CHAPTER XXV.

PHELAN MEETS HIS UNIFORM AGAIN.

About the time the Gladwin mansion was ringing with the shrill

staccato outbursts of Mrs. Elvira Burton, the owner of that luxurious

dwelling was leaning against the Central Park wall a few blocks away

engaged in earnest conversation with a small boy.

"You ought to be in bed," the young man was saying, severely, looking

down at the lad and noting how thinly he was clad and yet how little

he appeared to suffer from the sting of the chill night air.

"Bed nuttin'," responded the boy, curtly. "I'm lookin' fer me dog. Did

yez seen him go by--he's a t'oroughbred an' lost one ear battlin' with

a bull."

"Oh, so you're her brother, then," laughed Gladwin.

"Who's brudder?" asked the boy, suspiciously.

"May's," said Gladwin, "or I should say the brother of Miss May

Henny."

"Hully gee!" ejaculated the boy. "Did dat kid skin out too after me

an' the old man tellin' her to stay in bed an' shut up her bellerin?"

"Yes," said Gladwin, "and the young lady, with my aid, found the

valuable animal you are searching for--a black dog with a white spot

over the right eye and no tail."

"Hully gee!" cried the boy, ecstatically. "She found him, eh? Well,

who'd a-t'ought it, an' me lookin' fer him tree hours. Where did she

find him, officer? His name's Mike--named after me old man's boss what

bites nails."

"We found him in the park in company with a disreputable friend," said

Gladwin.

"A yaller mut?" asked the boy, with a contemptuous emphasis on the

_mut_. "Dat's the janitor's dog an' he's nottin' but a tramp. I wisht

he'd fall in de river an' get et by a catfish."

"I wouldn't wish him all that hard luck," laughed Gladwin, "for he had

a large bone he was sharing with Mike. I was watching them over the

park wall when May came along. I sent them all, and the bone, home in

a taxicab."

"In a which?" ejaculated the boy, while his eyes popped.

"In a taxi," said Gladwin, lightly.

"Aw, say," and the little chap's jaw fell, "now I know you're kiddin'.

Where'd May git the price of a taxi, an'"----

"Oh, I arranged all that," the uniformed mystery explained reassuringly,

"and if you'd like I'll call one for you. You look pretty tired. I guess

you've walked a good many miles on the trail of Mike."

The youngster tried to speak, but could not. The very thought of a

ride in a taxicab froze his brain. Gladwin took him by the hand and

led him to the curb.

"Now, would you prefer a yellow or a red one?" he asked. "There's all

kinds going by."

"Yaller," cried the boy. "I likes them best."

They had only a moment to wait, when one of the mystic yellow hue

cruised round a corner and came toward them. Gladwin hailed it and the

chauffeur stopped with a wondering look at the pair.

Gladwin had a bill ready in his hand and passed it up to the

chauffeur.

"Take this boy over to No. 287 East Eightieth street," commanded

Gladwin, "and whatever you've got left out of the tenspot above what

the meter registers, split the change with the boy. And as for you

son, patting the urchin on the head, you keep your eye peeled on the

meter."

"Gee! Will I?" responded the boy, and as Gladwin opened the door he

hopped in and took up a perch where he could best observe the

fascinating operations of the register.

The chauffeur, a bullet-headed, cross-eyed individual, squinted at the

bill half a dozen times before he stowed it away in his pocket and set

the meter. Then he made a swift, fierce scrutiny of Travers Gladwin's

face, shook his head, swallowed a mouthful of oaths, threw in the

clutch and spurted diagonally for the cross street.

As he vanished, the uniformed similitude of Officer 666 consulted his

watch, made out that it was almost 10.30 and strode rapidly in the

direction of his home. He wore a smile that was fairly refulgent.

"Wouldn't have missed this night patrol for a hundred thousand," he

said inwardly--"and they say that the life of a patrolman is a

monotonous drudgery."

Arriving at the stoop of his home he reconnoitered the avenue in both

directions and then looked up at the black windows of the house. A

sudden lull had come upon the neighborhood and there seemed not a soul

stirring. He sped lightly up the stoop and let himself in. He was

surprised to find the lights burning brilliantly in the drawing-room

and no sign of Barnes. The heavy curtains, he saw, were carefully

arranged to prevent the merest ray of light from showing outside. He

took the further precaution, however, of turning off all but the

single globe in one lamp.

He speculated on the disappearance of Barnes until he heard a stealthy

step approaching through the corridor that led to the kitchen. Without

noise he glided to the window and concealed himself behind the

curtains.

He had scarcely hidden himself when the hinged panel that answered for

a door opened slowly and the countenance of Michael Phelan protruded

itself into the room. The Phelan shoulders and embonpoint, still in

negligee, followed. Taking a cautious step forward he uttered behind

his hand:

"Pst! Pst! Hey, youse there!"

