Chapter XXII: Savage’s Disappearance

With his mind finally made up to a step he had really wanted to take for days past, Jack Kennedy arose with extreme promptitude next morning, and dressed briskly. Having made his toilet, he stepped into the hall and knocked loudly on the door next his own. There was no response, but this did not surprise the manager.

“Sleeping it off, I reckon,” he muttered as he turned the knob and entered without ceremony. “Well, it’ll be the last time he――”

There was an abrupt pause, followed by a grunt of surprise, as the manager stopped in the middle of the room and stared about him. Except for himself, the place was empty. The bed was smooth and untouched. Even the string still hung limply over the window sill. Evidently Savage had not returned at all.

“Out all night!” exclaimed the manager. “Or has he gone for good?”

Frowning, he walked over to the window and glowered into space for a minute or two. It was a shock and a disappointment to have the fellow sneak off this way without giving the manager a chance to let loose some of the verbal vitriol that had been corked up in him for so long.

“He can’t be gone for good,” Jack said aloud, “with all his stuff lying around like this. He’ll be back, and then――”

The pause was more eloquent than words. The manager turned to leave the room, when suddenly the door was thrown violently open, and Al Ogan burst in.

“You common scrub!” he exclaimed furiously. “Where’s my―― O-h!” His jaw sagged, and he stared amazedly at Kennedy. “I thought you were Savage. Where is he?”

Old Jack shook his head. “Give it up. I was asking myself that question not half a minute ago. What seems to be your trouble?”

“Trouble!” Ogan snapped out the word in a tone of extreme anger. “The cheap skate stole my watch!”

“What!” Kennedy’s voice was sharply incredulous. “You can’t mean that, Ogan. Savage has certainly got brains enough not to pull off a stunt of that sort.”

“Has he? Well, he don’t use ’em, then! The watch was swiped last night in the billiard room, and he’s the only one who could have taken it.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“It’s as plain as print. We were playing pool right after dinner――the only ones in the room. My coat and vest were in a chair back of the table. When Savage asked for a match I told him to help himself from the box in my side coat pocket. I was making a hard shot at the time, and my back was turned. When I came to look for the watch this morning, it was gone.”

Kennedy frowned. “How was it you didn’t notice the loss last night?” he inquired, with some tartness. “You don’t know but somebody went through your clothes while you were asleep.”

“And left a roll of bills in my trousers pocket?” countered Ogan sarcastically. “I guess nit! Generally I take my watch out and leave it on the bureau, but last night we were late, and I just dumped the clothes on the chair and tumbled in. Since Lefty bunked with Dalton, I’ve had the room to myself, and I have a habit of locking the door. There’s no getting around it, Jack, Savage is a thief, and I’m hanged if I let him walk off with something I think as much of as I do that watch. Haven’t you any idea where he’s gone?”

A sudden spasm of disgust assailed Kennedy, making him wish fervently that he had never set eyes on the aggravating individual who had disturbed his equanimity more than any recruit he had ever handled.

“Not a ghost of one,” he answered. “I’m done with him. He can be in the infernal regions for all I care, just so he stays away from me.”

He strode past Ogan to the door; there, pausing abruptly, as if ashamed of his outburst, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Go see Locke,” he advised gruffly. “He thinks he’s got a hunch where Savage gets his booze. I’ll let him off this morning to take you there if he wants to. But don’t mention that man’s name to me again.”

He stamped out into the hall.

“Old man’s temper is certainly riz up,” Al commented. “Wonder what else this crook has been doing to put himself in bad?”

He wasted little time on that question, however. Descending to the dining room, he bolted his breakfast, and sought out Lefty Locke.

“Sure, I’ll go!” the latter agreed, when he had listened to Ogan’s recital. “Can’t promise to help you much, but I’ll do my best. Jack Stillman and I have only the vaguest sort of an idea that he gets his booze at a certain farmhouse across the river; we really don’t know a thing for sure. I’ll be right with you.”

Knowing that the reporter would be busy with his daily column for the _Star_, Lefty made no attempt to hunt him up. Securing his hat, he joined Ogan at the door, and together they started briskly for the river road.

They had scarcely fallen into step before there flashed suddenly into the southpaw’s mind a remembrance of that perplexing night of over a week before and the problem of the voice in the dark which he had never really solved. It was rather curious that these latest developments should again couple Savage and Al Ogan together. Locke wondered whether it might not be something more than mere coincidence. He became swiftly determined to find out, if finding out lay within his power.

“It’s funny, Al,” he remarked in a rather careless tone, “but I had an idea you and Savage knew each other pretty well.”