CHAPTER XXXVIII.
KEARNEY MEETS HIS MATCH.
There was no turning Whitney Barnes away with a soft answer. His
appeals for admission were rising to a strident pitch when his friend
opened the door and yanked him in.
"Have you seen him?" demanded Barnes, looking about wildly.
"No," Gladwin returned. "I think he escaped."
"Oh, I don't mean the robber Johnny," complained Barnes, shaking out
his handcuffed wrists. "I mean the damned idiot who locked these
things on me."
"He's searching the house," said Gladwin, smiling at his friend's
tragic earnestness.
Detective Kearney came into the room alert as a race horse.
"We've been through the house from cellar to roof," he spat out while
his eyes searched every corner of the room.
"I say--look here," said Barnes, "can you unlock me?"
"No!" Kearney would not even look at him.
"Confound it, somebody ought to unlock me!" exclaimed the frantic
Barnes. "This is the most annoying position I was ever in in my life.
My valet even couldn't undress me with these things on."
"What's out that way?" asked Kearney, pointing to the panel door that
opened upon the backstairs hallway.
"Kitchen," said Gladwin, going to the door and opening it.
"Oh, yes," said Kearney, "the captain's back there?"
"But look here, detective," cried Barnes again, "who was that
inordinate ass who locked me up?"
"Ryan!" said Kearney, freezing a smile as it formed on his lips.
"Where is he?"
"On the roof."
"What the deuce is he doing on the roof?"
"Searching it."
"Well," stormed Barnes, "I'll go up there and if he don't unlock me
I'll push him off."
He dashed out of the room and up the stairs.
"Funny thing where that man got to, Mr. Gladwin," mused the Central
Office man, with a keen glance from under his heavy eyebrows.
"Yes, those chaps are clever, aren't they?" returned the young man
with affected unconcern. "I suppose he's miles away by this time."
"I don't think he's gone very far," rejoined Kearney, his voice
bristling with suspicion. "He couldn't have got away without the men
outside seeing him. We've got the block surrounded now. He's here in
this house, Mr. Gladwin--I guess you know that."
"I don't know anything of the kind," Gladwin denied, with a trifle too
much emphasis. A policeman appeared in the doorway and Kearney called
to him, "Ryan, I thought you were on the roof."
"Sergeant Burke sent me down," responded Ryan. "We've got the roofs
covered both way."
"Did you see the man you put the bracelets on?" asked Kearney.
"No," replied Ryan, "but I heard a lot of noise going up one of the
back stairways."
"You better go and find him," urged Travers Gladwin. "He's in an awful
state."
"No," countermanded Kearney, "never mind him now."
"But you're wasting time here," persisted Gladwin. "I can look after
this room."
"_Oh, no, you can't!_" Kearney flashed back.
"Why not?"
"Because you're under arrest. I was after you when I happened to find
the other fellow. I haven't any idea you'll try and escape, Mr.
Gladwin, but a warrant is a warrant and duty's duty."
"But that warrant wasn't meant for me."
"No?"
Kearney's eyes widened with surprise. "Was the girl running off with
that crook?" he asked quickly.
"No," Gladwin corrected, realizing his break.
"Then you better go along with Ryan. Ryan, you take him upstairs and
sit by him till I send for you."
"See here," the young man began to splutter as the giant Ryan seized
him and walked him on air out of the room and up the stairs.
Kearney went to the folding doors and shut them.
"He's in this room somewhere," muttered the detective, going to the
portières that curtained the window leading out to the balcony.
He was almost touching Wilson when the latter suddenly enveloped him
in the portière he had wrapped around himself and hurled the big
detective to the floor. As Kearney was untangling himself Wilson
darted between the portières, glanced out the window and saw that a
leap from the balcony would land him in the arms of three patrolmen.
He shook open the window and then shrank back into the far corner of
the embrasure.
Kearney was on his feet again and sprang out to the balcony.
"He came out this way," he yelled to the men below. "Did he jump
off?"
Kearney darted back into the room, looked everywhere, ran to the
folding doors and flung them open. Then he looked back at the panel
door, noticed that it was ajar and dived for it.
"He's hiding somewhere in this black alley," he said with an oath, and
disappeared.
A moment later Wilson peeked out and re-entered the room. He had
scarcely left his place of concealment when Officer No. 666 burst in.
"Oh, there ye are, Mr. Gladwin!" said Phelan, with a lovely grin.
"Yes, I'm here," nodded Wilson.
"I just come back with another bunch of cops," said Phelan, "but I
hear the crook got away. He's a smooth snake fer ye."
"No, I think he's still in the house," laughed Wilson, "and I'd like
to have you get the credit of catching him, Phelan. You go outside and
report to the captain, then come back here. Maybe I can help you find
him."
"Thank ye, sorr," said Phelan, obeying the suggestion.
"Here comes another one," breathed the thief, hearing a heavy tread
and crossing the room to the big ornamental fireplace which had never
known a spark or speck of soot. There was a mammoth opening in the
chimney and Wilson vanished up it as Kearney plunged back into the
room.
As the detective entered through the panel door, Watkins in full
chauffeur regalia appeared from the hallway.
"Well, who sent you?" Kearney pounced on him.
"I don't know," Watkins returned. "Some man--Gladwin, I think, is the
name. I was sent here for a lady."
"Well, you sit out in the hall and wait," snapped Kearney, who again
proceeded to explore the room, muttering and cursing.
The voice of Travers Gladwin in heated argument upstairs with Officer
Ryan became audible.
"I'll settle that fresh kid!" Kearney ejaculated, and made a break for
the stairs.
His departure was Wilson's cue to let himself down from the chimney.
He signalled Watkins, who was sitting in the hall. Watkins glided in.
"By George!" exclaimed Wilson, "we are going it some in here. You
certainly are taking big chances butting in. I didn't think you had
the nerve. It's a hundred to one against me, but I've beaten bigger
odds than that. You get up that chimney and I'll plant myself in the
chest. Quick, they're coming down again."
Watkins went up the chimney with the sinuous speed of a snake, and the
picture expert went into the chest with the agility of a wolf spider
ducking into its trap.
They were coming from all directions this time--Gladwin down the
stairs, about fourteen jumps ahead of Kearney, proclaiming that he
would telephone his lawyer and that he could put up $5,000,000 in
bonds for bail if need be. Phelan was coming through the front door
and Captain Stone through the hallway from the kitchen.
Glimpsing Gladwin, Phelan made a flying dive for him, yelling, "I got
him! I got him!"
They rolled on the floor in a heap.
"Have you got him, Phelan?" cried Captain Stone, rushing through the
room and into the hallway.
"I have, sorr," responded Phelan, proudly, getting to his feet and
pulling up his captive.
"What the devil's this," bawled Captain Stone, recognizing Gladwin.
"The thief, sorr," responded Phelan.
"The thief, hell! That's Mr. Gladwin!"
"W-w-w-what?" stuttered Phelan. Once again he entered into a condition
of complete mental paralysis.
"Has he hurt you, sir?" asked the captain, solicitously, noticing that
Gladwin's face was writhing.
"Nothing mortal," winced the young man.
"What's the matter with you, Phelan," the captain jumped on him. "Have
you been drunk to-day?"
"No, sorr," gurgled Phelan, "I"----
"Don't try to stop me, officer, I've come for my niece," crashed the
shrill voice of Mrs. Elvira Burton. She had seized a dramatic moment
for her re-entry.