CHAPTER XXIX
THE JAWS OF THE TRAP
Lefty had defied Weegman. Henceforth it was to be open war, and he was glad of it. What the rascal would attempt to do he did not know, and cared less. It did not seem likely that he could do much, if anything, that he had not already made preparations to do. Of course, he might call Collier into the affair, and that, should it bring the owner of the Blue Stockings back to his own country, was something earnestly to be desired. Could he but get Collier in private for twenty minutes, Locke felt sure he could make him realize that he was the victim of a conspiracy, and that his trusted private secretary had sought to sell him out into the hands of a rival owner.
The telephone rang, and, thinking Stillman was calling at last, he hastened to answer. It was not the reporter’s voice that he heard, but he was informed that some one was speaking from the office of the Blade, and that, after making a fruitless effort to get Locke on the wire, Stillman had found it necessary to hustle away to keep an important appointment.
“But where can I find him?” asked the disappointed pitcher. “How can I get hold of him?”
“He wants to talk to you as much as you do to him,” was the answer. “Said it was absolutely necessary. That’s why he had me call you. Says he has something to tell you, personally and privately. He’ll try to be at Mike’s saloon, Thompson Street, near Broome, at three o’clock. If you get there first, wait for him. And don’t fail to come, for he’ll have important information. Got that straight?”
“Yes, but–”
“All right. I’ve done my duty. Good-by.” There was a click, and the wire was silent.
Lefty looked at his watch as he left the phone. It was twenty-two minutes to three.
“Just about time enough to make it comfortably,” he decided. “Stillman must be on the track of something.”