14 Thrill begets thrill. Gladwin's exit from the room served as a signal for the agile-witted barns to strike while the iron was hot. His friend had hardly vanished through the portiers when he turned to Helen with an air of easy confidence, looking frankly into her eyes, and said, "'It's singular that my friend doesn't know what you're referred to, the object of your call,' and he nodded his head with a knowing smile. "'Why, do you?' asked Helen eagerly, coming toward him. Whitney's knowing smile increased in its quality of knowingness, and he spoke with an inflection that was quite baffling. "'Well,' he said in a confiding whisper, "'I have an idea, but he,' jerking his thumb over his shoulder, where Travers Gladwin was last seen departing from view, "'is Travers Gladwin's most intimate friend.'" The astonishing character of this information served only further to confuse the beautiful Miss Burton's already obfuscated reasoning facilities and hypnotize her into that receptive condition where she was capable of believing any solemnly expressed statement. "'Really?' she said, with a little start of surprise. "'Oh, yes,' ran on the glib barns. "'They are lifelong chums. Love each other like brothers. One of those castor and Pollux affairs, you know, only more so. Never have any secrets from each other, and all that sort of thing.' Helen dropped back into her chair, and her brow wrinkled with perplexity. "'That's curious,' she said. "'I don't think Travers ever spoke to me about that kind of a friend.'" The idea was just burgeoning in her mind to ask for the friend's name when barns hastened on. "'Well, now that is singular. Are you sure that—' The sudden brisk return of Travers Gladwin saved barns from an immediate excruciating tax upon his ingenuity.' "'I'm awfully sorry,' said Gladwin, going to Helen and shaking his head regretfully. But I couldn't find him.' "'Oh, dear, that's very provoking,' cried Helen. He didn't say he was going out, did he?' "'No, I could have sworn he was here a few minutes ago,' spoke up barns, turning his head away for fear his smile would suddenly get out of control. "'Well, is his man here?' demanded the girl. "'Why, he lets you in,' blurted Gladwin. "'I don't mean the Japanese.' "'You mean the Butler, perhaps?' Gladwin corrected. "'Yes,' Helen answered mechanically. Travers Gladwin felt it was time for barns to take a hand again, as his mental airship was bucking badly in the invisible air currents. "'Is Gladwin's Butler here?' he inquired sharply, frowning at barns. "'No,' said barns, promptly. "'I am sorry, but he is not here,' Gladwin communicated to Helen. "'Well, where is he?' cried the exasperated Helen. "'Where is he?' Gladwin asked barns. Whitney barns went down for the count of one, but bobbed up serenely. "'Where is he?' he said with a nonchalant gesture. "'Oh, he's giving a lecture on butling.' The bewildered Miss Burton did not catch the text of this explanation. In her increasing agitation she wrung her hands in her muff and almost sobbed. "'I'm sure I don't know what to do. I simply must get word to him somehow. It's awfully important.' Whitney barns saw the trembling lip in the dampening eye and strove to a verticatastrophe that would probably double the difficulty of probing into the mystery. Turning to Gladwin, but half directing his remarks to Helen, he said, "'I've just been telling the ladies that you and Traverse are bosom pals.' Traverse Gladwin flashed one look of amazement and then caught on. "'Oh, yes,' he cried. "'We are very close to each other. I couldn't begin to tell you how close.' "'And I have also hinted,' pursued barns, "'that you never have any secrets from each other, and that I felt sure you knew all about, all about, uh, uh, tonight.' "'Oh, of course,' assented Gladwin, beginning to warm up to his part and feel the rich thrill of the mystery involved. "'Yes, yes, of course. He's told me all about tonight.' "'Has he?' gasped Helen, looking into the young man's brown eyes for confirmation, feeling that she liked the eyes, but uncertain that she read the confirmation. "'Yes, everything,' lied Gladwin, now glowing with enthusiasm. All this while the shy and silent Sadie had remained demerly in her chair, looking down one to the other, and vainly endeavoring to catch the drift of the conversation. Sadie was too dainty a little soul to be possessed of real reasoning faculties. The one thought that had been uppermost in her mind all day was that Helen was taking a desperate step, probably embarking upon some terrible tragedy. She had hungered for an opportunity to compare notes with some sturdier will than her own, and the instant she heard Traverse Gladwin admit that he knew all about tonight, she rose from her chair and asked, breathlessly, turning up her big, appealing eyes to Traverse Gladwin, "'Then won't you—oh, please, won't you tell her what you think of it?' There was something so naive, an incident in Sadie's attitude and expression, that Whitney Barnes was charmed. It also tickled his soul to