SCORCH “ON THE JOB”
“Oh, dear! Do you suppose that can be possible?” Nancy demanded, finally.
“You know I’m right,” Jennie returned, firmly.
“It—it might be another man.”
“Two big men, who look important, and who both dress so peculiarly?”
“We-ell!”
“It’s he, all right,” declared Jennie, vigorously. “And he knows as much about you as Gordon does.”
“Do you think so?”
“But he isn’t as kindly-intentioned toward you as even Old Gordon. I know by the look he gave you as he went away.”
“But Grace Montgomery’s father!” gasped Nancy.
“Maybe you’re related to Grace,” ventured Jennie, with a sudden chuckle. “And after all the stuff she’s said about you ’round Pinewood, too!”
“Oh, I hope not!” exclaimed Nancy.
“Don’t want Grace for a relation—eh?”
“Dear, me! No!” cried Nancy, quite honestly.
This amused Jennie immensely; but soon she became more serious and the two girls discussed the possibilities of the matter most of the way to Cincinnati.
Mr. Montgomery did not come back to them. They were free, therefore, to wonder what he would do when they reached the city.
“Perhaps he won’t want you to see Mr. Gordon,” suggested Jennie.
“But why?”
“Why is he so much interested in your affairs?”
“Do we know that he is?” demanded Nancy.
“Well! Scorch heard him——”
“If it really was the same man.”
“Dear me!” said Jennie, wearily. “You are such a Doubting Tomaso——”
“I don’t believe that’s the feminine form of ‘Thomas,’” chuckled Nancy.
“I don’t care. It’s as plain as the nose on your face——”
“Now, don’t get too personal,” begged Nancy, rubbing her nasal organ. “Let’s wait and see.”
“But he may try to stop us, I tell you.”
“Not likely. And why?”
“Oh! you’ve asked that before,” cried Jennie, petulantly.
But all they could do was to wait and see. Mr. Montgomery might not even notice them again, although he had intimated that he would speak to them when they arrived at the station.
However, the two girls got off the train at their journey’s end without at once seeing the Senator. It was very early in the morning and the big train-shed seemed all but deserted.
Nancy knew, however, that there was a cab stand just outside, and she and her chum hurried out to it. Before they could find a cabman or speak to the officer on duty in front of the building, Mr. Montgomery came bustling up.
“Are you girls going immediately to Mr. Gordon’s hotel?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Nancy.
“Come right along with me, then. I have a taxi waiting.”
Jennie held back a little; yet even she did not see how they could refuse the offer. They followed him around the nearest corner, and so did not see a figure that shot panting across the square to the entrance of the station they had just left.
This was a youth whose hair, even in the early morning light, displayed all the fiery hue of sunrise. It was Scorch—but for once Scorch was just too late.
Nancy and Jennie were out of sight with the “man in gray” before the boy reached the railway station in answer to Nancy’s telegram.
Mr. Montgomery escorted the two girls to a cab standing in a dark street. It seemed to have been waiting some time, for its engine was not running and the chauffeur was pacing the walk.
Possibly Mr. Montgomery had done some telegraphing ahead, too.
“Get right in here, girls,” he said. “Lucky I was coming on the same train with you. Your folks will certainly be worried about you.”
“Now, wasn’t that a funny thing for him to say?” asked Jennie, as she stepped in after Nancy.
There was no chance for Nancy to reply, however, for Mr. Montgomery was close upon their heels. The chauffeur jumped to his seat, the door slammed, and the cab was off.
“How far is it to Garvan’s Hotel?” asked Nancy.
“It’s some distance,” replied Mr. Montgomery. “I only hope Gordon is not hurt as badly as the paper says. Of course, if he is in the hands of doctors and nurses they may refuse to let any of us see him.”
“Oh! I hope not!” exclaimed Nancy.
“We can wait till he’s better, then,” Jennie suggested. “John will be in town this morning and we’ll go to his office and then go home with him and wait until you can see Mr. Gordon.”
