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<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> <h3>MICHAEL PHELAN’S PREDICAMENT.</h3> It was as if a great burden had been removed from his shoulders. Leaving the window and stepping back into the room, Travers Gladwin stretched his arms above his head and exhaled a long breath of satisfaction. “Now I can sit down and await developments,” he said to himself, slipping into a chair and stretching out his legs, “and it will only remain for Michael Phelan to turn up or to fail to turn up and the mystery of the escape is explained. Poor Phelan, he must be a terrific simpleton, and I suppose I am partly to bla”––– His gaze had wandered to the great chest, the lid of which was distinctly rising. Before Gladwin could jump to his feet the lid was thrown back and there sat the subject of his soliloquy in his shirt sleeves, jerking his head about like a jack-in-the-box. “Where in blazes am I?” he groaned as his eyes made out Travers Gladwin. “You seem to be in the chest,” replied the young man, covering his mouth with his hand. <div></div> “Howly murther! me uniform is gone again!” exploded Phelan, struggling to his feet and examining his shirt sleeves as if he feared he were the victim of witchcraft. He climbed out of the chest and turned a vindictive glance upon Gladwin, who composed his features and said: “Not guilty this time, Officer.” Phelan stared at him stupidly for a second and then let his arms and shoulders go limp. He was a lugubriously pathetic figure as he turned up his eyes and muttered: “Now, I remember––they took it off me and drugged me an’ rammed me into the chest. Wurra! Wurra! I’m a goner now for shure.” Gladwin was about to speak when there was a run of feet on the stairs and in burst Captain Stone and Detective Kearney. At the sight of Phelan, the captain recoiled and his jaw dropped. Kearney likewise regarded him in blank astonishment. “Where’s your uniform, Phelan?” roared Captain Stone when he could get his breath. “They took it off me––drugged me an’ half murthered me––eight of ’em,” whined Phelan. “Eight of ’em!” yelled the captain. “There was only one of them, you numskull.” “I hope to croak if there wasn’t two of ’em with the stren’th of eight,” rejoined Phelan, wiping his dripping forehead and rolling his eyes. “An’ they chloroformed me an’ stuffed me into the chest. You can ask Mr. Gladwin.” “If you let that thief escape in your uniform, Mike Phelan,” stormed the infuriated captain, “I’ll break you to-morrow. And as for you, Mr. Gladwin, if you had a hand in this”––– “Calm yourself, captain,” returned the young man, “I am unable to claim the honor. I just happened in here as Mr. Phelan was coming out of the chest.” “Why did that Jap make such a thundering racket upstairs?” broke in Kearney. “The whole thing looks to me like a frame-up.” Travers Gladwin shrugged his shoulders and said easily: “Considering the number of policemen on the job, does it not also take on the aspect of a slip-up? It would make rather amusing reading in the newspapers, but if you prefer, gentlemen, we can let the matter drop right here.” Captain Stone and Kearney looked at each other and found no comfort in each other’s countenances. “Even though he got away with one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of my paintings, slipping out from under your very noses,” Gladwin pressed his advantage, “I may, for the sake of avoiding notoriety, decide that it is best to keep the thing quiet. Of course, it is in your power to compel publicity.” “Not against your wishes, sir,” said Captain Stone, meekly. <div></div> “And you, Mr. Kearney,” smiled the young man, looking up into the frowning visage of the much advertised Central Office man. “Captain Stone is my superior officer,” said Kearney shortly, through compressed lips. “Very well, then, Captain,” Gladwin ran on, “we will just drop the incident from our minds. You will oblige me by calling off your men at once.” Captain Stone bowed and left the room, followed by Kearney. “Well, Phelan,” said Gladwin, turning to that distressed individual, “the evening’s entertainment seems at an end.” “’Tis a divvil of an intertainment fer me––I’ll be broke to-morrer.” “Oh, no, Phelan,” and the young man walked over and patted him on the shoulder, “not broke––you’ll resign.” “A swell chance I’ve got to resign––with no shield to turn in. It’ll break the heart of me poor ould mother.” There were tears in Michael Phelan’s voice and his woe-begone expression was pitiable. Young Gladwin hastened to cheer him up. “I will take it upon myself to see that you are honorably discharged, Phelan. I can almost swear that a little note to Captain Stone with an inclosure of say four figures will put through your resignation.” “But I’ll be out of a job, won’t I?” flared Phelan. <div></div> “Not for a minute. I am going to give you a job for life.” “What?” “Yes, and at twice the salary you were getting. I’m going to appoint you my private watchman to guard my picture gallery.” “Sure, an’ this ain’t one o’ your jokes?” Phelan asked, with a dismal effort to summon a grin. “Indeed, it is not, and here is that five hundred dollar bill you so foolishly surrendered to my friend the picture expert. Now, as all your fellow officers seem to have departed you can begin your duties by going upstairs and telling the ladies that the blockade has been raised.” By the time Michael Phelan got the crisp saffron bill tucked away in his jeans he was in full and glorious grin and made for the stairway with an agility that was a distinct revelation of hidden resources. A few minutes later Mrs. Burton entered the room, followed by her two nieces. As her now calmer eye took in the room and the empty picture frames, Mrs. Burton exclaimed: “Whatever have you been doing here?” “Some of my canvases need cleaning,” was the ready response, with a wink at Whitney Barnes, who was hovering about Sadie, “so I took the most valuable ones out of the frames to send them to the cleaners.” Mrs. Burton swallowed the fib and began a tour of inspection of the room. <div></div> “Your father collected some of these, didn’t he?” she said after a pause. “Your father and my father were very good friends. I remember not so long ago hearing him tell of that portrait of your ancestor,” indicating the Stuart. “Now I like this one––a Gainsborough, isn’t it?” She had stopped in front of “The Blue Boy.” “Do you like that one?” cried the young man. “It’s charming,” gushed Mrs. Burton. “It’s yours.” “Mine! Why, I couldn’t think of it.” “Please do me the honor of accepting it.” “After what has occurred to-night? Why, I”–––Mrs. Burton couldn’t take her eyes from the picture, and seemed thrilled with an ecstasy of admiration. “I will have it packed and shipped to you to-morrow.” Mrs. Burton wheeled upon him with an expression that fairly took him to her arms. “You dear, generous boy,” she cried; “if Helen had only confided in me––here is my card; come to me to-morrow and we will have a family conference. I”––– “Auntie,” interposed Helen in alarm. “I will take charge of all the wedding arrangements,” ran on Auntie, fairly bubbling over. “Come early in the afternoon, Mr. Gladwin. I must get my girls to bed. Good night––come, girls.” Mrs. Burton started for the door and Helen lingered behind. <div></div> “Oh, whatever shall I do?” she whispered to Gladwin. “Whatever your heart dictates,” he whispered in reply. “And did he escape?” came the frightened query, as she dropped her eyes and blushed. “Yes, and they will never get him.” “Thank you!” She gave him her hand for a moment and was gone. <hr class="toprule" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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