Every Man for Himself

by Herbert Joseph Moorhouse

"He had been keeping a close watch on Podmore for some days, for he did not trust him and felt sure that he would not hesitate to play false to Nickleby and Alderson whom he had been cultivating so carefully of late. Jimmy is shrewd. His patience was rewarded one day by the sight of Podmore in a leather-goods store around the corner, purchasing two satchels which were identical in size, shape and color. Stiles had the clerk lay aside a third satchel which was the mate of the two Podmore had just bought. When one of the satchels was delivered at the office from Podmore, Jimmy knew he had guessed right. Just how Podmore was proposing to change the satchels worried Jimmy quite a bit until he began to suspect a new arrival in town by the name of Clayton. He found out that Podmore and this Clayton were meeting in Podmore's room at different times, but ignoring each other as utter strangers in the hotel rotunda. Then when Clayton turned up quite casually at All Saints' Mission—the church Jimmy attends, you know—and began to ingratiate himself, Stiles thought he saw daylight. It turned out that he was right, too, in suspecting that Clayton was Podmore's accomplice.

"It fitted in fine with Jimmy's own plan. When he came out of the office with that tan satchel, which contained the money, his kid brother—Bertie—was sitting on the bottom step of the stairway on the same floor, watching the door. As soon as he saw Jimmy come out, the kid ran upstairs to the next floor, picked up the satchel Jimmy had bought and in which he had placed some old newspapers, and took the elevator down. Jimmy got into the same elevator and they transferred the satchels going down to the street. So, you see, when Stiles walked out onto the street he was carrying the satchel that had the old newspapers inside, while young Bertie just stayed in the elevator, went up a few floors and calmly walked down the back stairs and so on home where he chucked satchel, fifty thousand dollars and all, under Jimmy's bed."

"By George!" chuckled Kendrick.

"Jimmy was able to laugh up his sleeve all the way through. I told you he was clever. Sure enough, he found Clayton lying in wait for him at the Jessup Grill which Stiles would have to pass. He almost laughed in that professional con man's face when he was invited inside for a drink and he proved an easy victim when Clayton switched the satchels on him. Jimmy saw that Clayton had spotted the detective who was trailing along and was on his guard. With that danger over, he knew everything was safe; for Podmore could not afford to do anything else but keep quiet even after he discovered that with all his slickness somebody had beaten him out. There wasn't a shred of evidence to implicate Jimmy, you see."

"He tells me they're watching him down at the office pretty closely, though," said Kendrick when she paused for breath.

"That's to be expected, of course. Those two men who attacked us in the park were private detectives in Nickleby's pay and they probably thought Jimmy was passing something on to me and it was time to search both of us. Nickleby and the others have kept close mouths about the theft of the election money because they didn't want any investigation by the regular police. I am inclined to think they planned their election contribution for a definite purpose and could not afford any publicity about it."

"They must be a fine bunch of crooks, that outfit!" remarked Kendrick.

"The fellow who was watching Jimmy and me at the station that night was probably acting on his own initiative. It was the same detective who had made such a bungle of following Jimmy in the afternoon and I guess it nearly cost him his job. He must have been feeling pretty well worked up at the way things turned out. If it hadn't been for Mr. Wade's timely arrival there's no telling what might have happened. Can—can we—sit down for a little rest?" she gasped.

Phil glanced at her quickly, apologizing for his thoughtlessness. He had been so absorbed in her recital that he had forgotten the strain under which she was laboring with the pain in her foot. They must have covered a lot of ground while they talked. Five miles to Thorlakson's, he had told her, but it might just as easily be eight or ten.

After a short rest they went on. They passed through rock cuttings where their voices and the sound of their feet flung back hollowly from the walls. They rounded curves, looking eagerly for some sign of habitation, only to be met by the same stretch of deserted track leading off into nebulous gloom. Or perhaps they would see a dim white speck ahead or the black outlines of a rocky spur where the track disappeared and they would comfort themselves with the thought that around that particular curve or beyond that mile-post they would see buildings. But when they had hobbled down the track and gained the goal there were always more rocky spurs and more track to hobble over.