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<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> <h3>TRAVERS GLADWIN GOES IN SEARCH OF HIMSELF.</h3> Policeman Michael Phelan was at first undecided whether to pursue the departing Bateato and arrest him as a suspicious person or to remain on the scene of mystery and get to the bottom of what was going forward. He chose the latter plan upon the inspiration that if he arrested a millionaire he would get his name in the paper and Rose might read of it and come to some realization of the immensity of his official dignity. He was further urged to this course by the insolent nonchalance of the two young men. They weren’t paying any more attention to him than they were to the inanimate sticks of furniture in the room. “Well, what did yez send fer me fer?” he broke out again, hurling the words at Travers Gladwin’s back. “I thought you might like a drink,” replied that young man, turning slowly and smiling upon the enraged bluecoat. “I never touch it,” shot back Phelan, “an’ that’s no answer to me question.” <div></div> Gladwin stared at Phelan steadily a moment, his smile vanishing. As he measured the officer’s height and build an idea came to him. His face lighted as he exclaimed: “I’ve got a great idea! Officer, I want you to do me a little favor. How would you like to make five hundred dollars?” If he had said four hundred dollars, or even four hundred and fifty, the effect would not have been half so great upon Michael Phelan. The mention of an even five hundred dollars, though, was the open sesame to the very depths of his emotions. Five hundred dollars represented the talisman that would lead him safe through Purgatory into the land of sweet enchantments. The fires of his wrath were instantly cooled and he said feebly: “Are yez tryin’ to bribe me?” “Not at all, sergeant,” said the young man gravely. “I ain’t no sergeant,” Phelan retorted. “All right, lieutenant,” laughed Gladwin, his good humor increasing as his sudden idea took shape in his mind. “Don’t call me lieutenant,” said Phelan, with a return of temper. “Well, it’s this way, captain.” “Nix on the promotion stuff,” shot back Phelan, the consciousness returning that he was being kidded. “I’m patrolman and me name is Michael Phelan, and I’m onto me job––mind that!” <div></div> “No offense, officer,” Gladwin hurried on. “I’m sure you’re onto your job. No one could look at you and doubt that––but I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you’ll lend me your uniform for awhile.” “Fi––fi––uni––say, what kind of a game are youse up to?” Two big events in Phelan’s life had blazed their films upon his memory in a blinding flash. First there was Rose, and then there was that nightmare of a Coroner’s case, when he had fled hatless and coatless down the stairs of a reeking east side tenement, pursued by the yells of a shrieking “corpse.” “It’s no game––it’s a joke,” replied Gladwin. Whitney Barnes, who had been listening eagerly and had sensed Gladwin’s inspiration, chimed in: “Yes, officer; it’s a joke.” “Yez are offering me five hundred dollars for a joke?” said the flabbergasted Phelan. “That’s it,” returned Gladwin. “I want to take your place; I want to become”––stepping forward to read the number on Phelan’s shield––“Officer 666 for a little while.” Phelan couldn’t believe his ears. Stepping to one side he said behind his hand to Barnes: “This feller’s off his dip. Don’t he know that if I lent him me uniform it’d be me finish.” “That’s all right,” spoke up Gladwin. “I’ll guarantee to protect you. No one will ever know about it. You’ll never make five hundred so easy again.” <div></div> “S-s-say,” stammered Phelan, “what’s this all about?” “Well, I’ve found out that a thief is going to break in here to-night.” “A thief!” gasped the policeman. “Yes, just for a joke, you know.” “A thief going to break in here for a joke!” yelled Phelan. “Now I know you’re batty.” “Not a regular thief,” the young man corrected hastily. “He’s a friend of mine––and I want to be waiting in your uniform when he comes. I want to nab him. The joke will be on him, then, you know.” “All very simple, you see,” added Barnes. “Simple as––no, I don’t see,” snarled Phelan. “The two of yez is bugs.” “But you will see,” went on Gladwin, “if you’ll let me explain. In order to be a policeman I’ve got to have a uniform, haven’t I?” “Of course he has,” urged Barnes. “And yez are offering me five hundred dollars for a joke?” Phelan dropped his arms limply at his side and permitted his eyes to bulge ad lib. “That’s it,” cried Gladwin. “I assure you it is nothing serious or criminal. I just want your uniform long enough to catch my friend and I’ll give you five hundred dollars for lending it to me.” “It’s too big a risk,” panted Phelan, producing an elaborate bandana and mopping his brow. “I won’t do it.” <div></div> It was manifest that Officer 666 was sorely tempted. To goad him further Travers Gladwin produced a little roll of yellow-backed bills from his pocket. Fluttering the bills deftly he stripped off one engraved with an “M” in one corner and “500” in the other. He turned it about several ways so that Phelan could study it from all angles. Then he fluttered it before Whitney Barnes and said: “Say, Barnes, there’s something really handsome about these yellow-backs, isn’t there? Notice how that five and those two naughts are engraved? And it’s amazing how much a slip of paper like this will buy.” This was too much for Phelan. He reached for the bill and grabbed it, stuffed it into his trousers pocket and began unbuttoning his coat. Suddenly he stopped. “Say,” he sputtered. “S’pose there should be a robbery on my beat?” “That would be fine,” said Gladwin. “I’d be a credit to you.” “Or a murder?” “Better still.” “Oh, the risk is awful,” groaned Phelan. He started to button up his coat again when Rose’s taunt came back to him. This time the tempter delivered a vital blow and he tore off his uniform coat and passed it to the young man. Gladwin slipped it on over his other clothes. It fitted snugly. It just happened that the suit he wore was dark blue and his trousers matched accurately. <div></div> “Now the bonnet,” he said, reaching for the uniform cap and removing it from Phelan’s head. “And now officer, your sword.” He grasped the proffered belt and buckled it on with a flourish, making as natty a figure of a cub policeman as one would want to meet. Phelan stood looking on dumbly, his face a study in conflicting emotions. Barnes’s admiration of his friend’s nerve was beyond power of words. When Gladwin started for the doorway, however, he called after him: “Hey there, Travers, where are you going?” “On duty,” he responded cheerily. “And by the way, Whitney, give Mr. Phelan that tray and decanter and see that he goes down into the kitchen and stays there until my return. You remain on guard up here. I’ll look after the outside. So long, mates.” “Hold on,” Phelan called out feebly. “I’d like to know what the divvil it all means. I’m fair hypnotized.” “It means,” said Gladwin, pausing and turning his head, “that I’m going outside to wait for myself––and if I find myself, I’ll arrest myself––if both myself and I have to go to jail for it. Now, do you get me?” “No, I’ll be damned if I do!” gurgled Phelan, but the words had scarcely passed his lips when the departmental guise of Officer 666 vanished from sight and the front door slammed with a bang. <hr class="toprule" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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