The Victorian Villains Megapack (74 page)

The crux of the whole trouble, the thing that made it so dangerous was that Chicago Charlie had not always been so wise and so cautious as he now was. He had done some very foolish things at various and sundry times, with the result that the police had “mugged” him. If the thing got far enough for that to leak out He shuddered at the thought.

Presently Banker Harley arrived at a decision and reached for the telephone and called “Swaneetown twenty,” which was the police station. He even chuckled a little at the cleverness of his inspiration.

“Givney,” he said to the chief of police, “I want you to come over to the bank right away.”

Chief Givney came and lost no time about it; Harvey’s political machine had put him in office. The banker led Givney back to the private office and closed the door.

“Givney,” he grunted, “you want to continue to hold your job, don’t you?”

The chief, looking a bit frightened, nodded vigorously.

“Aw right, Givney, it’s up to you. You do what I say—and keep your mouth shut. Understand?” Again the chief nodded.

“Now, Givney, you listen to me, and do what I tell ycu; your job depends on it.”

Givney listened.

IV.

“Boss,” said The Early Bird as he and Mr. Clackworthy sat in the lobby of the Swaneetown House, “somethin’ seems t’ tell me that we ain’t gonna trim Chicago Charlie for so much as a solitary Lincoln. Le’s grab th’ rattler for th’ big burg.”

“Not for another day or so, James,” responded Mr. Clackworthy. “We must not accept defeat so easily; I will admit—”

He paused as a man sauntered up to them.

“Beg your pardon,” said the stranger. “You two fellows look as if time were hanging heavily on your hands, and I’m trying to drum up a little poker game. Oh, I’m not a professional; three of the boys are willing, but three-handed draw is a little like tiddlewinks, you know. Thought I’d invite you to sit in.”

Mr. Clackworthy gave the man a swift glance of appraisal; certainly he was not a professional card sharper, and besides he was himself no novice at the game. He liked poker, and it offered a welcomed opportunity to pass away a few hours.

“What do you say, James?” he asked of his coworker.

The Early Bird eagerly assented, for he was no slouch with the cards even in a professional game.

“I gotcha,” he said. “I’m gonna get th’ chance t’ make expenses on this trip anyhow. Lead th’ way.”

Mr. Clackworthy, however, became suddenly alert as he noted the look of satisfaction which flashed over the stranger’s face; he felt instinctively that there was something behind it. His curiosity overcame any cautious misgivings he felt. The stranger led the way upstairs and to one of the ordinary guest rooms. Presently two others joined the party and the game got under way. As poker games go, it was a rather tame business.

The five had been playing less than an hour when there was a rap at the door. One of the players got from his chair and turned back the key. Instantly the door was shoved open and Chief of Police Givney faced the five players in all of his official sternness.

“You’re pinched,” he announced, “for gamblin’. Line up there; as soon as I get this here evidence together we go down to th’ station.”

“Now don’t that beat the devil!” exclaimed The Early Bird. “Caught with th’ goods—an’ me winner enough t’ buy th’ tickets home!”

* * * *

Mr. Clackworthy knew that it was a frame-up; he and The Early Bird had been deliberately led into this game for the purpose of arrest but, as quick as he was at probing situations, he admitted that the motive proved too deep for him. The other three players took the matter cheerfully enough, as became true sports, and the journey was begun to the police station.

At the station all five were booked and motioned to a bench.

“I ain’t goin’ to lock you fellows up,” he explained. “I’ll take you over to the police magistrate. Want t’ call a lawyer? It ain’t much use; I got you with th’ evidence, an’ you’ll draw fines anyhow.”

The police magistrate’s office was directly across the street and, presently, Chief Givney led them thither.

The arraignment proceeded as is customary in such cases as Chief Givney formally presented his charge, displayed the evidence, and giving his details of his raid—made, he explained, when a guest in the adjoining room had notified him over the telephone that a game was in progress. Quite naturally the five prisoners had no defense.

The magistrate, a pompous man who took his judicial duties with great seriousness, glared down upon the five offenders.

“There’s been too much gamblin’ goin’ on in this town,” he declared with a nasal twang. “I’ve got to take harsh measures to stamp out this evil. Now, three of these prisoners is home boys, their faces is familiar. I fine these three”—and he read off their names—“ten dollars an’ costs.”

