The lapse of time, too, had lulled the politician’s suspicions of the police. They seemed to have ceased prying. He ascertained, almost by chance, that Clancy was hot on the trail of a gang of counterfeiters. “The yacht mystery” had apparently become a mere memory in the Bureau.
So Voles came, with him Mick the Wolf, carrying a left arm in splints, and the Senator thought he was taking no risk in calling at the up-town hotel where the pair occupied rooms the day after Carshaw blurted out Winifred’s name to Helen Tower. He meant paying another visit that day, so was attired de rigueur, a fact at which Voles, pipe in mouth and lounging in pajamas, promptly scoffed.
“Gee!” he cried. “Here’s the Senator mooching round again, dressed up to the nines—dust coat, morning suit, boots shining, all the frills—but visiting low companions all the same. Why doesn’t the man turn over a new leaf and become good?”
“Oh, hold your tongue!” said William. “We’ve got the girl, Ralph!”
“Got the girl, have we? Not the first girl you’ve said that about—is it, my wily William?”
“Listen, and drop that tone when you’re speaking to me, or I’ll cut you out for good and all!” said Meiklejohn in deadly earnest. “If ever you had need to be serious, it is now. I said we’ve got her, but that only means that we are about to get her address; and the trouble will be to get herself afterward.”
“Tosh! As to that, only tell me where she is, an’ I’ll go and grab her by the neck.”
“Don’t be such a fool. This is New York and not Mexico, though you insist on confounding the two. Even if the girl were without friends, you can’t go and seize people in that fashion over here, and she has at least one powerful friend, for the man who beat you hollow that night, and carried her off under your very nose, is Rex Carshaw, a determined youngster, and rich, though not so rich as he thinks he is. And there must be no failure a second time, Ralph. Remember that! Just listen to me carefully. This girl is thinking of going on the stage! Do you realize what that means, if she ever gets there? You have yourself said she is the living image of her mother. You know that her mother was well known in society. Think, then, of her appearing before the public, and of the certainty of her being recognized by some one, or by many, if she does. Fall down this time, and the game’s up!”
“The thing seems to be, then, to let daylight into Carshaw,” said Voles.
“Oh, listen, man! Listen! What we have to do is to place her in a lonely house—in the country—where, if she screams, her screams will not be heard; and the only possibility of bringing her there is by ruse, not by violence.”