see how thoroughly his friend was stumped. So, to add to Traverse confusion, he chimed in, "'Oh, yes, go on and tell her what you think of it.' "'I'd rather not,' said Gladwin ponderously, trying to escape from the appealing eyes. "'But really, you ought to, old chap,' reproved Barnes. "'It's your duty, too.' "'Oh, yes, please do,' implored Sadie. The victim was caught three ways. Both young ladies regarded him earnestly and with looks that hung upon his words, while Barnes stood to one side with a solemn, long face, elbow in one hand, and chin gripped tightly in the other, manifestly for the moment withdrawn from rescue duty. There was nothing for the badgered young man to do but mentally roll up his sleeves and plunge in. "'Well, then,' with exaggerated sobriety, "'if you must know, I think that is, when I was thinking of it, or, I mean, what I had thought of it, when I was thinking of it, turning it over in my mind, you know, why it didn't seem to me, I am afraid,' turning squarely on Helen, "'what I am going to say will offend you.'" "'On the contrary,' cried Helen, flushing to her tiny pink ears. "'If you are Traver's best friend, I should like to know just what you think of it.' "'Well, then,' said Traver's glad one desperately, "'if you must know the truth, I don't like it.' "'There,' breathed Sadie, overjoyed, and dropped back in her chair. But Helen Burton was far from pleased. "'You don't like what?' she demanded. "'Why, this thing to-night,' he groped. "'You wouldn't say that if you knew Mr. Hogg,' the indignant girl flung out. "'There, Gladwin, that's a clincher. You don't know Hogg.'" Whitney Barnes was up to his ears in clover. "'How do you know I don't know him?' asked Gladwin a little wildly. "'Why, how could you?' said Helen accusingly. "'How could I know, Mr. Hogg?' "'Yes.' "'Why, just go out to his pen, introduce yourself, and shake his tail. "'Helen failed to see the humor of this sally, and again the tears struggled for an outlet. "'Now you're making fun of me,' she said, turning away. "'I think it's very unkind.'" Traver's Gladwin felt a sharp pang of remorse and hated himself for his break. In his eagerness to repair the wound, he stepped to the young girl's side and said with a great seriousness, "'I wouldn't hurt you in any way for the world.'" Helen looked up at him and read the soul of sincerity and sympathy in his eyes. She was both reassured and embarrassed by the intensity of his look. "'Really?' she managed to murmur, backing away and sitting down again. The mention of Mr. Hogg had inflamed Whitney Barnes's curiosity, and he desired to know more of that unknown. "'Well, I don't see what Mr. Hogg has to do with it,' he spoke up. "'Why, auntie insists upon my marrying him.'" Helen blurted this out involuntarily. "'That's dreadful,' exclaimed Whitney Barnes, and Helen rewarded him with a smile of gratitude. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 15 of Officer 666. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Officer 666 by Barton W. Curry and Augustine McHugh. Chapter 15. Heroism, love, and something else. The embarrassment of both the girls had begun to wear off. The two strange young men, notwithstanding the unaccounted-for absence of the object of Helen's quest, began to appear less strange. Both possessed potent attractions and undeniable magnetism. The shy and shrinking Sadie was sure she liked that tall and slender young man with the easy drawl and bright humorous eyes immensely. The boldness of his glances made her heart beat pleasantly. To her he seemed to possess the master will and wit of the pair, and she felt she could repose perfect confidence in him. For her part, Helen was uncertain just how to sense the situation. One side of her will urged her to leave a message for her betrothed and hurry away. Another strain of consciousness held her fast. Travers Gladwin's psychic waves, that had so utterly failed in the grill room of the Ritz, may or may not have had something to do with this. He felt inspired with the desire to prolong the interview indefinitely. He could not recall ever having been so attracted by the charming personality of any girl, as he was by this distressed maiden who was so eager to see her Travers Gladwin. He was flattered, even by the compliment of having the same name as the unknown. As a further expression of sympathy with Helen in the matter of Mr. Hogg, he said earnestly, Do you mean to tell me that your aunt insists upon you marrying this Hogg? Yes, replied Helen passionately.  