There was no answer, and Phelan worked his head round like a wary

weazel, muttering:

"Who was that woman, I wonder? She must have took that Slim Jim away

with her. Musha! Musha! If they should call the police. Bad cess to

that feller an' his five hundred dollar bill. Murther! Murther! I'm

done fer!"

Travers Gladwin had stepped out of the folds of the curtain.

"Hey, there!" he blurted. "What are youse up to?"

"Howly Saint Pathrick! I'm gone now, sure!" groaned Phelan, and

trembled where he stood.

"Come, come, Officer 666," laughed Gladwin, "I'm only your ghost."

Phelan exhaled a tremendous sigh of relief.

"The Lord be praised if it ain't yez!" he exclaimed, delightedly. "But

where did ye get that disguise?"

"At a hair store--Madam Flynn's on Avenue A--do you like it?" laughed

the young man. "I didn't want any of my friends or neighbors to

recognize me, you know."

"But fer the love o' heaven where have yez been all the time?" asked

Phelan, sinking into a chair and breathing hard.

"Patrolling my beat--I mean your beat," returned the young man, "and

keeping my eye out for my friend the burglar. Oh, I've had quite a

party. When I got hungry I sent to the Plaza for lunch and sat on the

park wall and ate it. And, by the way, I saw a friend of mine coming

along in an automobile and I arrested him for speeding."

"What!" Phelan exploded, jumping to his feet and turning white as his

boiled shirt.

"Yes, nabbed him for breaking the speed limit," Gladwin nodded,

leaning back against a table and lighting a cigarette.

"Fer, fer, fer breakin' the speed limit; fer, fer--yez made an

arrest?"

"Exactly! He was going so slow he deserved to be arrested, and what's

more, he was making love to a pretty girl without shame. I got in and

told him to drive me to the station."

Phelan threw up his hands with a groan.

"An' did yez take him to the station?"

"How could I?" chuckled Gladwin. "I didn't know where it was--that is,

your station--so I told him most any would do. We rode about a bit and

as he didn't seem anxious to be locked up, I compromised for fifty

dollars. It was really quite simple, Phelan, and if I'd only had more

time I might have got back that five hundred."

[Illustration: "GIVE ME ME UNIFORM AN' LET ME GIT OUT OF HERE."]

"You've lost me me job--that's what you've done!" moaned Phelan, while

his brain reeled with pictures of police headquarters, trial rooms and

ruthless commissioners. "Come, give me me uniform," he cried, with a

sudden accession of passion.

"What's that?" asked the young man, quickly, his grin vanishing.

"Me uniform!" rasped Phelan, with a rush toward the young man. "Give

me me uniform an' let me git out of here."

Gladwin dodged around the table, protesting:

"No, no--not yet. The burglar--that is, my friend--will be here any

moment."

"Your friend?" Phelan stopped, again a prey to bewilderment.

"Yes, yes--I explained all that before. The one I'm playing the joke

on. You don't suppose I'm going to take it off now, do you?"

"Yez can bet your life, yez are," roared Phelan, with another savage

rush round the table. "I've had enough of this, an' too much!"

"Now, just a minute," pleaded Gladwin. "I assure you everything is all

right, and I'm not going to leave the house again. If anything happens

so you need your uniform I'll be right here where you can get it. I'm

not going to leave the house. Tell me, where's Barnes?"

"Who?" said Phelan, more calmly, and pausing in his pursuit.

"My friend--the one I left here."

"I dunno--there was a ring at the bell here a while ago and in come a

wild woman and"----

"Great Scott! I hope my friend wasn't scared off! If that fellow was

to meet her here at 10.30--why, it's after that now!"

"Here! Phelan, quick--help me put these covers on the chairs and

things. Over there in the corner, back of the chest. He mustn't know

that anybody's been here. Hurry, man; hurry! we haven't a second to

spare."

Phelan submitted to the breathless commands as if he were hypnotized,

puffing and blowing like a porpoise as he struggled to slip the linen

covers over the chairs. Gladwin worked at top speed, too; and just as

he was covering the great chest he gave a start and held up his hand.

"Sh!" he whispered. "There's a motor stopping outside. You go down

into the kitchen and be ready to come up if you hear me whistle."

"But ye'll promise yez won't leave the house with them clothes,"

gasped Phelan.

"No, no--certainly not. Be quick now--I'll switch off this light and

step out on the balcony. Close that door tight after you and be sure

you switch out the lights in the back hall."

Gladwin only waited for the disappearance of Phelan and the soft

closing of the door when he plunged the room into darkness. He could

hear the click of a key in the front door lock as he groped his way to

the window curtains and pressed back into the semi-circular recess

that led out onto a window balcony. As he did so he unlatched the

heavily grilled balcony window, drew out his penknife and slit a

peephole in the curtain.