Locke shook his head. “Knowing what I do, do you suppose I could do that if Garrity got hold of the team? I wouldn’t have the heart to work for that scoundrel. Back in the time we’re speaking of, it was Stillman’s cleverness that straightened things out. Not another newspaper man got wise to the real situation. With his usual uncanny intuition, he saw through it all, and, as usual, he made no mistake.”
“Right you are,” admitted old Jack.
“All the more reason to suppose he is right now. We can’t dodge that fact. To-morrow I’m going to make every effort to find some method of getting into communication with Charles Collier. It’s my only play in this game. If it fails–good night!”
Again Lefty began pacing the floor; it seemed that he could not wait patiently for the coming day; he was burning with a desire to get to work at once. It had been his purpose to seek Kennedy’s advice on other matters, but these now seemed secondary and unimportant for the time being. His talk with Stillman had led him to alter completely his plan of immediate action. To prevent the control of the team from falling into the clutches of the conspirators was now his sole purpose, as the problem of rebuilding it and restoring it to its former strength and prestige could be solved later.
Kennedy sat thinking, plucking at his under lip, as was the old man’s habit when perplexed. “Yes, son,” he said, after a time, “that’s what you’re up against. Old P. T. Barnum had a show; but it doesn’t look like you have.”
CHAPTER XXVII
THE SUSPENDED AX
All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He ’phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.
It was a little after noon when he called the office of the Blade. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship’s sake Stillman would attempt it.
Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of the Blade. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw’s call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.