and his prisoners out of the room.

Then for a moment there was silence. As Larry saw and felt that moment,

it was a moment so large that words would only make a faltering failure

in trying to express it. He himself was suddenly free of all clouds

and all dangers. He had succeeded in what he had been trying to do with

Maggie. A father and a daughter were meeting, with each knowing their

relationship, for the first time. There was so much to be said, among

all of them, that could only be said as souls relaxed and got acquainted

with each other.

It was so strained, so stupendous a moment that it would quickly have

become awkward and anti-climacteric but for the tact of Miss Sherwood.

“Mr. Brainard,” she began, in her smiling, direct manner, with a touch

of brisk commonplace in it which helped relieve the tension, “I want

to apologize to you for the way I treated you late this afternoon. As I

said, I've just had a talk with Dick and he's told me everything--except

some things we may all have to tell each other later. I was entirely

in the wrong, and you were entirely in the right. And the way you've

handled things seems to have given Dick just that shock which you said

he needed to awaken him to be the man it's in him to be. I'm sure we all

congratulate you.”

She gave Larry no chance to respond. She knew the danger, in such an

emotional crisis as this, of any let-up. So she went right on in her

brisk tone of ingratiating authority.

“I guess we've all been through too much to talk. You are all coming

right home with me. Mr. Brainard and Mr. Ellison live there, I'm their

boss, and they've got to come. And you've got to come, Miss Ellison, if

you don't want to offend me. I won't take 'no.' Besides, your place is

near your father. Wear what you have on; in a half a minute you can put

enough in a bag to last until to-morrow. To-morrow we'll send in for

the rest of your things--whatever you want--and send a note to your Miss

Grierson, paying her off. You and your father will have my car,” she

concluded, “Mr. Brainard and Dick will ride in Dick's car, and Mr. Hunt

will take me.”

And as she ordered, so was it.

For fifteen minutes--perhaps half an hour--after it rolled away from

the Grantham Hotel there was absolute stillness in Miss Sherwood's

limousine, which she had assigned to Maggie and her father. Maggie was

near emotional collapse from what she had been through; and now she

was sitting tight in one corner, away from the dark shadow in the other

corner that was her newly discovered father who had cared for her so

much that he had sought to erase from her mind all knowledge of his

existence. She wanted to say something--do something; she was torn with

a poignant hunger. But she was so filled with pulsing desires and fears

that she was impotent to express any of the million things within her.

And so they rode on, dark shadows, almost half the width of the deeply

cushioned seat between them. Thus they had ridden along Jackson Avenue,

almost into Flushing, when the silence was broken by the first words

of the journey. They were husky words, yearning and afraid of their own

sound, and were spoken by Maggie's father.

“I--I don't know what to call you. Will--will Maggie do?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I'm--I'm not much,” the husky voice ventured on; “but what you said

about going away--for my sake--do you think you need to do it?”

“I've made--such a mess of myself,” she choked out.

“Other people were to blame,” he said. “And out of it all, I think

you're going to be what--what I dreamed you were. And--and--”

There was another stifling silence. “Yes?” she prompted.

“I wanted to keep out of your life--for your sake,” he went on in his

strained, suppressed voice. “But--but if you're not ashamed of me

now that you know all”--in the darkness his groping hand closed upon

hers--“I wish you wouldn't--go away from me, Maggie.”

And then the surging, incoherent thing in her that bad been struggling

to say itself this last half-hour, suddenly found its voice in a single

word:

“Father!” she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.

“Maggie!” he sobbed, crushing her to him.

All the way to Cedar Crest they said not another word; just clung to

each other in the darkness, sobbing--the first miraculous embrace of

a father and daughter who had each found that which they had never

expected to have.