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Updated: June 3, 2025
Before the man could reply, there came a shout from the shrubbery beyond the drive: "Grab him, Smith! He's the man!" Instantly Smith's steely arms were about Larry, pinning his elbows to his sides, and a man broke from the shrubbery and hurried toward the house. Instinctively Larry started to struggle, but he ceased as he recognized the man coming up the steps. It was Gavegan.
"I called you a stool!" repeated the malignantly exultant Barney, alert for any move on the part of the suddenly tensed Larry. "And you are a stool! Didn't I see you myself go into Headquarters with Casey and Gavegan where you sold yourself to Chief Barlow!" "Why, you damned " Even before he spoke Larry launched a furious swing straight from the hip at Barney's twisted face.
"What was that?" Larry asked quickly. "I didn't hear anything," said Gavegan whose senses had been thoroughly concentrated upon his triumph. "I did," said Hunt. "On the veranda." "We'll see. Watch him " to the county officer; and Gavegan followed Hunt to the French windows and looked out. "No one on the veranda, and no one in sight," he reported. "You fellows must have been dreaming."
And his mind was upon it late in the afternoon when he entered the little street. But as he neared his grandmother's house all such thought was banished by Detective Gavegan of the Central Office stepping from the pawnshop and blocking the door with his big figure.
"Down on the floor with you, Casey! Hunt, work over him to bring him to and stall Gavegan for a while if you can." With that Larry sprang to a ladder at the end of the little hall, ran up it, unhooked and pushed up the trap, scrambled through upon the roof, and pushed the trap back into place.
"His real name is Brainard; he's done time, and now he's wanted by the New York police for a tough job he pulled." "I knew all that long ago," said Miss Sherwood. "Eh what?" stammered Gavegan. "Mr. Brainard told me all that the first time I saw him." "Hello, Gavegan," said Hunt, stepping forward.
Gavegan slipped his left arm through Larry's right. "You're comin' along with me, and you'd better come quiet." Larry stiffened. "Come where?" "Headquarters." "I haven't done a thing, Gavegan, and you know it! What do you want me for?" "Me and the Chief had a little talk about you," leered Gavegan. "And now the Chief wants to have a little personal talk with you.
Gavegan, gripping his right arm, with that bone-crushing slug-shot itching for instant use, was apparently master in the present circumstances. But before Larry's quick mind had decided upon a course, the door of the pawnshop opened and closed, and a voice said sharply: "Nothing doing on that rough stuff, Gavegan!" The speaker was now on Larry's left side, a heavy-faced man in a black derby.
I have more interest in watching you while you go through my things." And giving Gavegan a look which made an unaccustomed flush run up that officer's thick neck and redden his square face, she led the way into Larry's study. "This is the room where Mr. Brainard works," she said. "Through that door is his bedroom. Everything here except his clothing is my property.
The voice was casual, indifferent, though at that moment there was no person that the Duchess, pondering her problems, more wished to see. "Sit down. What's the matter?" "The police know Larry is in New York and are after him!" "How do you know?" Rapidly Maggie told of the happenings in her sitting-room, and of Barney and Old Jimmie starting out to warn Gavegan.
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