Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager

CHAPTER XXV

HIDDEN TRACKS

His lips parted, his eyes wide and incredulous, Locke sat up straight on his chair and stared at Stillman. Janet, who had been listening attentively, gave a little cry, and leaned forward, one slim, protesting hand uplifted. The reporter drew his case from his pocket and lit another cigarette.

Presently Lefty found his voice. “You’re crazy, Jack!” he declared resentfully.

“Am I?” inquired Stillman.

“Oh, it’s impossible!” exclaimed Janet.

“Absolutely ridiculous!” affirmed the southpaw.

“Very likely it seems so to you both,” admitted the newspaper man, his calm and confident manner proclaiming his own settled conviction. “I listened to Lefty’s story, and I know he’s wise to only a small part of what’s been going on.”

“But Parlmee–Oh, it’s too preposterous! For once in your career, at least, you’re way off your trolley, Jack.”

“Prove it to me.”

“Why, it isn’t necessary. Franklin Parlmee is a white man, as square as there ever was, and as honest as the day is long.”

“There are short days in midwinter.”

“But his object–he couldn’t have an object, even if he were scoundrel enough to contemplate such a thing.”

“Couldn’t he?” asked Stillman, in that odd, enigmatical way of his. “Why not?”

“Why, he’s practically engaged to Virginia Collier.”

“But without the consent of her father.”

“Yes, but–”

“Bailey Weegman is said to have a great liking for Miss Collier. It was your theory that part of his object in seeking to wreck the Blue Stockings was to get old man Collier in a tight place and force his hand. Why couldn’t Parlmee make the same sort of a play?”

The persistence of the reporter began to irritate Locke, who felt his blood growing hot. Was his life beginning to tell on Stillman? Was it possible the pace he had traveled had begun to weaken his naturally keen judgment?

“Even if Parlmee had conceived such a foolish scheme, he was in no position to carry it out, Jack. On the other hand, Weegman was. Furthermore, it’s perfectly impossible to imagine Weegman acting as the tool and assistant of his rival, whom he hates bitterly. Forget it!”

Unmoved, Stillman shook his head. “Didn’t I say that Weegman was an egotistical dub, and an easy mark? He is naturally a rascal, and he thinks himself very clever, and so is just the sort to fall for a still cleverer rascal.”

Janet’s cheeks were hot and her eyes full of resentful anger. It was difficult for her to sit there and hear Parlmee maligned, and she was confident that that was what she was doing. She could not remain quiet.

“I know Frank Parlmee, Mr. Stillman,” she asserted, “and Lefty is right about him. There’s not a squarer man living.”

“How is it possible for Parlmee to use Weegman as a tool?” asked Locke.

“Through Garrity,” answered the reporter without hesitation.

“But I don’t see–”

Stillman leaned forward. “Listen: I am not at liberty to disclose the sources of my information, but it has come to me that this idea of wrecking the Blue Stockings originated in Parlmee’s brain. He saw himself losing out in the fight for Virginia Collier, and he became desperate. Conditions were ripe. Collier had hit the toboggan, financially and otherwise. A man of considerable strength of will, he had begun to break down. Parlmee knew of his plan to go abroad for his health, and of the arrangement to leave Bailey Weegman in charge of affairs. Collier had a great deal of confidence in Weegman’s ability, and this would now be put to the test. If Weegman should make a grand failure, as Parlmee intended he should, Collier would lose all faith in him; and probably, in his disappointment, he would hand him the g. b. That, above all things, was most to be desired by Parlmee, as it would get out of the way the rival who threatened to defeat him. How to put the thing across was the question. I am willing to give Parlmee the credit of a long-headed piece of work. He knew Weegman must be kept in the dark, must never be permitted to suspect that he was being used as a tool by his hated enemy.”

“It sounds altogether too impossible,” said Locke. But, to his annoyance, in spite of his persistently expressed faith, a shadowy uncertainty, a tiny, nagging doubt, was creeping into his mind. Stillman seemed so absolutely confident of his ground.

