The Daughter of Anderson Crow Part 40

"If they ain't lyin', I'll be up an' about in a few weeks. Shoulder and some ribs cracked and my legs stove up. I can't move. G.o.d, that was an awful tumble!" He shuddered in memory of the auto's leap.

"Is Sam or Davy in this gang?"

"No; Davy's at Blackwell's Island, an' Sam told me he was goin' to Canada fer his health. Jim Courtney is the leader of this gang. He sailed under the name of Gregory. That's him swearin' at the rubes."

"The thing for you to do is to make a clean breast of it, Briggs. It will go easier with you."

"Turn State's evidence? What good will that do when we was all caught with the goods?"

"If you will tell us all of the inside facts concerning the abduction I'll guarantee that something can be done to lighten your sentence. I am Congressman Bonner's nephew."

"So? I thought you was the swellest hold-up man I ever met, that night out in the woods. You'd do credit to Sam Welch himself. I'll tell you all I know, pardner, but it ain't a great deal. It won't do me any good to keep my mouth shut now, an', if you say so, it may help me to squeal.

But, fer the Lord's sake, have one of these rotten doctors give me something to make me sleep. Don't they know what morphine is for?"

Growling and cursing at the doctors, Bill was moved into the office.

Anderson came in from the dining-room at that juncture, visibly excited.

"I've got a confession from Gregory," he said. "He confesses that he oughter be hung."

"What!"

"That's what he said--'y ginger. Here's his very words, plain as day: 'I oughter be hung half a dozen times.' 'What fer?' says I. 'Fer bein' sech a d.a.m.ned a.s.s,' said he. 'But that ain't a hangable offence,' said I.

You know, I kinder like Gregory, spite of all. 'It's the worst crime in the world,' said he. 'Then you confess you've committed it?' said I, anxious to pin him right down to it, y' see.' 'ou bet I do. Ef they hang me it'll be because I'm a drivelling idiot, an' not because I've shot one er two in my time. n.o.body but an a.s.s could be caught at it, an'

that's why I feel so infernal guilty. Look here, Mr. Crow, ever' time you see a feller that's proved himself a downright a.s.s, jest take him out an' lynch him. He deserves it, that's all I've got to say. The greatest crime in the world is criminal neglect.' Don't bother me now, Wick; I'm going to write that down an' have him sign it."

"Look here, pard," said Bill Briggs, laboriously breaking in upon their conversation; "I want to do the right thing by you an' her as fer as I can. You've been good to me, an' I won't fergit it. Besides, you said you'd make things easy fer me if I told you what I knowed about that job last winter. Well, I'd better tell it now, 'cause I'm liable to pa.s.s in my checks before these doctors git through with me. An' besides, they'll be haulin' me off to the county seat in a day or two. Now, this is dead straight, I'm goin' to give you. Maybe it won't help you none, but '11 give you a lead."

"Go on," cried Bonner breathlessly.

"Well, Sam Welch come to me in Branigan's place one night--that's in Fourt' Avenue--an' says he's got a big job on. We went over to Davy Wolfe's house an' found him an' his mother--the old fairy, you remember.

Well, to make it short, Sam said it was a kidnaping job an' the Wolfes was to be in on it because they used to live in this neighbourhood an'

done a lot of work here way back in the seventies. There was to be five thousand dollars in the job if we got that girl safe on board a s.h.i.+p bound fer Europe. Sam told us that the guy what engineered the game was a swell party an' a big boy in politics, finance, society an' ever'thin'

else. He could afford to pay, but he didn't want to be seen in the job.

n.o.body but Sam ever seen his face. Sam used to be in politics some. Jest before we left New York to come up here, the swell guy comes around to Davy's with another guy fer final orders. See? It was as cold as h---- as the d.i.c.kens--an' the two of 'em was all m.u.f.fled up so's we couldn't get a pipe at their mugs. One of 'em was old--over fifty, I guess--an'

the other was a young chap. I'm sure of that.

"They said that one or the other of 'em would be in this neighbourhood when the job was pulled off; that one thousand dollars would be paid down when we started; another thousand when we got 'er into the cave; and the rest when we had 'er at the dock in New York--alive an' unhurt.

See? We was given to understand that she was to travel all the rest of 'er life fer 'er health. I remember one thing plain: The old man said to the young 'un: 'She must not know a thing of this, or it will ruin everything.' He wasn't referrin' to the girl either. There was another woman in the case. They seemed mighty anxious to pull the job off without this woman gettin' next.