Mr. Montgomery snorted, but said nothing. Indeed, he seemed very glum after they were in the cab.
What a distance it did seem to Garvan’s Hotel! The cab traveled at high speed, for there was not much traffic at this hour and the few policemen paid no attention.
“This isn’t at all the part of the city I thought Mr. Gordon lived in,” observed Nancy, once.
Mr. Montgomery made no comment. Jennie squeezed her chum’s hand and sat closer to her. To tell the truth, Jennie was getting a little frightened.
The cab passed through a web of narrow streets. The girls, although they knew something about the city, were soon at sea as far as the locality was concerned.
“Where are we?” cried Nancy, at last.
“We have arrived,” spoke the Senator, harshly. “Jump out. I’ll take you right indoors. I have been here to see Gordon before.”
“But—but this doesn’t look like a hotel,” murmured Nancy, first to reach the sidewalk.
The houses were rows of mean-looking, three-story brick edifices. They were in a narrow street near the corner of a wider thoroughfare.
“This is the side entrance,” said the Senator, and taking the girls firmly by the arm, ushered them up the steps of the nearest house.
He did not even have to knock. Somebody must have been on watch, for the door swung open instantly.
Neither Nancy nor Jennie saw the person who opened the door. It was very dark in the hall.
“How is our patient?” asked Mr. Montgomery, rather loudly, as they stepped in.
“Not very well—not very well,” said a wheezy voice. “You can go right up to that room, sir—the sitting room. Ahem! You’ll have to see the doctor before you can speak with Mr.—Mr.——”
“Mr. Gordon,” said the Senator, briskly. “All right, girls. Hurry upstairs.”
Nancy and Jennie were quite confused. They did just as they were urged to do by Senator Montgomery. At the top of the flight he pushed open a door and the chums went into the room. The curtains were drawn. One feeble gas jet was burning. It was a fusty-smelling, cluttered room, furnished with odds and ends of old furniture and hangings.
“I’ll be with you directly,” said Mr. Montgomery, and closed the door.
“Oh!” squealed Jennie.
“Did you hear it?” whispered Nancy, seizing her chum.
The key had been turned in the lock. They tried the knob—first one shook it and then the other. The door could not be opened and there did not seem to be another door leading out of the room.
“He’s locked us in!” said Nancy, amazed.
“I knew he was a villain!” declared Jennie, with a vicious snap of her teeth. “Isn’t he just like Grace?”
“But—but how dares he do such a thing?” gasped Nancy.
“He’s a rich man—he can do anything. Or, he thinks he can,” returned Jennie. “But you wait till my father gets hold of him!”
“Do—do you suppose he’ll dare do us any bodily harm?” queried Nancy, anxiously. “Oh! I wish I hadn’t got you into it, Jennie.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed the more reckless Jennie. “He only wants to keep you from seeing Gordon.”
“But—what for?”
“He’s afraid Mr. Gordon will weaken and tell you all about yourself,” responded her practical chum. “That’s plain enough.”
“Oh, dear, me! do you think so? And suppose poor Mr. Gordon dies?”
“Then you’ll never know who you really are, Nance. At least, you can be sure Grace’s father will never tell you.”
“If he knows.”
“If he doesn’t know, and isn’t afraid of your finding out, what does he bother with us this way for?” demanded Jennie, angrily.
“Maybe we can get out of the window?”
“It’s at the back of the house. We couldn’t get out of the yard.”
“Let’s scream.”
“Who’d hear us here? Might as well save our breath,” said Jennie.
“I—I wish Scorch was here,” declared Nancy.
“So do I—with all my heart. Bless his red head! He’d get us out of this in short order.”
As she spoke there came a tapping on one of the window-panes. Jennie and Nancy both ran to the window, drew aside the heavy curtain and raised the shade.
Only a little light filtered in. But it was sufficient to show them a pale face flattened against the glass.
The face suddenly grinned widely. Then a hand waved. They saw his red hair under his cap, and the two girls clung together with a cry of delight.
Scorch O’Brien was “on the job.”