“Through his long association with Miss Collier,” the reporter pursued calmly, “Parlmee had learned much about inside conditions in baseball. He had plenty of opportunities to get at things entirely hidden from, or merely suspected by, the general public. He knew Garrity was a grasping scoundrel, who had long regarded the Blue Stockings with a covetous eye, and that, being utterly unscrupulous, he would do anything, as long as he could keep in the background, to break Collier’s grip and get his own soiled paws on the property. Therefore, Garrity was the man to deal with, and to Garrity Parlmee went. They met under cover in Chicago, and the deal was fixed up between them. Then Garrity got at Weegman, the real stool pigeon and the fall guy of the whole plot.”

Locke was listening without protest now. In spite of his desire not to believe, Stillman’s theory seemed possible; he would not yet admit, even to himself, that it was probable. Janet, too, was silent. The color had left her face, and beneath the table her hands were tightly clenched.

“Weegman was just ass enough to fall for it,” continued Stillman contemptuously. “What Garrity promised him I can’t say, but certainly it must have been a satisfactory percentage of the loot–maybe an interest in the team when Garrity got control; and Weegman would sell his soul for money. The moment Collier was out of the way he got to work. You know as well as I do what success he’s had. In order to cover his tracks as far as possible, he has picked you for the goat, and he’ll try to shunt all the blame on you.”

Lefty’s face was grim. He was endeavoring to look at the matter fairly and without bias. To himself he was compelled to admit that his knowledge of Parlmee had been obtained through casual association with the man, not through business dealings, and in no small degree, he, as well as Janet, had doubtless been influenced by the sentiments of Virginia Collier. A girl in love may be easily deceived; many girls, blinded by their own infatuation, have made heroes of thoroughbred scoundrels. It was practically impossible, however, for Locke to picture Parlmee as a scoundrel.

“You have made a statement, Jack,” he said, “without offering a particle of corroborating proof. How do you know all this to be true?”

“I have the word of a man I trust that Parlmee and Garrity had that secret meeting in Chicago, just as I have stated. A few days ago Parlmee made a flying trip to Indianapolis, and–”

“I know that,” interrupted Lefty. “I was in Indianapolis at the time. I met him there and had a brief talk with him.”

“On his way back,” resumed Stillman, “he stopped off at Cleveland to see Garrity, who happened to be in that city.”

“How do you know that?”

“My own business chanced to call me out to Cleveland at that time, and I saw Parlmee and Garrity together at the American House.”

Locke took a long breath, recalling the fact that Parlmee, although professing to be in great haste when in Indianapolis, had not returned to his New York office as soon as expected.

“That may have been an accidental meeting,” said the southpaw. “Your proof has holes in it.”

The reporter lighted a fresh cigarette. “How does it happen,” he asked, “that Parlmee is buying up all the small blocks of the club stock that he can get hold of?”

Lefty started as if pricked by the point of a knife. Parlmee, an automobile salesman, a man who had found it necessary to get out and show that he could make good in the business world, buying the stock of the club!

“Is he?” asked the pitcher.

“He is,” asserted Stillman positively. “I know of three lots that he has purchased, and in each instance he has paid a little more than it was supposed to be worth.”

“He–he may have bought it as an investment,” faltered Janet.

The reporter smiled at her. “As far as I can learn, Franklin Parlmee is not situated, financially, to invest much money in stock of any kind. With his stock depreciating, and bound to go lower in value, he would be a chump to purchase it as an investment. The man who pays more than its market value in order to get hold of it knows something about the doings behind the scenes that is not known to the general public. Apparently that man is Parlmee. Who’s furnishing him the money to buy the stock? My own guess is that it is the man who’s looking to get control of the club, and that man is Garrity.”

Still Janet protested that it was impossible, but she looked questioningly at Lefty, the doubt that she was fighting against was now beginning to creep into her eyes.

“Parlmee,” said the southpaw, “has gone to Europe. I have a message from him stating that he would sail on the Northumberland. If he’s behind the plot to wreck the Blue Stockings, why should he leave the field of action at this time?”

