Chapter XXXVI Taking Up the Trail
Dazed, bewildered, his mind in a turmoil of mingled joy and acute anxiety, Lawrence hastened down the steps of Mrs. Wilmerding’s house and across the sidewalk to the waiting taxi.
“No. 854 Broadway, and go like the deuce!” he cried out as he leaped inside.
The door slammed behind him and the machine leaped forward like a thing alive. Straight down the wide avenue it flew, past marble palaces gleaming with lights, past the park entrance with its guarding statue of golden bronze, past great hotels whose tiers of twinkling windows seemed almost to touch the stars, past shadowy churches, glittering shop windows, and looming skyscrapers stealing slowly northward in that inexorable march of progress.
Sitting stiffly upright on the seat within, Lawrence saw nothing save those twin lines of opalescent globes which seemed to converge with such intolerable slowness until at last they came together miles and miles beyond. He knew that they would have to go almost to that point before nearing their destination, and he chafed impatiently at the slightest delay made necessary by traffic regulations.
Now that he had commenced the quest, he seemed to feel, even more strongly than before, the necessity for haste. While he was searching blindly for a clew, Shirley might be suffering all sorts of annoyances, humiliations, and fears. He ground his teeth and swore softly under his breath at the thought of his helplessness. He had started out with the quixotic belief that earnest effort, coupled with money, could accomplish anything; but slowly, as the car flew southward, a doubt began to creep into his mind.
What was he going to do if the messenger boy could tell him nothing? He had talked bravely enough about raking the city with a fine-tooth comb, but he knew that was an impossibility. The vastness of New York defied him, and made him feel suddenly as small and insignificant as a tiny insect. Without a clew, what possible chance had he to find a trace of the girl, whose captors would naturally be doing their best to baffle pursuit?
By the time the taxi had whirled through Thirteenth Street, and halfway up the block, Barry was well-nigh despairing. He pulled himself together with an effort, however, and hurried into the telegraph office.
There were telephone booths in the front, but he passed them with unseeing eyes and made straight for the desk beyond a railing, above which was painted, on a tin sign, the word, “Manager.” A young fellow of about his own age occupied the revolving chair, and glanced up inquiringly as Barry stopped in front of him.
“My name is Lawrence,” the latter explained swiftly. “I phoned down some twenty minutes ago asking you to hold the boy who delivered a letter to Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding about half past six this evening. He hasn’t been sent out, I hope.”
“Nope! I only came on ten minutes ago, but the boss told me to keep Jimmy till you showed up. He’s over there.”
Lawrence followed the direction of his thumb, and saw a very diminutive youngster, with a pert, freckled face and fiery red hair, sitting nonchalantly on the end of the bench and eying the newcomer with undisguised curiosity.
“Want me to call him over?” continued the temporary manager. “Maybe I can help you get what you want out of him.”
Barry shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just talk to him over there.” He hesitated an instant and then went on, in an attempt to assuage the other’s very evident curiosity: “The letter was unsigned, and Mrs. Wilmerding is very anxious to have a description of the person who sent it.”
“Well, go ahead and see what you can do,” replied the man at the desk. “Jimmy’s a sharp little cuss, though, and if he’s been paid to hold his tongue, you’ll have a job getting anything out of him.”
“I can try, anyhow,” smiled Lawrence. “By the way, you have a record of where the call came from, I suppose?”
“Sure!” The young man reached across the littered desk and drew a slip of paper toward him. “I thought you might want to know, so I looked it up when I first came in. It was phoned in from the Merton House at six-five. Party by the name of Brown.”
“Much obliged,” Barry remarked thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can get out of the boy.”
As he turned toward the youngster, he saw the latter’s eyes drop and his heels begin to kick automatically against the rungs of the wooden bench.
“Just a little too careless to be natural,” Barry reflected. “Looks to me as if you’d been well coached, my son.”
The boy did not look at him squarely as Lawrence took his seat on the bench beside him; but the man caught a flashing glint from the blue eyes which told him that his young neighbor was on the alert.
For a second Barry sat silent. Then, turning suddenly toward the youngster, he said quietly:
“I’m in trouble, Jimmy, and I want you to help me.”