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CHAPTER XXIII
Kidnapped

"Train leaves at 11.30, Kohinoor," said Swanson as McCarthy came up to their rooms after dinner that evening. "Let's play billiards until it goes."

"Can't," replied McCarthy shortly. "I've got to make that call to-night. There's something wrong up there at Baldwin's, Silent. The girl writes to-day that Baldwin will not be home this evening and that she must see me to give me important news."

"Sure you can trust her?" asked the big shortstop. "Don't take any chances."

"There's no danger in going to one of the finest homes on the drive to call on a young woman," laughed McCarthy.

"I'll get away as soon as possible and tackle you for fifty points, three cushions, before we start for the train," promised McCarthy. "You hang around."

McCarthy had puzzled for two days over the odd conduct of Helen Baldwin, and her brief note, appointing that evening for the call, had failed to bring any solution of the riddle. He knew now that the girl with whom he had imagined himself in love was selfish and shallow, but he could not believe her criminal, nor did he for an instant think that she was a part of the conspiracy to rob the Bears of their championship. That he was in any danger he did not consider possible. He went uptown determined to hasten the interview as much as possible and arrived at the Baldwin mansion shortly after eight o'clock.

Presently Helen Baldwin came. She was wearing a dark street gown and her face was pale, dark rings under her eyes showing that she had been suffering.

"Larry," she said quietly, "you'll think me hateful and wicked. I have had a terrible time these last two days, and I have been thinking.

"I wanted to tell you I was a foolish, vain girl. I didn't love you; I was in love with the thought of being mistress to James Lawrence's fortune. I was conceited and silly and never thought of any one but myself; but I did like you, Larry – I do. You will believe that, will you not?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"I thought baseball was just a silly game," she went on, as if each word cost her a pang. "I couldn't understand why you gave up so much; why you insisted upon staying with the team. I didn't know that here in the East it is a great business and that hundreds of thousands of people take it so seriously. Uncle Barney asked me to get you to quit, and I told him you would. My vanity was hurt when you refused."

"You found out what it means for me to quit?" he asked.

"Yes. Uncle Barney came home in a terrible rage. He had been drinking and when he saw me he swore about you. He swore he'd fix you."

Her voice sank to a frightened whisper.

"He was only bluffing – I beg pardon; only talking," he said, striving to soothe her.

"I didn't know until then that I really cared, Larry," she went on. "He frightened me. I asked him questions, and he told me what he and some others have been doing to keep your club from winning."

"What did he tell you?" he asked quickly.

"He said they had one of your pitchers, I think he said, fixed, and that he had paid some other players to hurt you and to hurt Mr. Wilcox, I think he said. He wanted me to get you to come to meet me somewhere, and they'd kidnap you and someone else – Mr. Swanson, I believe it was."

"He's a kindly fellow," commented McCarthy coldly, an angry light gleaming in his blue eyes. "Did he say where this was to take place?"

"No. He tried to get me to write you to meet me at some place he named. He said I needn't go there, just get you to come. I told him I would. When he went to sleep I telephoned you because I was so frightened. To-day we had a terrible quarrel. I refused to write to you to meet me at the place he named."

Her terror was so evident that her words were not necessary to add conviction.

McCarthy laughed a short, rasping laugh.

"It's a good joke on him," he explained. "If he and his thugs are hunting for me all over the city and I here in his own home, safe; the last place he would look for me."

"You mustn't wait," she urged anxiously. "You mustn't wait here, Larry. He is drinking and I do not know what he might do if he came home and found you here. You must go now."

"I'll run back to the hotel and pick up my bodyguard, Swanson," he said steadily, and with an attempt at indifference of manner, "I think I'll be safe."

"You'll kiss me goodbye, Larry," she pleaded. "She wouldn't care – if she knew."

"She?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

He was astonished and curious to learn how the girl knew anything of his growing regard for Betty Tabor.

