“Where’s Joe, Jim?” he asked anxiously. “It isn’t like him to be late. Did he tell you he wouldn’t show up to-day?”
“I don’t know much more about him than you do, Mac,” replied Jim, a worried look in his eyes. “He didn’t show up at the hotel last night, and I thought he was probably with one of the other fellows. But now that he isn’t here for the game I’m getting worried for fair. I know that if he isn’t here it’s because he couldn’t get here.”
“Couldn’t get here!” echoed McRae. “What in thunder would stop him from getting here if he wanted to come?”
“You know well enough that both Joe and I have had trouble with the gambling ring before now,” said Jim. “They’ve been after both of us, and it looks as though they’d landed on Joe this time. If they have—” Jim did not finish the sentence, but his flashing eyes and the grim set of his mouth supplied the rest.
“That goes for the whole team,” said McRae. “Anybody that tampers with any member of this team is going to have trouble. I’ll get a couple of detectives on the job right away, and we’ll see if we can’t locate Joe in a hurry. In the meantime, you’ll have to pitch to-day’s game, Jim. I was counting on Joe for this afternoon, but I guess you can turn the trick, too.”
“I’m here to try,” said Jim. “But after the game is over, I’m going to look for Joe on my own hook. And what’s more, I’m willing to bet that there’s at least one member of this team that could tell you right now, if he wanted to, where he is.”
“Who?” demanded McRae quickly. “Give me his name.”
“You’d better keep this quiet for the time, Mac,” said Robson who came up just at this juncture. “We don’t want any of this to get into the papers, if we can help it.”
“That’s right,” admitted McRae. “Come with us, Barclay, and we’ll talk this over in private.”
In the manager’s office under the grandstand Jim told of Joe’s resolve to follow McCarney the previous afternoon. McRae and Robson listened with worried frowns on their faces. Robson was the first to speak.