Promptly the three guilty men produced pocketbooks and paid their fines.

“And now,” went on the magistrate, “let’s see about these other two. Strangers in Swaneetown, huh? Professional gamblers, like as not.”

The Early Bird, enjoying the humor of the situation, shook his head; Mr. Clackworthy, likewise, denied the imputation that he was a professional gambler.

“You’d lie about it anyhow,” retorted the judge witheringly. “Now this man here has got a hard face—a hard face.” He pointed an accusing finger at The Early Bird. “He looks like a criminal t’ me.”

Chief Givney stared intently at James and simulated a start of surprise.

“Your honor,” he said, “you are right. This man is a criminal. I remember seein’ his picture in th’ rogue’s gallery in Chicago. I’ve got a good memory; I can even tell you his name. He give th’ name of Brown when I arrested him. His name’s James Early, alias Th’ Early Bird. He’s—a desprit character.”

The Early Bird’s face paled slightly at this sudden turn of events. Mr. Clackworthy, a police prisoner for the first time in his life, began to understand that Chicago Charlie was at the bottom of this; he had, of course, inspired the raid on the poker game and had supplied Givney with what was now ancient history concerning his coworker. But what was Chicago Charlie’s game? He could not quite fathom it.

“What have you to say for yourself?” the magistrate inquired crisply. The Early Bird floundered for a reply.

“I’ve pleaded guilty t’ gamblin’, ain’t I?” he demanded weakly. “I’m willin’ to fork up th’ coin for th’ fine. Ain’t that enough?”

“I haven’t indicated that I would let you off with a fine,” retorted the judge. “The penalty for this offense is a fine of not less than five dollars nor more than one hundred dollars, or a jail sentence of ninety days, or both. And don’t you talk back to this court! Have you got a police record?”

“I—I want a lawyer,” stammered The Early Bird. “I ain’t gettin’ an even break. I refuse to answer.”

“It’s too late for a lawyer now,” decreed the judge; “you’ve already pleaded guilty; you can’t even appeal from a plea of guilty. So you refuse to answer, eh? That means it’s so.

“You and this other prisoner here are together, huh? I guess you’re both crooks—you look it. If it wasn’t for puttin’ the county to th’ expense of feedin’ a couple of city crooks, I’d give you both the limit. We don’t want crooks like you in our town.

“I fine you each one hundred dollars and costs and three months in jail—and set aside the sentence, providin’ that you buy tickets to Chicago and that th’ chief of police sees you off on the four o’clock train. Call next case.”

The Early Bird breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn’t realized that a poker game could have such threateningly dangerous consequences. Mr. Clackworthy, however, refused to let the matter end there.

“If the court please,” he said calmly, “I deny your right to attempt to drive my friend and me from town in this fashion. I have a right to remain here, and I shall—even if it be in jail.”

The Early Bird stared at Mr. Clackworthy in horror.

“Boss!” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve gone off your onion! For th’ love of Pete!”

Mr. Clackworthy smiled cheerfully.

“Wake up, James!” he murmured. “Don’t you see through it? Chicago Charlie did this—he’s afraid of us! We’ve got him where we want him. He’s furnished me with a plan, and I think we’re going to collect, after all. I’ve never been in jail before, old dear, but I wouldn’t let Chicago Charlie get away with this—not for a year in jail.”

The judge, after sputtering for one speechless moment at Mr. Clackworthy’s surprising stand, found voice.

“Lock him up!” he ordered.

V.

The Early Bird, as he always did, bowed to Mr. Clackworthy’s wishes and, likewise, refused to shake the dust of Swaneetown from his new twenty-dollar patent-leather shoes. However, he was forlorn when he learned that he must bide his time to be taken into his master’s confidence as to the motive of his practically voluntary incarceration; they were locked in separate cells.

As the steel door clanged shut behind him, Mr. Clackworthy, through the bars, proffered the turnkey a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill.

“I want a little information,” he said. “I want to know what kind of a lawyer Edward Stone is?”

“Punk,” replied the turnkey. “He’s just a young fellow and pretty near starvin’ to death, I reckon.”

“What relationship has he to Henry Stone, publisher of the Swaneetown Courier?”

“Brothers they are.”

“So I guessed.” Mr. Clackworthy nodded. “Call up Lawyer Stone for me and tell him that there’s a hundred-dollar retainer fee waiting for him the minute he gets here.”

