Chapter III: By Chance

Not one word could I get out of that tight-mouthed little cuss, Stevens. He didn’t even deign to look my way till we had rounded the couple of points, and he was approaching the float of a hotel dock that ran alongside the ferry slip at College Point.

But what he did say then was rather complimentary, and I liked the smack of it. We had come alongside the float; and both of us, at his nod, had quitted the launch; and he stood there steadying her with his left hand.

“Well,” said he heartily, as he stuck out his right for a shake, “you’re a good man at obeying orders.”

I felt something crumple in my fist as I withdrew it. A crisp twenty it proved to be, and I realized that I had served my purpose.

“That yellow boy was pretty easy earned; eh, lad?” said he, with a chuckle. “And with a little excitement thrown in, eh? But a closed mouth spills no mush. So I guess I’ll run her back myself.”

And blow me if the little, old rascal didn’t pop right into the craft, start her with the skill of an old hand at the game; and, steering with the side lever with which the boat was fitted, he sped away, directly retracing the course we had just covered.

I strolled shoreward along the wharf toward the hotel porch, where I sat myself at one of the tables and ordered a steak. And, while it was cooking, I tried to dope out a little of the mystery.

Fifteen minutes of hard concentration brought me but one point; and that point, as I have already said, had already flashed to me on an intuitional second. I mean about the girl. Beyond my sudden love for her, nothing showed up to me at all. I simply couldn’t make head or tail to a thing that had transpired since I had been sitting with my grouch back there on the town dock at Port Washington.

And now, perhaps, it’s the best time to explain the reason for the grouch, and let out how I happened to be there at all.

Briefly stated, I had been discharged the day before. Fired, canned--call it what you will; and for what I now recognize to have been an entirely good and sufficient reason.

But in the hot-headed asininity which I had not the sense to master in those days, I had flared up to the quiet, but firm, remonstrance of my chief. It had been a case in which I had exceeded my orders, and I thought he ought rather to have applauded my zeal.

So that; in that blurting, blubbering fashion of the man who can’t keep his temper, I had let out a string of heated nonsense.

Whereupon Chief Garth’s tone had raised not a whit.

“Well, Grey,” said he slowly--too slowly, “I’m sorry, though I was afraid it would have to come. I had hoped it wouldn’t; but I simply cannot brook such repeated displays of inability to control your temper. I might waive the personal note; but I must not lose sight of the fact that such a trait, unmastered, makes you less a man to be relied upon.”

I started to interrupt him, but a gesture checked me.

“You remember,” said he, holding his same evenness, “that I told you the very first day you entered the detective service that orders were orders, and that I was distinctly a martinet. Now, I like you, and I’m not chary of admitting that you’re a very valuable man to me in many ways. But----”

And here I had been fool enough to whirl into my usual, youthful burst of independence. As I look back upon the scene, the chief was too moderate; though I did flounce from his office finally, with my pay to date and walking papers.

But now--what a change one look into certain eyes can make--I sat there on that hotel porch and realized what an ass I was. And, by the way, such a realization proved most salutary.

For, next instant, I made up my mind to eat “humble pie.” I wouldn’t waste a minute in finding the chief. I would make a straightforward apology and ask him to reinstate me.

Of course, it was long past office hours, but I decided not to let my resolution cool.

I knew where Chief Garth lived, and could count pretty well upon his being at home; for that little wife of his held him snug enough by her whenever he wasn’t personally engaged on an important case.

So I bolted my meal, and caught the ferryboat which landed at East Ninety-ninth Street. I even took a taxi to his house, so firmly did my new resolution grip me.

Finally we whirled the last corner, and brought up sharp before Chief Garth’s house, which was brilliantly enough indicated by a Welsbach light in the vestibule.

It showed the number plainly, and, just as I stepped from the cab and paid my fare, it showed more. For, at this moment, the door opened. I heard a word or two exchanged; then the door closed, and a man came down the stoop as hurriedly as a slight limp would let him.