"Well, we got ready to start, and the two parties coughed up the thousand plunks--that is, the young 'un handed it over to Sam when the old 'un told him to. Sam took three hundred and the rest of us two hundred a piece. When they were lookin' from the winder to see that n.o.body on the streets was watchin' the house, I asked Sam if he knowed either of them by name. He swore he didn't, but I think he lied. But jest before they left the house, I happened to look inside of the old boy's hat--he had a stiff dicer. There was a big gilt letter in the top of it."

"What was that letter?" demanded Bonner eagerly.

"It was a B."

Bonner looked at Anderson as if the floor were being drawn from under his feet.

"The young chap said somethin' low to the old 'un about takin' the night train back to the University an' comin' down again Sat.u.r.day."

"To the University? Which one? Did he mention the name?" cried Bonner.

"No. That's all he said."

"Good heavens, if it should be!" said Bonner as if to himself.

"Well, we come up here an' done the job. You know about that, I guess.

Sam saw the young feller one night up at Boggs City, an' got instructions from him. He was to help us git 'er away from here in an automobile, an' the old man was to go across the ocean with 'er. That's all I know. It didn't turn out their way that time, but Sam says it's bound to happen."

Bonner, all eagerness and excitement, quickly looked around for Anderson, but the marshal had surrept.i.tiously left the room. Then, going over to the door, he called for Anderson Crow. Bud Long was there.

"Anderson left five minutes ago, Mr. Bonner, hurryin' like the d.i.c.kens, too," he said. "He's gone to hunt up a feller named Barnes. He told me to tell you when you came out."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

Elsie Banks Returns

Bonner, considerably annoyed and alarmed by the marshal's actions, made every effort to turn him back before he could ruin everything by an encounter with Mr. Barnes. He sent men on bicycles and horseback to overtake him; but the effort was unsuccessful. Mr. Crow had secured a "ride" in an automobile which had brought two newspaper correspondents over from Boggs City. They speeded furiously in order to catch a train for New York, but agreed to drop the marshal at the big bridge, not more than a mile from Judge Brewster's place.

Chagrined beyond expression, he made ready to follow Anderson with all haste in his own machine. Rosalie hurriedly perfected preparations to accompany him. She was rejoining the house party that day, was consumed by excitement over the situation, and just as eager as Bonner to checkmate the untimely operations of poor old Anderson Crow.

The marshal had more than half an hour's start of them. Bonner was his own chauffeur and he was a reckless one to-day. Luck was against him at the outset. The vigorous old detective inspired to real speed, for the first time in his lackadaisacal life, left the newspaper men at the bridge nearly three-quarters of an hour before Bonner pa.s.sed the same spot, driving furiously up the hill toward Judge Brewster's.

"If your bothersome old daddy gets his eyes on Barnes before I can head him off, dearest, the jig will be up," groaned Bonner, the first words he had spoken in miles. "Barnes will be on his guard and ready for anything. The old--pardon me, for saying it--the old jay ought to know the value of discretion in a case like this."

"Poor old daddy," she sighed, compa.s.sion in her heart. "He thinks he is doing it for the best. Wicker, I hope it is--it is not Mr. Barnes," she added, voicing a thought which had been struggling in her mind for a long time.

"Why not, dearest?"

"It would mean one of two things. Either he does not want to recognise me as his child--or cannot, which is even worse. Wicker, I don't want to know the truth. I am afraid--I am afraid."

She was trembling like a leaf and there was positive distress in her eyes, eyes half covered by lids tense with alarm.

"Don't feel that way about it, dear," cried he, recovering from his astonishment and instantly grasping the situation as it must have appeared to her. "To tell you the truth, I do not believe that Mr.

Barnes is related to you in any way. If he is connected with the case at all, it is in the capacity of attorney."

"But he is supposed to be an honourable man."

"True, and I still believe him to be. It does not seem possible that he can be engaged in such work as this. We are going altogether on supposition--putting two and two together, don't you know, and hoping they will stick. But, in any event, we must not let any chance slip by.

If he is interested, we must bring him to time. It may mean the unravelling of the whole skein, dear. Don't look so distressed. Be brave. It doesn't matter what we learn in the end, I love you just the same. You shall be my wife."

"I _do_ love you, Wicker. I will always love you."

"Dear little sweetheart!"