I think you're absolutely right, Gladwin agreed with her. Oh, you do? cried the delighted Helen. Then, turning triumphantly upon her cousin, she exclaimed, There! But Sadie's one idea did not include Mr. Hogg. She considered the allotment as a separate matter in which Mr. Hogg was in no way involved, wherefore she said, But you've only known Mr. Gladwin two weeks. I know, retorted Helen, but I've loved him for four years. You've loved Travers Gladwin four years, said that young man in a voice hollow with wonder, and only known him two weeks, cut in Whitney Barnes, by Jove, he must be one of those retroactive soulmates. I've loved him for years, said Helen stiffly. You've loved him four years in two weeks, said Barnes in the tone of one trying to do a sum. I give up, I can't do it. Helen faced the heretic Barnes and announced impressively, Ever since the time he so bravely risked his own life to save that girl, it was splendid, noble. Travers Gladwin decided it was time to call a halt on the borrowing proclivities of the unknown double. It was bad enough for someone to appropriate his name, but also to take unto his bogus self the glory of the real one's heroism was too much. You mean that time at Narragansett, he opened? Yes, said Helen. Four years ago, when he dashed into the roaring surf, Yes, and fished out a cross-eyed colored lady, said Gladwin, hotly. That's just it, returned Helen, with flashing eyes and heaving bosom. If she had been beautiful or someone dear to him, it wouldn't have been half so noble. Oh, it was fine of him. And he told you about that, asked Gladwin, numbed for the moment. No, he didn't. He's much too modest. I knew of it the day it happened, and he has been my ideal ever since. But would you believe it, when I first spoke to him about it, he could hardly remember it. Imagine doing such a brave thing and then forgetting all about it. Oh, I've forgotten lots of such things, said the unrecognized hero. Helen's lips curled with scorn. Yes, the young man was stung to go on, and what Travers Gladwin did wasn't brave at all. What? Helen gasped.  So I swam out to her. Yes, bubbled over the young man, overjoyed at the opportunity of discounting his own heroism. I swam out to her. I told her to lie on her back and float. Well, she did, and I— You? Why, yes. You see, I was with him. He pushed her to shore. Simplest thing in the world. Helen rose angrily. There was both indignation and reproach in her voice. It's shameful to try and belittle his courage, and you say you're his dearest friend. She paused for a moment, then went closer to the young man, and said in a different tone, Oh, I understand you now. You're saying that to try and make me change my mind. But I shan't, not for anybody. Helen crossed the room to her cousin and gave Sadie the benefit of the look of defiance, with which she had confronted Travers Gladwin. Oh, please, please don't say that, Helen! cried Sadie, all a flutter. I know he will agree to a postponement. But I don't want any postponement, protested Helen. I told you what I intended doing, and I'm going to do it. Go on, tell her again. We'd all like to hear it, broke in Gladwin. Helen swung around and said dramatically, I'm going to marry Travers Gladwin tonight. Travers Gladwin reeled a little where he stood, met, and turned from the beaming stare of Whitney Barnes. As he did so, Helen came very close to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said tremulously, You are his best friend. Tell me honestly, don't you think I'm right in wanting to marry him? This was a poser, but when he did summon an answer, it came right out from the heart, his eyes devouring the beautiful girl before him as he spoke. Nothing on earth would please me so much as to have you marry Travers Gladwin, and I promise you now that I am going to do everything in my power to persuade you to do it. Oh, I am so glad Helen thanked him. A moment later she added with a perplexed smile. But why did you talk about his bravery as you did? Well, you see, the young man stopped. I suppose, Helen said brightly, being so very fond of him, you hated the idea of his marrying, was that it? Yes, but that was before I saw you. I hope you're going to like his best friend just a little. There was no mistaking the ardent emphasis on the last sentence, and Helen studied the young man's face curiously. She turned away with a blush and walked across the room. End of Chapter 15 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 16 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 by Barton W. Currie and Augustine McHugh Chapter 16 The Torment of Officer 666 Meantime Officer 666, on his aristocratic beat, four blocks up and four blocks down the Fifth Avenue Pave, was sticking to the east side of the street and vainly trying to keep his eyes to the front. It was excruciating duty, with the raven-haired rose wheeling her perambulator along the opposite way, and keeping by way of feminine perversity on a latitudinal line with the patrolling of Michael Phelan. There she was, just opposite, always, never twisting her head an inch to give him so much as a glance or a smile. It made him wild that she should discipline her eyes in that fashion, while his would wander hither and yawn, especially yawn when Rose was in that direction. The daintiness of Rose, in cap and apron, with a big white fissue at her throat, with one red cheek and the corner of her most kissable mouth on the avenue, maddeningly visible, soon drove all memory of the Gladwin mansion and the suspicious