"I knew, I knew," she repeated. "I knew it the first time we met – I knew there was another girl" —

"I'm certain I did not hint at such a thing," he replied with an attempt at dignified bearing. "I have not even told her."

"Good-bye," she said. "I hope you're happy, Larry, and please don't think I meant to do wrong."

She clung to him weeping until he put away her hands and went out. The girl threw herself face downward upon the lounge and sobbed, this time from a sense of loneliness and perhaps of loss.

McCarthy descended the stairs and walked rapidly through the darkened lawn to the street. In spite of his pretense of believing there was no danger he found himself nervous. He walked two blocks toward the street car line, when a taxicab swerved toward the sidewalk.

"Taxi, sir, taxi?" asked the driver. "Take you downtown, sir?"

McCarthy hesitated an instant. If he hurried back to the hotel and found Swanson he would rid himself of the nervous dread of something intangible which he could not explain.

"How much downtown?" he asked, stopping near the taxicab, which had come to a full stop.

"Take you down for half rates, sir; I'm going that way."

"Very well," said McCarthy.

He walked to the side of the car, and turned the handle to step within. The instant he entered the car he felt himself seized and jerked downward while a pair of hands gripped at his throat. A vicious blow struck him on the back of the neck. Twisting, fighting, squirming, he struggled to free himself from the hands that were throttling him. His knees found a grip upon the floor of the car, and bracing himself, he jerked loose from one of the men, and struck wildly at the shape he saw silhouetted against the opposite window. His fist met flesh with a crunching sound.

"I'll kill you for that," gritted someone, striking him. In the half light of the interior McCarthy saw an object descending. He threw up an arm to protect his head, and with a crunching blow a heavy blackjack fell upon his arm. He seized the weapon and jerked it from the hand that had held it, but it fell to the floor of the cab.

McCarthy had struggled to his feet, bowing as his head struck the roof. One man, seated, kicked at him and hurt him cruelly. He was standing, with the car door swinging wide, while the car lurched and raced along a rough street.

Curses, groans, cries of pain and anger came from the interior as the player, battling against two unknown opponents, fought on. All three of the participants in the battle at forty miles an hour, were hampered by the smallness of the interior.

McCarthy strove to tear himself from the arms and legs that struck and kicked him, to get his head out of the window to raise the alarm.

Again and again he cried. Then suddenly the car lurched around a corner at a mad pace, tipping onto two wheels and skidding sickeningly. At that instant one of his assailants drove his feet against his body, and, as the car lurched wildly, McCarthy broke loose, grasped frantically for something to save himself, plunged from the machine, struck upon the asphalt of the side street into which the car had whirled, slid along it to the gutter and lay a huddled heap.

The car stopped quickly and whirled back to where he lay. The men leaped out, one cursing and frothing, the other urging silence and haste. Between them they lifted the half-conscious player and shoved him into the bottom of the car.

"Hurry up, Fred," urged the quiet man to the driver. "These fellows down at the corner are coming. Jump in, Jack."

They leaped back into the taxi, and the man called Jack said viciously:

"There – you, that'll teach you" – He kicked the prostrate player.

"Cut that out," ordered the quiet man, quickly. "You needn't murder him; he's fixed."

CHAPTER XXIV
Baiting a Trap

Events that preceded and led up to the desperate encounter between McCarthy and the two strangers in the dark interior of a racing taxicab seemed to have been dictated by fate. At the end of the doubleheader between the Jackrabbits and Bears, Easy Ed Edwards had hurriedly laid new plans to save himself. The gambler had watched both contests, believing all the time that the result of the games ended his final hope of winning the bets, and, facing ruin, he had welcomed his new lease upon hope with the determination of resorting to desperate measures to achieve his end. He realized that unless he acted at once all his plotting had failed. After the defeat of the Bears in the second game he left the grounds, hastened downtown in a taxi and at once telephoned to both Adonis Williams and Barney Baldwin to meet him at his rooms. Baldwin responded at once to the gambler's summons and entered the rooms blustering.

