Читать книгу Officer 666 - Barton Wood Currie - Страница 17

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Patrolman Phelan wrapped his sinewy fist about the handle of his club with a vicious grip as he proceeded cautiously up the steps. The heavy bronze door had been left ajar, and he squeezed through without opening it further, then paused in the vestibule and listened. What he heard seemed no more than the tread of a spider, and the thought rushed into his head:

“’Tis one of that felt-soled kind. ’Tis tip-toes for Phelan.”

He had noted that even the inside door was open, and he swiftly divined from this that the thief had left it open for his own convenience or for some other purpose connected with the mysteries of burglar alarms. Inch by inch the policeman moved across the vestibule and wriggled through the door into the richly carpeted hallway.

It was with a distinct sense of relief that he felt his heavy boots sink noiselessly into the deep ply of a precious Daghestan rug. One of Phelan’s boots had a bad creak in it, and he knew that the master 45 crook who would attempt such a robbery as this would have an acute sense of hearing.

It was dark as a pocket down the stretch of the heavily curtained foyer, save for a meagre shaft of light that came through a slightly parted pair of portières to the left and not a dozen feet from where he stood. He strained his ear toward this shaft of light until there came an unmistakable swish of sound, whereupon he moved forward in short, gliding steps.

When he reached the break in the portières and looked in he was astonished to see a short little man with shiny black hair deftly removing the linen covers from chairs and tables and statuary. The little man had his back to Phelan as the policeman stepped inside, but he turned in a flash and confronted the intruder with the peculiar glazed grimness of the Japanese.

“Well, what matter?” ripped out the little Jap, without moving a muscle.

“That’s what I come to find out,” retorted Phelan, with accusing severity of tone.

“How you get in here?” retorted the Jap in the same sharp, emotionless tones.

“I saw ye snakin’ in an’ ye didn’t latch the door after yez,” blurted Phelan, taking a step nearer the Jap and still watching him with profound suspicion.

“What you want?” asked the Jap with a slight tremor of apprehension.

“Information!” cried Phelan. “What are yez 46 doin’ in here?” Phelan’s eye swept the room for some evidence of an attempt to despoil. Though he saw none he did not relinquish his attitude of suspicion. The Jap seemed about to speak and then stopped. As Phelan continued to glower at him, he snapped out:

“I no can tell.”

Triumph blazed in Phelan’s eyes. Now he was sure he had a thief and he determined to handle the situation with all the majesty of his official person.

“So yez can’t tell what yez’re doin’ in this house,” he said with fine sarcasm.

The Jap shook his head emphatically and returned a positive, “No tell!”

Phelan balanced his club for a moment and strode toward the Jap.

“Yez better come with me,” he said through compressed lips.

The Jap started back with a frightened exclamation.

“You no take me to jail?” he uttered, while his yellow features twitched with fear.

“In a minute,” replied the elated officer, “if yez don’t tell me what yez’re doin’ here. I’ve been lookin’ out for this place while Mr. Gladwin was in foreign parts, and”–––

“You know Mr. Gladwin?” broke in the Jap, excitedly.

“No, I ain’t never seen him,” said Phelan, “but I 47 know this is his house an’ I been keepin’ my eye on it fer him.”

“Mr. Gladwin––he my boss!” and the Jap grinned from ear to ear.

This solution of the mystery never entered the policeman’s head and he resented the surprise.

“Do yez mean yez’re his valley?” he asked vindictively, refusing to relinquish his suspicion.

“Ees!” and again the Jap grinned.

Phelan read the grin as a distinct insult to his intelligence and he pounced upon the little brown man in an even more caustic tone:

“If yez’re are Mr. Gladwin’s valley, what are ye doin’ here an’ him thousands o’ miles away across the ocean in Agypt an’ Jerusalem an’ the like?”

Now it was Phelan’s turn to grin as he saw the Jap shrink and turn upon him a pair of wildly alarmed eyes.

“Come! Come! I’m waitin’ fer an answer,” The cat had his mouse backed into a corner and mentally licked his chops.

“I no can tell,” stammered the Jap, desperately.

“That’s enough!” ripped out Officer 666, grabbing the Jap by the shoulder and yanking him toward the doorway.

“No––no––wait!” gasped the struggling prisoner. “You no say if I tell you, plees?”

“Tell me first,” grunted Phelan, releasing his grip.

The Jap ducked his head in every direction as if 48 fearful that the walls had ears, then said in an impressive whisper:

“My boss––Mr. Gladwin––home!”

“Misther Gladwin home! Here in New York!” There was both incredulity and amazement in Phelan’s voice.

“Ees!” bleated the Jap and his grin returned.

“Well, why didn’t you say so before?” said Phelan angrily, at which the fidgety little brown son of Nippon hastened to explain:

“No one should know. He come all in much secret. He go boat to Boston. No use name. No one know he Mr. Gladwin. He say, ‘Bateato’––me Bateato––‘Bateato,’ he say, ‘no tell I come home––sure,’ he say, and Bateato he no tell.”

Officer Phelan yielded to the grip of the mystery and his attitude toward the Jap changed.

“What did he want to snake home that away fer?”

“I no know,” nodded Bateato.

“Yez no know, eh? Well, is he comin’ here?––do yez no know that?”

“He tell me––come here and wait––feex thees room––he come here or telephone.”

The straightforward manner of the little Jap had almost completely disarmed the policeman’s suspicion, but he surrendered reluctantly.

“Did he give yez a key to get in here?” Phelan fired as his last shot.

“Ees––he give me all bunch keys––look!” and 49 Bateato produced a gold key ring with a gold tag and a number of keys attached. Phelan examined it and read aloud the name Travers Gladwin engraved on the tag. Handing them back to the Jap, he addressed him impressively, gesturing his emphasis with his baton:

“I guess yez’re all right, but I’ll have me eye on yez from the outside, mind that––and if yez’re foolin’ me or tryin’ to get away with anythin’”–––

Phelan snapped his lips together and with a mighty lunge plucked an imaginary prisoner out of the atmosphere and shook it ferociously. Then stepping back to the doorway he shut one eye with a fierce wink and jerked out:

“Are yez wise?”

The profound pantomime was too much for Bateato, who stared after the vanishing officer in open-mouthed amazement.

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