Lonesome Town Part 18

Instead of vaulting the park wall, which at first had, seemed to be the one possible response to her demand, Pape lifted his hat and sauntered down the avenue as though bound nowhere in particular.

CHAPTER XIV-THE CREDIT PLAN

The Sheepfold in Central Park is a U-shaped structure of red brick walls and a low roof that is mostly gables. One of the wings is winter quarters for the Dorset flock. The connecting curve, the lower half of which is an archway, houses in the upper Shepherd Tom and his family.

The remaining wing, although built for a different purpose, is now used as a garage for the motor cycle police. Within is parking s.p.a.ce for all the machines in regular use in the park and some extras.

Into this garage strode Why-Not Pape, a man in a hurry. His only introduction to the policeman in charge was rather extravagant, if wordless-one made in brute Belgian. He returned Kicko's greeting-the fact that he and the police dog were friends did the rest. It was amazing how easily his coup was carried out as planned, backed by the dog's infallible memory.

"Which are the spare fire-crackers?" he asked the uniformed garage keeper with bluff authority. "I'm in a gasoline hurry to get up the line."

His wait had more intensity than length. He counted upon a long-standing claim among safe-workers, of which he had been a.s.sured by that piece of human flotsam out at h.e.l.lroaring, that the "big box" in the New York Police Headquarters would be the easiest "cracked" in the city were there anything in it worth stealing. He knew it to be a fact that many never-solved robberies and murders have been "pulled" within the shadow of precinct stations; had seen substantiated in the day-by-day news the theory that the best "hide-out" is under the arresting arm of city government. And his act upon deduction meant nothing against the police.

He simply wished to profit for once by his knowledge of human nature reduced to the _N_th degree. Even unaided by the dog, he had expected to carry through by daring of a first-draft sort.

"What's the case, sergeant?"

With the question the attendant member of the force waved a hand toward the sheaf of ten machines which are kept una.s.signed to particular "speed cops"-an emergency motive-power reserve.

Without necessity of an equivocation as to who he was, without flas.h.i.+ng the badge of authority which he did not have-merely by using that slang term for the noisiest of motor vehicles which was in common usage in the Yellowstone as well as in New York, Pape had declared himself in his part.

"Big," he answered. "Bigger than all the park."

Frowning and abstracted from a hurry to be off that was by no means a.s.sumed, he wheeled one of the emergency machines into the open doorway.

"Want any help?"

The rookie was ready; had grasped the handles of a second cycle.

"No. Do I look like I needed help?" In earnest now he frowned, but not abstractedly. "Don't want any uniforms following me. Ain't that kind of a case."

Without meeting other obstacles, Pape was off upon the marked official machine. About one minute lasted his ride upon this steed, fleeter than Polkadot at his best. As though for the first time noticing the diggers among the park poplars, he stopped with a toot of the cycle siren.

Dismounting, he dropped the standard, parked the machine at the side of the road and advanced upon the despoilers. On the way he charged himself that in this "kind of case"-three burlies and a boss to one uniformed objector whose only authority was a woman's service-mind more than muscle would be needed.

He was met by the thin-faced man. "S'all right, officer. We ain't looking for Cap'n Kidd's treasure."

Pape smiled more inwardly than outwardly, although he felt that he well could afford to do both on being mistaken, a second time within the last few minutes, for a plain-clothes man.

"Who are you and what you up to?" he demanded.

"Name's Welch-Swinton Welch, contractor. I'm digging a ditch to put in a sub-surface drain. Want to see the permit?"

Producing a worn paper from his breast pocket, the small boss flourished it.

"Sure. Show me."

"It's O. K., else I wouldn't have the navvies at work."

"Likely it is," countered Pape, "but show me just the same."

With somewhat less of a flourish the paper was presented. Pape saw at a glance that it was written on an official form of the Department of Parks, then scanned it closer.