"You've a frightful nerve, Edwards," snarled the angry politician. "Understand, I do not take orders from cheap gamblers."

"You needn't try storming at me," said the gambler quietly. "I'm onto you. You may ring over such a bluff as that in politics, but not with me. You don't seem to understand."

"I don't think you can deliver any votes anyhow," said Baldwin sullenly. "I've nothing but your word for it."

"That's all the security I ever needed," said the gambler superciliously. "But never mind about the votes – you're going to help me."

"I've done all I can" —

"No, you haven't. I want you to go to-morrow morning and join the Bears and I want you to see to it that Williams pitches one of those games against the Blues. He'll lose it this time. I've thrown a scare into him and he'll do it, even if he gives himself away."

"I tell you I can't," snarled Baldwin. "President Bannard is the only one who knows I own the club" —

"Take your stock with you. That proves you own it."

"And Bannard is out of town. Clancy wouldn't pay any attention to me" —

"You own this club," said Edwards. "You can do what you please with it, and you're going to do it."

"You talk as if you owned me!" Baldwin was purple with anger.

"I do," said the gambler coldly. "It would look good in print to have the people know that Barney Baldwin, the crooked politician, owns both the Bears and the Panthers, wouldn't it?"

"You have no proof" —

"Haven't I? I saved both your notes. You're a fool, Baldwin. You write letters. I have two mentioning McCarthy and Williams. I wouldn't have any trouble getting them printed. Any sporting editor in the city would give a thousand dollars for such proof."

"Look here, Ed," expostulated Baldwin, "there isn't any use for us to quarrel. We're both in this thing" —

"Now you're talking sense," said the gambler. "We haven't any time to lose. The club leaves town at 11.30 to-night."

"What do you want me to do?" gasped Baldwin helplessly.

"You're pretty strong with Captain Raferty, of the North Nineteenth Street police, aren't you?"

"Yes – I've done him some favors."

"Well, I want you to fix it with him that when I bring a prisoner in to-night some time he's to be locked downstairs and kept until you telephone to let him loose."

"What are you going to do?" asked Baldwin, alarmed.

"I'm going to do something myself," replied the gambler sharply. "I've tried a lot of you fellows and you've all fallen down. Now I'm going to get this McCarthy and put him out of the way."

"You're taking an awful risk" —

"It's a sure thing the other way, and I'm desperate," the gambler cut him short. "When you get that fixed you catch the first train and follow the team. You get Clancy in the morning and force him to let Williams pitch one of the games down there. Wilcox is worked out now, and if we can make sure Williams will pitch one game, that will force Clancy to pitch Wilcox again, and he'll be beaten sure. With McCarthy out of the game, as he will be, the Bears haven't a chance. They're half a game ahead, but if they lose two out of three and the Panthers win one out of their remaining two games, the Panthers beat them out on percentage, and the Panthers ought to win both games."

"You haven't cornered McCarthy yet?" asked the politician.

"No," admitted Edwards. "He left the hotel nearly two hours ago and said he'd be back before ten o'clock. I have two men watching him, and they're to let me know where he is and what he is doing. I ought to have heard from them before now."

The telephone rang at that instant.

"This is it now," said Edwards in low tones. "Hello!" he said, taking up the receiver. "Yes – you, Jack? All right. You have? Where? All right. I'll join you as fast as I can get there. Don't let him reach the hotel if I'm late – you understand?"

"What do you think of that?" he asked, turning to Baldwin. "Of all the gall – where do you think that fellow McCarthy was?"

"I don't know."

"No wonder Jack had such a hard time locating him. He was at your house."

"I have a taxi waiting downstairs," said Edwards quickly. "Come on, I'll drop you at the police station. We'll bring in the prisoner before you've been there very long."

"How are you going to get him?" inquired Baldwin, as the taxi dodged in and out among traffic.

"I've got Big Jack, the fighter, trailing McCarthy," said the gambler, laughing mirthlessly. "He's sore on ball players since that scrap with Swanson and Kennedy the other night, and he'll welcome a chance to get his hands on one."

