With the passing of the hours I became uneasy. The Colonel, I felt sure, especially in his present frame of mind, would not desert Fitz unless something out of the common had happened. I would go to Klutchem’s office first, and not finding him there, I would keep on to Bedford Place and interview Chad.
“Been here?” growled Klutchem’s clerk in answer to my question. “Well, I should think so. Tried to murder Mr. Klutchem. They’re all up at the police station. Nice day for a muss like this when everything’s kitin’! You don’t know whether you’re a-foot or a-horseback! These fire-eaters ought to be locked up!”
“Arrested!”
“Well, you’d a-thought so if you’d been here half an hour ago. He kept comin’ in callin’ for Mr. Klutchem, and then he sat down and said he’d wait. Looked like a nice, quiet old fellow, and nobody took any notice of him. When Mr. Klutchem came in—he’d been to the Clearing-house—they both went into his private office and shut the door. First thing we heard was some loud talk and then the thump of a cane, and when I got inside the old fellow was beatin’ Mr. Klutchem over the head with a stick thick as your wrist. We tried to put him out, or keep him quiet, but he wanted to fight the whole office. Then a cop heard the row and came in and took the bunch to the station. Do you know him?”
This last inquiry coming at the end of the explosion showed me how vivid the scene still was in the clerk’s mind and how it had obliterated every other thought.
“Know him! I should think I did,” I answered, my mind in a whirl. “Where have they taken him?”
“Where have they taken ’em, Billy?” asked the clerk, repeating my question to an assistant.
“Old Slip. You can’t miss it. It’s got a lamp over the door.”
The Sergeant smiled when I stepped up to the desk and made the inquiry.