“Then he’ll get here before I can get the receiver hung up,” shrewdly replied the turnkey.

The prediction may have failed by a few minutes, but Lawyer Stone did not waste any time. He came back to Mr. Clackworthy’s cell, a neatly shabby man of perhaps thirty. He took the hundred-dollar bill which Mr. Clackworthy gave him, fingering it fondly.

“Stone,” began the master confidence man, “your brother owns
The Courier
?”

“Yes, but—”

“I happened to be looking over it back in the hotel this morning. I saw your name in the news columns and the boost the paper gave you made me lean to the conclusion that he must be your brother. No, don’t interrupt; all of this is quite pertinent.

“Let me ask you another question: How does your brother and Banker Harley get along?”

“You say this is—pertinent?” exclaimed the attorney. “Maybe so; anyhow, you’ve given me a hundred, and I don’t know any easier way to earn it than hand you out the family secrets. Henry has to get along with Harley; Harley has a mortgage on the paper.”

“And the paper isn’t exactly a newspaper bonanza, I take it,” went on Mr. Clackworthy. “The lack of advertising patronage would indicate that your brother is having a tough time of it.”

“It does look rather sickly, doesn’t it?” agreed the lawyer. “Say, what’s the idea anyhow?”

For answer, Mr. Clackworthy drew closer to the barred door and whispered into Lawyer Stone’s ear for several minutes. When he had finished the attorney was grinning.

“I’ll talk it over with Henry,” he said. “I am dead sure he’ll do it; it will save the paper for him. Henry would commit murder for three thousand dollars right now. He hasn’t been able to rake up last week’s pay roll.”

That same afternoon, less than three hours after the young lawyer’s consultation with Mr. Clackworthy, small boys began to flood the streets of Swaneetown with handbills. They read:

A GREAT SENSATION!!!

The Courier
takes pleasure in announcing that in its issue tomorrow, and running every week thereafter, it will begin the publication of a sensation series of articles exposing the inside secrets of crooked race track gambling entitled

FROM BOOKMAKER TO BANK PRESIDENT.

We guarantee that this series of articles will stir Swaneetown as no other series of newspaper article has ever done. It will describe how a former racetrack gambler, who served several jail terms for a number of offenses, changed his name, accumulated a fortune, and became president of a bank.

IT STARTS TOMORROW.

* * * *

Banker Harley, otherwise Chicago Charlie, was at his desk when someone, coming in from the street, carried in one of the bills. His eyes lighted on the line in big type “FROM BOOKMAKER TO BANK PRESIDENT.” He gave a violent start and, with trembling fingers, began to read.

He had already been informed, of course, that Mr. Clackworthy and The Early Bird had refused to leave town; that, of course, puzzled and worried him, but this! How had they done it? There was one consoling thought; he could stop
The Courier
from printing it. He reached for the phone and called
The Courier
’ office.

“Stone!” he snapped into the transmitter. “You owe this bank a mortgage for three thousand dollars on your paper. It was due today and you haven’t paid it. I’ll have to foreclose unless you meet that mortgage.”

“Why, Mr. Harley!” exclaimed Stone with apparent innocence. “Why are you so sudden about it?”

“I think you already know,” retorted the banker. “Any man who’s loon enough to flood the town with a lot of ridiculous bills like you’re having distributed this afternoon, isn’t sane enough to get credit at this bank. Of course, if you stopped this foolishness I might—”

“But I couldn’t do that, Mr. Harley,” replied the editor. “I’ve advertised it, you know, and—well, besides, I was just on my way down to pay off the mortgage. I have made other financial arrangements—borrowed the money from a—a Mr. Amos Clackworthy. I’ve got his check drawn on your bank. I’ll be right down.”

Chicago Charlie dropped limply back in his chair.

VI.

Being a man of average intelligence, Chicago Charlie did not need a diagram to tell him what had happened to him. And he wasted no time; he had a situation to meet and he met it. He hurried to police headquarters and flung himself down into the chair at Chief Givney’s desk.

“Givney,” he commanded, “get an order from the court and bring those two prisoners over here from the jail—and then go away and let us alone. Understand?”

The chief obediently brought Mr. Clackworthy and The Early Bird from their cells in the jail and conducted them to his private office.