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Page 13
"All right. And hurry!" Thomas climbed in. He was safe.
As the crow flies it was less than a ten-minutes' jog from that corner
to Pier 60. Thomas had not gone far; he had merely covered a good deal
of ground. Cabby drove about for three-quarters of an hour and then
drew up before the pier.
Back to his cabin once more, weak as a swimmer who had breasted a
strong tide. He opened his trunk and rammed the chamois-bag into the
toe of one of his patent-leather boots. In the daytime he would wear
it about his neck, but each night back into the shoe it must go. He
flung himself on the bunk, not to sleep, but to think and wonder.
Meantime there was great excitement in the dive. The waiter was
rocking his body, wailing and holding his jaw. His companion was
sitting on the floor. In the wine-room two policemen and a thick-set,
black-mustached man in a derby hat were asking questions.
"Robbed!" moaned Jameson.
The man in the derby hat shook him roughly. "Robbed o' what, y' soak?"
"Robbed!"
"Mike," said the man in the derby, "put th' darbies on th' Sneak.
We'll get something for our trouble, anyhow. An' tell that waiter t'
put th' brakes on his yawp. Bring him in here. Now, you, what's
happened?"
"Why, the gink in uniform comes in . . ."
The bartender interrupted. "A gink dressed like a ship-steward comes
in an' orders ale. Drinks five glasses. Goes out int' th' wine-room
'cross th' hall an' orders a bottle o' gin. An' next I hears Johnny
howlin' murder. Frame-up, Mr. Haggerty. Nothin' t' do with it, hones'
t' Gawd! Th' boss ain't here."
Jameson lurched toward the bartender. "Young lookin'? Red cheeks?
'Old himself like a sojer?"
"That's 'im," agreed the bartender.
"What were y' robbed of?" demanded Haggerty.
Jameson looked into a pair of chilling blue eyes. His own wavered
drunkenly. "Money."
"Y' lie! What was it?" Haggerty seized Jameson by the collar and
swung him about. "Hurry up!"
"I tell you, my money. Paid off t'dy. 'E knew it. Sly." Jameson had
become almost sober. Out of the muddle one thing loomed clearly: he
could not be revenged upon his cabin-mate without getting himself into
deep trouble. Money; he'd stick to that.
"Who is he?"
"Name's Webb; firs'-class steward on th' _Celtic_. Damn 'im!"
"Lock this fool up till morning," said Haggerty. "I'll find out what
he's been robbed of."
"British subject!" roared Jameson.
"Not t'night. Take 'im away. Think I saw th' fellow running as I came
by. Yelled at him, but he could run some. Take 'im away. Something
fishy about this. I'll call on my friend Webb in th' morning. There
might be something in this."
And Haggerty paid his call promptly; only, Thomas saw him first. The
morning sun lighted up the rugged Irish face. Thomas not only saw him
but knew who he was, and in this he had the advantage of the encounter.
One of the first things a detective has to do is to surprise his man,
and then immediately begin to bullyrag and overbear him; pretend that
all is known, that the game is up. Nine times out of ten it serves,
for in the same ratio there is always a doubtful confederate who may
"peach" in order to save himself.
Thomas never stirred from his place against the rail. He drew on his
pipe and pretended to be stolidly interested in the sweating
stevedores, the hoist-booms and the brown coffee-bags.
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