“If I’ve got his number,” returned Stillman, “he’s a liar in various ways. Perhaps he has sailed for Europe; perhaps he hasn’t. His message may be nothing more than a little dust for your eyes. But if he has sailed, there’s only one answer to that.”

“Out with it!” urged Locke. “Of course, you think it another move in the rotten game?”

“Sure as death and taxes. He believes the time is ripe to get at Collier. He’s gone across to get at him and twist the control of the club out of his hands. Probably he’ll appear before Collier in the guise of a friend anxious to save him from complete financial disaster. He’s got just about enough time to make the trip comfortably, get that business through with, and return before the regular meeting of the league magnates here in New York. Then, at the meeting, Tom Garrity will bob up serenely as the real owner of the Blue Stockings.”

CHAPTER XXVI

NOT MUCH SHOW

Tired out, Janet went to bed shortly after Stillman left, but Locke, knowing he could not sleep, sat up to think the situation over. The difficulties and problems of his own position seemed greater than ever. If the plot was as deep and intricate as the reporter believed, and if the men behind it were moving with haste and certainty to the accomplishment of their designs, there seemed scarcely a ghost of a chance for him, practically alone and unaided, to block them.

For Lefty now felt that, in a way, he was standing alone. Even Kennedy, having no power, could do little more than offer advice. And where was Kennedy?

The southpaw had fancied that he would be given more time to muster his opposing forces for the battle. He had even imagined, at first, that the man he would need to contend against and defeat was Weegman. But now Weegman, the blind tool of craftier creatures, looked insignificant and weak. In order to defeat him it would be necessary to strike higher.

How was he to strike? That was the question. Locke had suggested to Stillman complete exposure of the plot by newspaper publicity. And right there the reporter, who had seemed so confident of his ground, had betrayed that, after his usual method, he was working by intuition, and had no positive and unassailable verification of his conclusions. It would not do for his paper to charge criminal conspiracy without proper evidence to back up such an indictment.

Recalling this, Lefty remembered that Stillman, having heard all the southpaw could tell, had ended by giving his own theory, and had offered proof to substantiate it. And then he had been compelled to acknowledge that the proof he had to offer was not sound enough to base exposure and open action upon.

If Stillman were right, doubtless Parlmee had gone abroad with full knowledge of Charles Collier’s whereabouts. That knowledge being denied Lefty, he could not warn Collier, and the plot would be carried through as arranged. Then, as the reporter had predicted, at the annual meeting of the magnates, shortly to be held, Garrity would appear as owner of the Blue Stockings. When that happened, the fight would be over, and the conspirators would be triumphant.

With the door to Janet’s chamber closed, Locke walked the floor, striving for a clear conception of what ought to be done. He felt like a man bound hand and foot. Of course, he could go on with his project to strengthen the team, but the harvest of his success would be reaped by the plotters, if they, too, were successful. There was little uncertainty about what would happen to him, for he knew that his conscience would not permit him to become an understrapper for Garrity. He had left Fernandon with courage and high hope to do battle; but now the helplessness of the situation threatened to appall him.

If there were only some way to get into communication with Collier. Again he thought of his somewhat shaken conviction that Virginia was in New York. If that were true, some of her family or friends must know it, and, of course, Virginia would know how to communicate without delay with her father.

With this thought came the conviction that in Virginia lay his only hope. If he had been mistaken, and she were not in the United States, his chance of doing anything to foil the conspirators was not one in a thousand. His work for the morrow was cut out for him; he must learn positively if Charles Collier’s daughter was on American soil, and, if so, he must find her.

The telephone rang, and when he answered it he was informed that Kennedy was calling. The faithful old veteran had come, after all! Lefty said that he was to be sent up at once.

“Well, son,” said old Jack, as he came in, “how are things moving?”

“None too well,” answered Lefty, shaking his hand.

“So?” grunted Kennedy. “I wondered just what was up, and I came right along in answer to your call, but my train was delayed. What are the new developments?”

“Sit down,” said Locke, “and I’ll tell you. Since I sent you that message I’ve heard something that’s got me guessing–and worried.”

