“Because, as I say, I think he’ll play his wits against ours. I think, for the sake of getting you under lock and key, in their hands, he’ll try to kidnap you, ostensibly to go on a party, and trust to shaking off any pursuit you may have arranged.”
I whistled. “Oh, that’s what you’ve had up your sleeve. I’m to be the bait, eh?”
He nodded gravely. “That’s it exactly, Clayton.”
“Well,” I laughed, “if he agrees to take me, it’s up to you! But, by gad, I’d be glad to go anyway. If I ever get to their hang-out and get loose, I’ll make things warm for them.”
Pride rose to his feet. “That’s what we’ve been doing all along—what you’re doing when you say that. You’re not giving them credit for much brains and they’ve got plenty. Look at the way they had Miss Van Cleef guarded and the arrangements for calling for help. It wasn’t long in coming either. No, if they get you there, you won’t be in any condition to do much damage. Be sure of that.”
“Unless I can make them underestimate me. They ought to have a pretty poor opinion of me now, after the mess I’ve made of things.”
Pride laughed. “Well, I’m going up to your place now. You’d better go to bed and get a good night’s rest. Your face isn’t anything to look at yet. But it will be better in the morning and your head is about healed.” He opened the door. “Good-night and don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he went out.
I spent the rest of the evening up to midnight alternately sitting down and trying to read or walking the floor. Before I went to bed I put some stuff Pride had brought me on my face and hands. It had wonderful healing qualities and I was already beginning to look more like a human being, so that I hoped to look at least respectable by morning.
True to his promise, Pride turned up after breakfast the next morning. He was carrying a suit-case, which he flung on my bed. He grinned at me and banged down into one of the landlady’s plush horrors with which my room was furnished.
“There’s your clothes, my lad. And a sweet time I had getting them. There’s a cop still in charge of your apartment, and the landlord up there is nearly crazy because all of his tenants are leaving on account of the disgrace. The cop put up an argument about my taking your things, and I did not want to tell him who I am because Lord knows he may be hand in glove with these birds. But I got Captain Peters on the wire finally, and the poor cop fairly groveled. But—your little book is strangely missing.” He treated me to another of his droll glances. “I dare say your friend Mrs. Fawcette got away with that too, along with your card-case.”