He passed close by me as I was about to mount the steps, and I experienced that uncomfortable sensation of having seen him some time, but no more. Such a haunting inability to spot my man is one of my worst points as a detective.

“Anyway,” thought I, “whoever he is, he’s in about as bad a temper as I’ve ever seen ’em.”

With that I rang, and was admitted by a negress. It wasn’t another minute before I was ushered into the chief’s den.

He was pacing up and down, puffing violently at a fat cigar. From his first word, I knew him well enough to know that he was anything but displeased at my showing up.

“Well, Grey,” he grumbled, “what’s the lay now?”

Five hours before I would have snapped back a sharp retort and seen him to the deuce, but things glowed different now.

“Why, chief,” I replied, with a laugh, “I just came back because I think you’ll want me now. You see, I’ve sworn off--losing my temper.”

He stopped short before me and shot me a glance.

“You mean it?” said he. “Because if you do,” he went on, “I believe you. The one thing that has always struck me about your past offenses is--that you never have promised to do better in the future. And, strange as it may seem,” he chuckled, “that’s the very reason I put up with you so long.”

“Well, I mean it now,” said I simply.

My tone must have carried complete conviction, for his manner abruptly changed.

“Sit down,” said he suddenly, and we faced each other over his broad, flat-top desk. “It just happens at this moment that I do need you, Grey; and need you pretty bad, too; for I’ve just been put in line with a thing that already got beyond Pawlinson, of Washington.”

“Yes?” said I, catching fire at the interest.

“The affair was important enough to warrant Pawlinson taking the trail himself; and it certainly has led him a pretty dance during the two days he’s been at it.”

I had never met Pawlinson personally, but his position among us was the byword of efficiency. I glowed to the compliment the chief was indirectly paying me.

“What’s the exact nature of the case?” said I.

“That’s just it,” muttered Garth disgustedly. “What we’ve got to go on is the slimmest ever. Pawlinson’s so cursed secretive that he hasn’t even let out what the fellow’s wanted for.

“Fact is, Pawlinson was here; just this moment gone. You must have passed him coming in. But for all he’s been pretty definitely shaken off the trail, he won’t let out but this much:

“A man answering this description”--here the chief tossed me the usual paper of height, color of hair, et cetera--“arrived off quarantine aboard the _Benzobia_ yesterday at daylight. Pawlinson had one of his men waiting for him when the vessel docked; but in some outlandish way the chap managed to get the skipper to let him go over the side and into a gasoline launch that hove alongside while they were slowing down just abreast of Liberty.

“Now Pawlinson gets kind of hazy as to just what happened directly after that,” continued the chief; “nor does he give me any particulars as to how he ever managed to get a berth as engineer of the little launch. But how he lost the job he told me fully enough; and he sprinkled the narrative with plenty of cuss words. It seems that while the launch was waiting for the fellow at the town dock of Port Washington, Long Island, that----”

“Port Washington!” I cried sharply.

“Why, yes--know the place?” He, of course, couldn’t understand my excitement.

“And do you mean to tell me that it was Pawlinson himself whom I saw that fellow shoot so prettily over the rail with a punch that would do your heart good?” Things were fitting together for me now. But they certainly were not for the chief.

“What the deuce are you talking about, anyway?” he said. “I hadn’t told you about that yet.”

“I know, I know,” I jumbled on; “but what does Pawlinson say of the girl? What had she to do with the thing, anyway?”

“The girl? For Heaven’s sake, Grey, how much do you know about this thing?”

But he got little satisfaction from me then, for a sudden realization swept over me.

I caught up the paper describing the man who was wanted, and crowded it into my pocket.

“Explain later, chief,” I blurted, making for the door. “I’ll wire you the minute I’ve got him located. Meanwhile wire me money when I call for it, will you?”

“Aye, aye, boy!” agreed the chief, understanding thoroughly that even his curiosity must wait. He was a big enough man to know when to play second fiddle.

So I caught the midnight train to Boston which connected with the Portland express.