Chapter VIII: A Deep Game

For some time, as a matter of convenience for making changes and as a meeting place for himself and aids, Nick had maintained a room in the hotel where, in the late afternoon of the day in which these events took place, he had taken off his makeup as Mr. Cary.

It was to this place that Patsy hurried to make the change that would prevent him from being recognized by the Brown Robin.

It did not take him long, and when he turned out into the street again, in his dress suit and mustache, he looked like a veritable young man about town—a handsome swell.

He had supposed when he left the room where he made the change that he would have to return to the neighborhood where Chick had made his great discovery, to pick up Chick’s trail.

But he had barely stepped through the main entrance to the hotel when he saw, on the pavement directly in front, a roughly-drawn arrow in red chalk, the head pointing to the north.

It was Chick’s trail.

“Great luck!” exclaimed Patsy to himself, as he hurried up to the corner. “I’m on as the flag falls.”

At the corner the sign showed that Chick had crossed the street to the west side of Broadway, but on reaching the corner on that side, Patsy could see nothing that indicated further direction.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Patsy. “They have taken a car.”

He went back to the middle of the street, and, looking about carefully, saw some pieces of paper.

He looked for a trail of them, but the wind had evidently blown them away.

Searching further, Patsy’s eye was caught by an upright form which fluttered a small red flag, a signal of some kind, used in the operation of the street railway.

This upright was a slender rod of iron, but about it was tied a small bit of red cloth.

Patsy went to it, to recognize it as one of Chick’s signs.

A railroad man came up, warning Patsy away from the signal.

“Now, who the deuce did that?” he exclaimed, tearing off Chick’s signal.

But Patsy had seen it, and knew that Chick had taken an upbound car.

So he mounted the next one, quite certain that Chick’s destination was the Empire Theatre.

But, all the same, he kept a sharp lookout for any signal that might have been left by Chick on the way.

He saw none, however, until in passing the Empire Theatre, his eye caught a strip of red cloth, a foot long, fluttering from the billboard of the theatre.

“Chick’s there,” he muttered.

At Fortieth Street he got out and walked back to the theatre, taking off the strip of cloth which had been fastened by a pin, as he entered, placing it in his pocket.

As he entered the lobby, a man in ordinary clothes passed out, making a signal to Patsy.

Even before Patsy saw the signal he had recognized Chick, though he was disguised by a false mustache and wig.

He followed Chick out, and when he came up, Chick said:

“My man, who is a woman—the Brown Robin—is in there, looking at the play. The second act is on.

“Mountain is in there, too. The Brown Robin talked with Mountain after the first act. What was said between them I don’t know, but whatever it was, the Brown Robin asked something from Mountain which he refused to give or do.

“I couldn’t get to him before he went back to his seat.”

“Catch him after this act,” said Patsy.

“That’s what I want to do,” said Chick, “and I have been thinking it over and how to do it. You see, if we talk with Mountain in the open, the Brown Robin will drop, and that is what we don’t want.

“Say, Patsy, you know the manager, don’t you?”

“Yes; he’s all right—nice fellow.”

“Well, can’t you see him now, and ask him to let us into a room and send for Mr. Mountain?”

“Sure.”

Patsy went off, and in a few moments was back again, saying it was all arranged. He led Chick into a room opening off the lobby, and when the door was closed Patsy laughed and said:

“This job was easy enough, Chick, but the hard part was to convince our friend that I was the one I said I was. He knows Mountain, so that is all right.”

At this moment the door opened, and a short, rather stout man, with a sharp, bright, masterful face, entered, looking keenly about.

“The great mogul over all here,” whispered Patsy.

It was indeed the great theatrical manager of the day.

“Which one is Patsy?” he asked.

Patsy stood up, and the great manager looked him over keenly.

Then he laughed heartily, and shook hands with the lad.

“Patsy,” he said, “I think I shall have to engage you to teach makeup to my young people. Yours is a triumph of art.”

Directing the boy in attendance to make the two comfortable, he went out.

Shortly after, a bell sounded in the room.

“The act is over,” said Chick; “now for Mountain.”

They did not wait long, for the door soon opened and Mr. Mountain, in evening attire, entered.

He looked at the two with the air of one who had expected to find acquaintances and had met strangers.

“Mr. Mountain,” said Chick, “we are two of Nick Carter’s men.”

“The woods are full of them, then,” said Mr. Mountain, seriously, “for this is the second time I have been accosted by them.”

“Do you mean,” asked Chick, “that the one who spoke to you after the first act said he was one of Nick Carter’s men?”

“That’s what he did.”

“For Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Chick. “I hope you gave him no confidence.”

“I did not. I told him that I did not know whether he was or not, and I would not talk to him until I knew or he proved it. Then I told him that when I knew him to be one of Nick Carter’s men I would have nothing to do with him, or Nick Carter, either, for I had been warned against all. And that’s what I say to you.”

“You do not recognize me, then, Mr. Mountain?”

“I do not.”

Chick stood up, and quickly removed his mustache and wig.

“How now, Mr. Mountain?”

“There’s no doubt of it now,” laughed Mr. Mountain.

“I am Patsy, Mr. Mountain,” said the lad, “but I can’t take off my makeup so quickly or put it on again.”

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Mountain, “what’s in the wind?”

“We have been detailed by the chief to watch over you, Mr. Mountain,” said Chick. “He had a notion that you would get your notice to-night.”

