When the Cock Crows

by Waldron Baily

After reaching the station, Roy occupied the short interval of waiting for the special by writing out two messages, which he had put on the wire to New York. The first of these was addressed to the Collector of the Port, asking whether or not clearance papers had been taken out for The Isabel. The other telegram was to the most noted detective agency in the city, which contained a request that their best operative should meet him at the arrival of his train in the Grand Central Terminal. He directed that the replies, in each instance, should be sent to him at Albany, in care of the limited train with which he would make connection there.

The second message was barely completed and delivered to the telegrapher when the special roared to a standstill by the station platform. Roy sprang quickly up the steps, and almost before he had entered the car the locomotive was again snorting on its way.

The loungers about the station watched greedily this unexpected interruption of the day's routine. And, too, there was bitter envy in their hearts directed toward this handsome, young aristocrat, who could thus summon a train for his private pleasure. They could not guess anything of the black misery that marked the mood of the young man whom they deemed so favored of fate.

Roy's impatience was such that he could not sit for a minute at a time. Instead, he strode to and fro with the feverish intensity of a leopard padding swiftly backward and forward in its cage. So he moved restlessly, though walking in the car was none too easy. There was need of haste if the special would catch the limited express at Albany. It was evident that the engineer and fireman had no mind to fail in the task set for them. The fireman gave steam a plenty, and the engineer made use of it with seemingly reckless prodigality. The car swayed and leaped with the excessive speed. On the curves, sometimes, it appeared as if it must be thrown off the track, and Roy was compelled to cling fast to his seat in order to avoid falling. But he felt no distress over the rocking, lurching progress. Rather, he found a grim joy in it, since it was haste, and always more haste, for which he longed.... And then, at last, the special thundered into the Albany station and clanged to a standstill. Roy breathed a sigh of relief. The limited express had not yet pulled in.

He had time to make inquiry concerning telegrams, and found one awaiting him from the Collector of the Port of New York. This simply stated that no papers had been issued for the clearing of the yacht Isabel. The message added that if the vessel had sailed it must have been stolen. Just as he finished the reading of this dispatch, the operator handed him a second telegram—one from the detective agency. It announced that their best operative would meet him in the terminal at the gate on the arrival of the limited express in New York. There was a direction added to the effect that the operative might be recognized by his standing apart from the crowd and wearing two white carnations in the lapel of his coat.

Arriving at the Grand Central terminal, Roy walked rapidly to the exit gate. His eyes roamed for a moment over the passing throng in search of the man with the boutonnière of white carnations, and presently picked him out where he stood a little apart. Roy hurried to him, and made himself known. At once then the two men left the station and crossed over to the Biltmore, where they took seats in the lobby for a conference.

Jack Scott, the detective, had won fame for his agency by his masterly work in solving the problems of many skilful jewel robberies among the wealthy residents of the metropolis. He yet lacked some years of thirty, but his reputation was already of the highest among those who knew what his occupation was. For, as a matter of fact, the young man was of old Knickerbocker stock, and the inheritor of wealth. He had a genius for detective work and a love of the calling that compelled him to make it his vocation. But his employment in this wise was known only to the head of the agency with which he had associated himself, and to a few trusted intimates. The better to guard his secret he adopted the plebeian alias of Jack Scott for professional purposes instead of his own aristocratic name.

He had first won the admiring attention of the detective agency's chief by an exploit when he was only eighteen years of age. At that time his mother was robbed of a fabulously valuable pearl necklace. Extraordinary rewards were offered for its recovery, and detectives big and small hunted high and low for the gems. They failed utterly in their search. But the lad worked out a theory as to the theft, gained evidence to prove it the truth—in short, within a fortnight, he had recovered the pearls, and the thieves were safely lodged in jail.

Already at this early age, the boy was profoundly interested in uplift work among criminals. When his mother smilingly turned over to him the reward she had offered for the recovery of her necklace, he devoted the whole sum to this charitable work. And ever since he had made a like disposal of the proceeds from his professional services. Now, Roy recognized in the detective assigned to him by the agency, an acquaintance of his own, Arthur Van Dusen. He expressed his astonishment at this revelation concerning one whom he had regarded merely as a social butterfly. But explanations were soon made, and Roy could not doubt Van Dusen's ability since it was guaranteed by the agency.

He immediately made known his need of help.