"No," admitted Edwards. "He left the hotel nearly two hours ago and said he'd be back before ten o'clock. I have two men watching him, and they're to let me know where he is and what he is doing. I ought to have heard from them before now."
The telephone rang at that instant.
"This is it now," said Edwards in low tones. "Hello!" he said, taking up the receiver. "Yes—you, Jack? All right. You have? Where? All right. I'll join you as fast as I can get there. Don't let him reach the hotel if I'm late—you understand?"
"What do you think of that?" he asked, turning to Baldwin. "Of all the gall—where do you think that fellow McCarthy was?"
"I don't know."
"No wonder Jack had such a hard time locating him. He was at your house."
"I have a taxi waiting downstairs," said Edwards quickly. "Come on, I'll drop you at the police station. We'll bring in the prisoner before you've been there very long."
"How are you going to get him?" inquired Baldwin, as the taxi dodged in and out among traffic.
"I've got Big Jack, the fighter, trailing McCarthy," said the gambler, laughing mirthlessly. "He's sore on ball players since that scrap with Swanson and Kennedy the other night, and he'll welcome a chance to get his hands on one."
"He won't hurt him, will he?" asked Baldwin nervously.