Part 11 (2/2)

”You'll find him in the grill, I guess, sir,” said the driver, putting into the remark the tone of deference due to someone who was a friend of his employer's. ”I understood him to say he had an appointment with some gentleman there. Was it you?”

”No, but I know who the gentleman is,” said Trencher. ”The other man's not such a very good friend of mine--that's why I'd rather wait outside for Jerome than to go in there.” He made a feint at looking at his watch. ”Hum, ten minutes more. Tell you what I think I'll do, driver: I think I'll just hop inside the car until O'Gavin comes out--better than loafing on the sidewalk, eh?”

”Just as you say. Make yourself comfortable, sir. Shall I switch on the lights?”

”No, never mind the lights, thank you.” Trencher was already taking shelter within the limousine, making himself small on the wide back seat and hauling a thick rug up over his lap. Under the rug one knee was bent upward and the fingers of one hand were swiftly undoing the b.u.t.tons of one fawn-coloured spat. If the chauffeur had chanced to glance back he would have seen nothing unusual going on. The chauffeur, though, never glanced back. He was staring dead ahead again.

”Say, boss, they've caught the pickpocket--if that's what he was,” he cried out excitedly. ”They're bringing him back.”

”Glad they nailed him,” answered Trencher through the gla.s.s that was between them. He had one spat off and was now unfastening its mate.

”It looks like a n.i.g.g.e.r,” added the chauffeur, supplying a fresh bulletin as the captive was dragged nearer. ”It is a n.i.g.g.e.r! Had his nerve with him, trying to pull off a trick in this part of town.”

Through the right-hand side window Trencher peered out as the ma.s.s moved by--in front a panting policeman with his one hand gripped fast in the collar of Trencher's late messenger, and all about the pair and behind them a jostling, curious crowd of men and women.

”De gen'l'man dat sent me fur his bag is right down yere, I keeps tellin' you,” Trencher heard the scared darky babbling as he was yanked past Trencher's refuge.

”All right then, show him to me, that's all,” the officer was saying impatiently.

The chauffeur twisted about in his place, following the spectacle with his eyes. But Trencher had quit looking that way and was looking another way. The centre of excitement had been moved again--instead of being north of him it was now approximately ninety feet south, and he, thanks to the s.h.i.+ft, was once more behind it. Peering through the gla.s.s he watched the entrance to the Clarenden.

There he saw what he wanted to see--a tall man in a wide-brimmed soft dark hat and a long dark topcoat going up the short flight of steps that led from the pavement into the building. Trencher wadded the spats together and rammed them down out of sight between the back cus.h.i.+on and the under cus.h.i.+on of the car seat, and with his overcoat inside out on his left arm he opened the door and stepped out of the car. This retreat had served his purpose admirably; it was time to abandon it.

”Changed my mind,” he said, in explanation. ”If O'Gavin doesn't hurry up we'll be late for an engagement we've got uptown. I'm going in after him.”

”Yes; all right, sir,” a.s.sented the chauffeur with his attention very much elsewhere.

In long steps Trencher crossed the sidewalk and ran up the steps so briskly that he pa.s.sed through the door at the top of the short flight directly behind and almost touching the tall man in the dark hat and black coat. His heart beat fast; he was risking everything practically on the possibilities of what this other man meant to do.

The other man did exactly what Trencher was hoping he would do. He turned left and made for the Clarenden's famous Chinese lounging room, which in turn opened into the main restaurant. Trencher slipped nimbly by his quarry and so beat him to where two young women in glorified uniforms of serving maids were stationed to receive wraps outside the checking booth; a third girl was inside the booth, her job being to take over checked articles from her sister helpers.

It befell therefore that Trencher surrendered his brown derby and his short tan coat, received a pasteboard check in exchange for them and saw them pa.s.sed in over a flat shelf to be put on a hook, before the other man had been similarly served. When the other, now revealed as wearing a dinner jacket, came through the Orientalised pa.s.sageway into the lounge, Trencher was quite ready for him. In his life Trencher had never picked a pocket, but as one thoroughly versed in the professionalism of the crime world, in which he was a distinguished figure, he knew how the trick, which is the highest phase of the art of the pickpocket, is achieved.

The thing was most neatly and most naturally accomplished. As the man in the dinner coat came just opposite him Trencher, swinging inward as though to avoid collision with the end of an upholstered couch, b.u.mped into him, breast to breast.

”I beg your pardon,” he said in contrite tones for his seeming awkwardness, and as he said it two darting fingers and the thumb of his right hand found and invaded the little slit of the stranger's waistcoat pocket, whisking out the check which the stranger had but a moment before, with Trencher watching, deposited there.

”Granted--no harm done,” said the man who had been jostled, and pa.s.sed on leaving Trencher still uttering apologetic sounds. Palming the precious pasteboard, which meant so much to him, Trencher stood where he was until he saw the unsuspecting victim pa.s.s on through into the cafe and join two other men, who got up from a table in the far corner near one of the front windows to greet him.

Trencher followed leisurely to where a captain of waiters stood guard at the opening in the dividing part.i.tion between the lounge and the restaurant. Before him at his approach this functionary bowed.

”Alone, sir?” he inquired obsequiously.

”Yes and no,” replied Trencher; ”I'm alone now but I'll be back in half an hour with three others. I want to engage a table for four--not too close to the orchestra.” He slipped a dollar bill into the captain's hand.

”Very good, sir. What name, sir?”

”Tracy is the name,” said Trencher.

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