antics of the rat-faced little heathen out of his mind. His one thought was that Rose would have to cross over the way at the fall of dust and trundle her millionaire infant-charge home for its prophylactic pap. There would be a bare chance for about seven or ten words with Rose, but what was he going to say? For one hundred and nine days running, his days off inclusive, Michael Phelan had intercepted Rose at that particular corner and begged her to name the day. The best he ever got was a smile and a flash of two laughing eyes, followed by the sally, Show me five hundred dollars in the bank, Michael Phelan, and I'll talk business. And why didn't Michael Phelan save up five hundred dollars out of the more than one hundred dollars a month the city paid him for his services? Rose didn't get a quarter of that, and she had already saved three hundred dollars besides which she sent a one-pound note home to Ireland every month. The reason was this. Michael Phelan turned in his wages each month to his mother, and out of what she allowed him to spend, he couldn't have saved five hundred dollars in five hundred years, at least not to his way of thinking. The trouble was that Rose had more than an inkling of this, and it galled her to think that her gallant brass-buttoned cop should permit himself to be still harnessed to his mother's apron strings. Yes, down in the invisible depths of Rose's heart, she was very fond of the faithful and long-suffering Michael, but even so she couldn't bring herself to marry a milk-stop who was likely to make her place second fiddle to his mother. And when Rose once made up her mind, she was as grimly determined as she was pretty. The sun had swung down behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the trees that bordered the park wall had begun to trace their shadows on the marble fronts of the mansions across the way, when Rose suddenly wheeled the gig containing Master Crisis, and walked demurely toward Officer 666. Michael Phalen blushed till he could feel his back hair singeing, but he stopped stock still and waited. Rose gave no sign until she was within half a dozen feet of him. Then she looked up pertently and exclaimed, Why, if it ain't Michael Phalen! It is Rose, and with the same question panting on his lips, broke out the young man, his bosom surging and his heart wrapping under his shield. And what is that same question, Mr. Phalen? asked the tantalizing Rose. Officer 666 choked with emotion. Will you name the day to die? He stopped and looked round about him fearfully, for Sergeant McGinnis was due on his rounds, and Sergeant McGinnis, though married, had an eye like a hawk for a pretty girl and a tongue like an adder for a patrolman caught sparking. Rose's eyes flashed and her lips drew taut. She started forward, but turned her head to face Phalen as she walked away. I'll give you an answer, Michael, she said in parting, when ye may set up your own home for your own. That was all Phalen heard, and possibly all that the young woman uttered. For just then, Master Crisis set up a ball that was most common and vulgar, in its utter lack of restraint. There could be no more to the interview that day with young Master Crisis in such vociferous mood. So Officer 666 turned away, with a heaving sigh, and plotted dolefully along on his beat. End of Chapter 16 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 17 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 by Barton W. Currie and Augustine McHugh Chapter 17 Travers Gladwin is considerably jarred. Taking time out to sense the bruised condition of your heart isn't a whole lot different from taking time out to recover from a jolt received in the prize ring. Having released that impassioned sentence, I hope you are going to like his best friend just a little, young Mr. Gladwin felt a trifle groggy. Until he had spoken he hadn't realized just how badly his cardiac equipment was being shot to pieces by the naked God's ruthless archery. The fact that the case should have appeared hopeless only fanned the flame of his ardor. He had looked into the depths of two vividly blue eyes, and there read his destiny. So he told himself fiercely, whereupon, in the Rooseveltian phrase, he cast his hat into the ring. He cared no more for obstacles than a runaway horse. His very boredom of the past few years had stored up vast reserves of energy within him, waiting only for that psychological thrill to light the fuse. As Helen Burton turned from him with the uncomfortable feeling of one who has received a vague danger signal, he paused only a moment before he again strode to her side. He was about to speak when she took the lead from him, and, looking up at one of the masterpieces on the wall, said, Oh, this is his wonderful collection of paintings! He told me all about them! It was what the gentleman pugilists would call a cross-counter impinging upon the supersensitive maxillary muscles. It certainly jarred the owner of that wonderful collection, and caused him to turn with an expression of astonishment to Whitney Barnes. But that young man was intensely occupied in a vain endeavor to draw more than a monosyllable from the shrinking Sadie Burton. He missed the look and went doggedly ahead with his own task. Helen Burton repeated her remark that he had told her all about his paintings. Oh, has he? responded Gladwin, dulling. Yes, and they are worth a fortune, cried the girl. He simply adores pictures. Yes, doesn't he, though, assented the young man in the same vacuous tones?  