"What-" his demand was louder, gruffer, more combative than before-"_what_ you say you're doing?"

"Just like the paper says-digging for a drain." The sharp-faced boss also grew more combative.

It is to be remarked that the Italian laborers had stopped work on the instant of interference. They always do. A shovel wasted-Fortunately the stream of cars on the roadway below flowed on without a ripple of curiosity as to the party on the hillock. The pedestrian paths were further away and, at this hour, preempted by the inevitable babies, mothers and nurse-maids. In the great, green mixing-bowl of all races within the world's most democratic city, no man concerned himself with the by-play near the boundary except those directly involved.

Pape scowled over the operation, with never a glance toward the stone wall, from over the top of which a pair of black-irised blue eyes probably were watching him-a pair of rose-lobed ears were listening. To make "learning" easier he pulled another loud stop in his voice.

"What you going to drain to where?"

"Don't exactly know myself yet. Going according to orders," offered Mr.

Swinton Welch. "One shovelful at a time is my motto. Don't make no mistakes that way. What's eating you, bo? I tell you it's all O. K. or I wouldn't be--"

The alleged contractor was stopped in the middle of his defense by the glare lifted to his face from the sheet of paper. An unofficial, yet official acting thumb was jerked over-shoulder.

"Out!" bellowed a voice of command-Pape's. "You don't go wrecking this park with an order that's a year old, signed by a commissioner that's already in the discard-leastways you don't while I'm above sod. Call off your men and beat it!"

"I'll call off n.o.body nor nothing." Evidently the "boss" wasn't amenable to being bossed. "I know my rights and I'll stand on 'em in spite of all the plain-clothes crooks out of Sing Sing. That permit's good until it's been used. If you had half an eye in your head you'd see that it's never been canceled."

Pape folded the slip and tucked it into his coat pocket. "You'll get off lighter if you call it canceled," he advised. Turning to the laborers, he added: "Go home, you-no matter what lingo you speak. Beat it-make tracks-vamoose!"

The huskies did not look to their foreman for advice. To them the voice of him who had appeared upon the thunder-bike was fuller of authority than a noon whistle. Shouldering their implements, they straggled toward the nearest exit. Their wage? The boss of their boss would produce that.

Sufficient unto the day was the pay thereof. Weren't they muscle workers-weren't they therefore always paid?

"You give me your number-I dare you-your number!"

The small foreman had lost the sangfroid of his type. Like a c.o.c.kroach inadvisedly investigating a hot griddle, he danced toward the taller man.

"You don't need to dare me twice. My number's a darned good one for you to know. I'm 23-that means _skidoo_!"

Pape's sidewise spring he had learned from one of his h.e.l.lroaring cayuses. It brought within his reach this second disturber of Jane Lauderdale's peace and quiet. Only one wrench did he need to apply to the wrist of the hand which he had interrupted on its way into a side pocket of a sack coat.

"Not _this_ morning," he objected.

The foreman, gone startlingly white from pain after the recent red of his chagrin, of necessity permitted his hand to be withdrawn empty. And he had no power to prevent Pape's reaching into the pocket and confiscating a snub-nosed automatic. He did, however, risk some contentious comment.

"Nothing a real citizen loathes like you plain-clothes pests. I'll show you up proper in court, you big bully. I got a permit from a judge to carry that gun, I'll have you know."

"But not to use it on me. I put quite a value, I'll have _you_ know, on my birthday suit-of-clothes."

The "pest's" chortle was pitched to carry rea.s.surance to and over the park wall.

Removing and pocketing the cartridges, he returned the "permitted"

weapon's frame to its owner. In consideration of his utterly unofficial status, he probably would have found an attempt to enforce New York State's anti-pistol law embarra.s.sing. At that, the fellow probably did have a permit-he had been told that such were easy enough to get. He would, he felt, be satisfied if the "drain" excavation was postponed until Jane had that coveted hour for the finish of her own mysterious investigation.