The reporter smiled at her. “As far as I can learn, Franklin Parlmee is not situated, financially, to invest much money in stock of any kind. With his stock depreciating, and bound to go lower in value, he would be a chump to purchase it as an investment. The man who pays more than its market value in order to get hold of it knows something about the doings behind the scenes that is not known to the general public. Apparently that man is Parlmee. Who’s furnishing him the money to buy the stock? My own guess is that it is the man who’s looking to get control of the club, and that man is Garrity.”
Still Janet protested that it was impossible, but she looked questioningly at Lefty, the doubt that she was fighting against was now beginning to creep into her eyes.
“Parlmee,” said the southpaw, “has gone to Europe. I have a message from him stating that he would sail on the Northumberland. If he’s behind the plot to wreck the Blue Stockings, why should he leave the field of action at this time?”
“If I’ve got his number,” returned Stillman, “he’s a liar in various ways. Perhaps he has sailed for Europe; perhaps he hasn’t. His message may be nothing more than a little dust for your eyes. But if he has sailed, there’s only one answer to that.”
“Out with it!” urged Locke. “Of course, you think it another move in the rotten game?”
“Sure as death and taxes. He believes the time is ripe to get at Collier. He’s gone across to get at him and twist the control of the club out of his hands. Probably he’ll appear before Collier in the guise of a friend anxious to save him from complete financial disaster. He’s got just about enough time to make the trip comfortably, get that business through with, and return before the regular meeting of the league magnates here in New York. Then, at the meeting, Tom Garrity will bob up serenely as the real owner of the Blue Stockings.”
CHAPTER XXVI
NOT MUCH SHOW
Tired out, Janet went to bed shortly after Stillman left, but Locke, knowing he could not sleep, sat up to think the situation over. The difficulties and problems of his own position seemed greater than ever. If the plot was as deep and intricate as the reporter believed, and if the men behind it were moving with haste and certainty to the accomplishment of their designs, there seemed scarcely a ghost of a chance for him, practically alone and unaided, to block them.
For Lefty now felt that, in a way, he was standing alone. Even Kennedy, having no power, could do little more than offer advice. And where was Kennedy?