“He was right. I did.”

“When?”

“See here, Chick,” said Mr. Mountain, “Carter told me that if I was questioned I must deny having anything to do with him or his men.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Mountain,” said Chick. “The chief has a notion that they do not know that you have retained him, and he wants to keep the thing quiet. I hope you did not let on to that young man that you had relations with us.”

“Why?”

“Because that was the Brown Robin.”

“The devil! I saw Nick Carter only a couple of hours ago, and he told me the Brown Robin was a woman.”

“The person speaking to you after the first act was a woman.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Certain. Now, then, what did she want?”

“Say, Chick,” exclaimed Patsy. “Hold on! Mr. Mountain has seen her in the makeup she had when she left Seventeenth Street.”

“That’s all right, Patsy, but she made a change on her way up here. Now, Mr. Mountain, what did she want?”

“Well, after telling me she was one of Nick Carter’s men, she asked if I had got my notice. I refused to say anything to her on the subject, and when she talked Nick Carter I told her, as Mr. Carter had instructed me, that I had nothing to do with him, and wanted to have nothing to do.

“He—that is, she, if it is a she—began to threaten me with Nick Carter’s power, but I wouldn’t have it. I stood pat on Mr. Carter’s instructions.”

“That is first-rate,” said Chick. “I see the game through and through. It was an effort to be satisfied whether or not Nick Carter is employed by you.”

“Well, then, she is satisfied that he is not, for I lied like a trooper.”

“Good! Now, then, you have got your notice?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By letter. It was thrust into my hand as I entered the theatre here.”

“May I see it?”

Mr. Mountain took a letter from his pocket, handing it to Chick, who, after reading it, passed it to Patsy. It read:

“Mr. M.: To-morrow at 5 P. M. Be at the entrance of the Park Avenue
Hotel, prepared to do business, as I require. Make no mistake as to
the amount. You will be met by one who will bring you to me. If you
are accompanied by any one, or, if any one is concealed there to watch
and follow, I shall know it, and if you play tricks the game will be
up. Be prompt.

“The Brown Robin.”

“So it’s business to-morrow,” said Chick.

“It seems so,” replied Mr. Mountain. “I want to see Carter on this business; I meant to go to him after the theatre.”

“Don’t; let him go to you,” said Chick. “You will be seen and followed if you go. He will get to you unseen.”

“I suppose that is so,” said Mr. Mountain, thoughtfully. “You will inform him then?”

“Yes; I will take this letter to him.”

Chick was thoughtful a moment, then handed the letter back, saying:

“On second thoughts, Mr. Mountain, keep that letter in your pocket. You may be required to show it, and it may be well to do it, if so.”

“How?”

“The man who first came to you may show up before the evening is over.”

“I see.”

“A lot may be done to find out whether you are acting in good faith before they put their heads in the trap.”

“I follow you. Good! I am to act as I meant to come down in earnest.”

“That is it.”

The bell sounded again to notify of the raising of the curtain.

“Go back, Mr. Mountain, as if nothing had occurred here,” said Chick.

Mr. Mountain went into the lobby, and Chick asked an attendant if there was a way out of the room except through the lobby.

An unknown way was pointed out, and through it Chick and Patsy went out to Broadway.

Here Chick said:

“Now, Patsy, go into the theatre and keep up the watch. I think Mountain will be shadowed home; follow if he is. I shall hunt up the chief.”

Patsy obeyed, and went into the theatre, paying his admission, to see the man he had followed earlier in the day, in the same disguise in which he had come from the Seventeenth Street house; that is to say, the Brown Robin, standing just within the audience hall.

He took up a standing position near her.

Chick hurried across town to Nick’s apartments and arrived a few minutes after Nick had returned from his walk with Edith.

The famous detective listened intently to what Chick had to tell.

“This is great work of yours, Chick,” he said. “You have proved satisfactorily what I have suspected ever since I was at the Brown Robin’s house as Mr. Cary.

“The suspicion that the man that followed me this morning and was followed by Patsy afterward was a woman came to me when he took me to the Lexington house.”

“I was looking for the knock-kneed gait that the keen-witted Patsy spoke of, and then it struck me it was a woman, well padded and made up.”

“But, chief, you saw the man go out of the Lexington Avenue house just as the Brown Robin came to you.”

“No, I didn’t, Chick,” replied Nick, with a smile. “I heard it. But I dropped then, or thought I did, that the two voices were from the same person—a little play played for my benefit.

“She is a great actress, Chick, and a thundering smart woman. She has the energy of the devil. When she left me, as Mr. Cary, in Twenty-third Street, she must have come straight over here. Leaving here, she made for the Seventeenth Street house, to make her change for the night’s work.

“That was a great piece of work of yours to go into that house. It proved the fact, and shows up her game.

“I can see now how she baffled all the others. She has three houses to work in, and in the Lexington Avenue house she is seen only as a woman, except as she ordered it to-day.

“She is great on makeup, and she plays the game herself. Well, she makes the big strike to-morrow, and we’ll have her.

“We’ll meet her with her own cunning.

“But come, we’ll go to Mr. Mountain’s house, to be there before he gets back from the theatre.

“Take my word for it, Chick, the Thirtieth Street house is to be the scene of the big strike.”

With this, the two detectives set out for Mr. Mountain’s residence.