"He won't hurt him, will he?" asked Baldwin nervously.

"No, he won't hurt him," replied the gambler with scornful sarcasm. "Not a bit. He'll probably take him in his lap and sing him to sleep."

"This is dangerous business," objected Baldwin nervously. "We might all get into trouble."

"We're all in trouble now," snapped Edwards. "You leave the trouble end of it to me."

The taxi slackened its pace as it approached the police station and Baldwin climbed out under the lights that marked it as the home of the paid guardians of the people's rights and liberties.

"Don't fall down this time," warned the gambler. "If this don't go through, the newspapers will have some fine information to print in the next few days."

"I'll fix it, Ed, I'll frame it all right," replied Baldwin nervously.

The mention of his name and the imposing manner he had assumed won for him immediate entrance to the captain's private room, and after ten minutes of earnest conversation, Baldwin emerged, the gray-haired official with the gilt stars and chevrons escorting him and shaking hands with him at the street door.

"Don't forget, Raferty," said Baldwin importantly. "I want him kept close until I can get the proof we need. Don't let any lawyers or reporters get near him and keep your cops from gossiping. You won't lose anything by it, Raferty. Drop down and see me sometime. I'd like to talk the political situation over with you. You understand?"

Meantime the taxicab, with Edwards inside, had raced across the upper portion of the city to the place where Big Jack was pacing the shadowy part of the sidewalk half a block from Baldwin's home.

"He hasn't come out yet," Jack reported, stepping into the light as the taxi slowed down and crept along near the gutter.

"Jump in," said Edwards. "Run over across the street, and step in the shadow there," he ordered the chauffeur.

"There he comes now, out the gate. Follow him."

Five minutes later McCarthy stepped into the trap laid by the gambler and, ten minutes after he lurched out of the machine, he was carried half unconscious, into the basement door of the police station and deposited roughly upon the bench in the "cozy corner."

CHAPTER XXV
McCarthy Disappears

Silent Swanson was jabbing billiard balls around the table as if venting his irritability upon the innocent spheres of ivory.

"Why so cruel to the relics of departed generations of ball players?" inquired Kennedy, who was cuddled up in cushioned settee watching.

"Waiting for Kohinoor."

"Where has he gone?" inquired Kennedy carelessly.

"Skirting again," explained Swanson. "He ought to be back before long," added Swanson, jabbing the balls harder and stopping to look at his watch. "It's five past ten now, and he said he'd cut the call short."

"Think any sane guy would quit a pretty girl to spend an evening with you?" inquired Kennedy insultingly, having decided to wile away the time by ragging his big teammate.

"I've a hunch something is wrong with Kohinoor," said Swanson. "He told me he'd break away early and shoot me some billiards before train time. He didn't say just when, but I expected him back by ten."

"Why don't you sue him for divorce if he neglects you?" suggested Kennedy, again seeking to start an argument.

Swanson consulted his watch with gloomy foreboding and declined to engage in repartee.

"Better come drag along down to the train," suggested Kennedy. "I'll buy the gas wagon to haul us. Your little playmate is safe enough."

"I'll hang around here," replied Swanson without spirit.

"All right," Kennedy remarked, rising and stretching himself. "I'm going to dig along and get into the hay before that old rattler starts. I want some sleep. Most of the fellows already have gone."

Swanson resumed his gloomy pastime of making fancy shots on the billiard table. When he looked at his watch again it marked ten-thirty.

He strolled upstairs to the lobby, scanned the writing room and smoking rooms for a sign of McCarthy and then, with a sudden anxiety, he hurried to the telephone and called the Baldwin residence number.

"Is this Miss Baldwin speaking?" he inquired, using his off-the-field manner.

"Is my friend, Mr. McCarthy, there?" he inquired when she responded in the affirmative. "I was to meet him, and he has not appeared."

