“No use bothering with them just yet,” replied the detective. “No doubt they’re guilty, but you haven’t a thing in the world on them in connection with this plan. You just saw them speak to this man. But any fan at a ball game may speak to another. No, the only chance you have is to get this scientific bug and trust that he’ll peach on them.”
They were sorely disappointed, but they recognized the truth of what O’Brien said. They had not a scintilla of legal evidence as yet, and a premature accusation would simply put Harrish and Tompkinson on their guard. They must wait.
But despite their chagrin, the hearts of Joe and Jim were simply singing at their discovery of the morning. No more mystery! No more apprehension! No more sleepless nights! No more fears that their livelihood was threatened, that their usefulness was ended!
They had taken on a new lease of life. They had laid the jinx!
And how completely they had laid him was evident in the weeks that followed. Never had they pitched with such deadly precision, such complete mastery over their opponents. Their arms, freed from the malign rays that had gradually been undermining their strength and that would undoubtedly if continued have led to eventual paralysis, had quickly regained their former cunning and power. All teams looked alike to them, and their going into the box soon came to be recognized as almost synonymous with chalking up a victory.
The rest of the pitching staff caught the spirit of victory. The infield and the outfield played like men possessed. Whether at home or on the road, it made no difference.
Steadily the gap widened between the Giants and the Pittsburghs and the Cubs, their most formidable competitors. It seemed as though one of the records that Joe had hung up as a goal was sure to be realized, namely that the Giants should win more games than they ever had before in a single season. A continuation of their present work would make that dream a certainty.
And in the games played at home, it was an immense satisfaction to view the faces of Harrish and Tompkinson in the grandstand as victory after victory was hung up for the Giants. Those rascals attended the games regularly, and that they were rooting violently for the Giants to lose was evident from the glumness of their faces as they saw the other teams mowed down.
“Regular undertakers’ party!” chuckled Jim as he watched them.