“The contracts?” questioned old Jack, sitting down. “The boys signed up, didn’t they?”

“Every one of them. That’s not the trouble. I’ve had a talk with Jack Stillman.”

“The only reporter I know with a noodle screwed on right,” said Kennedy. “His bean’s packed with sound sense. When he gets an idea it’s generally correct.”

“In that case, unless he’s made a bobble this time, the situation’s worse than we suspected, Jack.”

“Give me the dope,” urged Kennedy.

The old man listened to Locke without comment, and when Lefty had finished, he sat thoughtfully plucking at his under lip with his thumb and forefinger.

“Well,” he said, after a time, “Stillman usually puts them in the groove when he shoots.”

“Then you think he’s hit it right in this case?”

“I haven’t said so. If anybody else had passed this one up, I’d have said it missed the plate by a rod. With Stillman doing the pitching, I’m not so ready to give a decision against him. But you say he finished a lot more confident than he began?”

“Yes. Instead of seeking information, he finished up by giving it.”

“Just as though he had talked himself into a settled conviction as he went along?”

“That’s it.”

“Then we won’t accept his statement as fact until he gets some kind of proof, son. You know more about Parlmee than I do, and you’ve always figured that gent on the level, haven’t you?”

“Yes; but I’m compelled to admit that I haven’t had sufficient dealings with him to feel certain that my estimation of his character is correct. Furthermore, my first impression was unfavorable.”

“First impressions are sometimes the best.”

“But at that time, as you know, my judgment could hardly be unprejudiced. It was when Collier first took over the team and I had trouble with Carson, the manager he put in your place. Everything seemed going wrong then.”

A grin broke over Kennedy’s face, and he chuckled softly, a reminiscent expression in his keen old eyes.

“Those were some stirring times, boy,” he said. “Collier fired me for Al Carson, and Carson made a mess of it. He’s managing a dub league team now. He thought he could get along without you, just as Collier reckoned he could dispense with me; but at the finish it was you and me that came back and saved the day for the Stockings. You pitched the game of your life that last day of the season. Now it’s up to you to come back again, and I’ve got a hunch that you will. You’ll return, better than ever. You’re going to make the wiseacres that think you’re down and out look foolish.”

Locke shook his head. “Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn’t have the heart to work for that scoundrel. Back in the time we’re speaking of, it was Stillman’s cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake.”

“Right you are,” admitted old Jack.

“All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can’t dodge that fact. To-morrow I’m going to make every effort to find some method of getting into communication with Charles Collier. It’s my only play in this game. If it fails–good night!”

Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy’s advice on other matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and prestige could be solved later.

Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man’s habit when perplexed. “Yes, son,” he said, after a time, “that’s what you’re up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn’t look like you have.”

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SUSPENDED AX

All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He ’phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.

It was a little after noon when he called the office of the Blade. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship’s sake Stillman would attempt it.

Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of the Blade. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw’s call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.

Returning the card to his pocket, the man pretended to busy himself again over one of the directories, keeping his back partly turned toward the pitcher. Soon he heard the switchboard girl repeat Lefty’s number, and direct him to booth No. 1.

The man closed his book and turned round slowly. The southpaw was disappearing into a booth at the end of one of the rows, and, in closing the door behind him, he unintentionally left it slightly open. The watching man moved quietly forward until he was close to this booth, through the glass of which he could see that Lefty’s back was partly turned toward him. There he paused, taking some letters and papers from his pocket and running them over as if searching for something. While appearing to be absorbed in his own affairs, he could hear every word that the pitcher spoke into the receiver.

Getting the editorial rooms of the Blade, Locke asked for Stillman. After a slight delay, he was informed that the reporter was not there. No one could say just when he would be in.

“This is important,” stated Lefty; “a matter in which he is greatly interested. I must talk with him as soon as possible. Will you ask him, as soon as he comes in, to call Philip Hazelton at the Great Eastern? Yes, Hazelton; that’s right. Why, yes, I’m Lefty Locke. All right; don’t fail to tell him immediately he arrives.”