"Hasn't he arrived at the hotel?" he girl inquired in quick alarm. "He left here more than three-quarters of an hour ago. Has something happened to him?"

"I don't know, miss," said Swanson. "I got anxious waiting for him – You're sure he left your house that long ago?"

"About that – I'm not certain," she said. "He was only here a short time."

"I expect he had to wait for a car, or else went straight to the station without stopping here," said Swanson, striving to quiet the evident alarm of the girl, although his own misgivings were growing. "He left the house alone, did he?"

"Who are you? Are you a friend of his?" asked the girl anxiously.

"Yes, I'm Swanson, his chum," replied the shortstop. "You needn't worry, miss, he'll be all right. I'm sorry I worried you about it."

He hung up the receiver and made a hasty tour of the hotel, descended to the billiard room, peeped into the bar and hurried through the writing and lounging rooms.

"Five after eleven," he muttered to himself, as he turned from the desk. "Kohinoor has found he was late and stayed on the car to the station. I'll grab a taxi and hurry down."

"If he comes in tell him I've gone," he called to the clerk as he hurried out.

A quarter of an hour later Swanson hurried into the great train shed where the train was waiting to bear the Bears on their final trip of the season. Most of the athletes already had sought their berths to attempt to get to sleep before the train started, as the ride was a short one and the hours of sleep too few.

"Kohinoor down yet?" asked Swanson in a low tone, as he came near the trainer.

"Haven't seen him," replied the trainer. "I put his baggage in his berth. There's a card game in the smoking room, maybe he's in there."

"I'll watch for him at the gate," said Swanson, "he may turn up yet."

Worried and alarmed, Swanson swung back along the train and took his stand where he could watch the entrances to the station and the great clock at the same time. Three minutes remained before time for the train to start. There was a flurry in the crowd at the gates, and a man broke through to race for the train. Swanson's heart leaped. He started to meet the newcomer, then, with a sickening feeling, he saw that it was not McCarthy, but Williams.

"Seen Kohinoor?" inquired Swanson, as Williams hurried past.

"Not since dinner. Isn't he here?" inquired Williams, stopping and dropping his grip.

"Haven't seen him," replied Swanson, watching Williams closely for symptoms of guilt, and finding none.

"I expected it," said Williams nastily. "Maybe that story about him trying to throw games is straight after all."

"That's what a lot of them will say if he don't show up to-morrow," reflected Swanson.

The warning cry of all aboard sounded. The big shortstop hesitated an instant, and gave a despairing glance toward the gates, just being closed.

"It won't do for both of us to miss this game," he muttered as he turned and ran along the platform. The porter was just closing the vestibule doors and the train was gathering speed as the big shortstop swung aboard, went into the now deserted smoking room and sank down, staring blankly out of the window at the rushing lights.

Before the train reached the city of the Blues the news that McCarthy was missing had spread through the car of the Bears. The consternation that followed the rumor grew as the berths were made up and it became a certainty that the third baseman was not with the team. Swanson had informed Manager Clancy early in the morning of the events of the preceding evening so far as he knew them. They had not told anyone, but every member of the team knew, and they gathered in little groups. Williams was circulating around the car, talking with different players.

"Look at him," said Swanson to Clancy. "He hates McCarthy and he was the one who told them first that Kohinoor was not with us. He guessed it when I asked him last night if he had seen him."

"It's queer," the voice of Pardridge came from the berth behind them. "It's a funny thing that all this sort of trouble in the team started when that red-headed tramp joined us."

"They'll all be talking that way," said Swanson gloomily. "They wait for a chance to knock."

"Something may have happened to delay him," said the manager in tones that showed he did not believe his own hopeful words. "Maybe he went to the wrong station, or had an accident. Have you looked at the papers?"

"Yes. Nothing in them about any accident. I'm still hoping he'll be in at noon, catching that early morning train."

"I hope for a telegram from him anyway, when we get to the hotel," replied the manager.

But McCarthy did not show up, nor was there any telegram from him awaiting when the team reached their hotel.