Here was information to Jar-Jove on High Olympus. Traverse Gladwin came stark awake with a new and vital interest. There was glowing life in his voice, as he said.  Yes, indeed, we are. Won't that be nice? was the best Gladwin could do, for he was trying to think along a dozen different lines at the same time. We will be gone for ever so long, you know, volunteered Helen. Are you going to take his collection of miniatures? The young man asked in unconscious admiration of the colossal nerve of the gentleman who had so nonchalantly appropriated his name. Miniatures? asked Helen, wonderingly. Yes, of course, ran on Gladwin, and the china and the family plate, nearly two hundred years old. Why, I don't think he ever mentioned the miniatures, or… or… That is singular, broke in Gladwin, striving to conceal the sarcasm that crept into his voice. Strange, he overlooked the china, plate, and miniatures. I don't understand it, do you? And he turned to Barnes, who had caught the last of the dialogue and shifted his immediate mental interest from the shy Sadie. No, I really don't, old man, said Barnes. Do let me show you the miniatures, Gladwin addressed Helen upon a sudden inspiration. That will be splendid, cried Helen. I adore miniatures. They are just in the next room, said Gladwin, leading the way to a door to the left of the great Onyx fireplace. As she followed, Helen called to her cousin. Come along, Sadie. This will be a treat. But the next moment she was alone with Travers Gladwin in the long, narrow room, two windows of which, protected by steel latticework on the inside, looked out on a side street. The girl did not notice that, as the young man preceded her, he reached his hand under the screening portier and touched a spring that noiselessly swung open the heavy mahogany door and switched on half a dozen clusters of lights. Neither did she notice that Sadie had failed to follow her, as her eyes fairly popped with wonder at the treasures presented to her gaze. On one side of the room there was a long row of tables and cabinets, and almost at every step there was an antique chest. On the tables there were huddled in artistic disorder scores upon scores of gold and silver vessels and utensils of every conceivable design and workmanship. Each cabinet contained a collection of exquisite china or rare ceramics. On the walls above was the most notable collection of miniatures in America. Travers Gladwin waited for the young girl to have finished her first outburst of admiration. Then he said softly, I suppose you know that five generations of Gladwins have been collecting these few trinkets. He never even mentioned them, gasped the girl. Why, the paintings are nothing to these. I wouldn't say that, chuckled Gladwin. It would take a deal of this gold and silver junk to buy a Rembrandt or a Carole. There are a couple of Selene medallions, though, just below that miniature of Madame de Pompadour, that a good many collectors would sell their souls to possess. Perhaps he was preserving all this as a surprise for me, whispered the odd Miss Burton. It is just like him. I am afraid he will be awfully disappointed now that you have shown them to me. Or may have he has forgotten all about them, said Gladwin, in a tone that caused his companion to start and color with quick anger. You know that is not true, she said warmly. You know that Travers Gladwin is just mad about art. How can you say such a thing and in such a sarcastic tone of voice? Well, the young man defended himself, inwardly chuckling. You know how his memory lapsed in regard to that heroic affair at Narragansett.  That was entirely different. It simply showed that he was not a braggart, that he was different from other men. The words were meant to lash and sting, but the passion with which they were said served so to vivify the loveliness of the young girl that Travers Gladwin could only gaze at her in speechless admiration. When her glance fell before the homage of his regard, he took hold of himself and apologized on the ground that he had been joking. Then he made the rounds of the treasure room, pointing out and giving the history of each precious family heirloom, or art object, with an encyclopedic knowledge that should have caused his companion to wonder how he knew so much. Several times he slipped in the pronoun I, hoping that this might have some effect in waking Helen from the obsession that any other man than he could be the real Travers Gladwin. But alas for his subtle efforts, the hints and innuendos fell on deaf ears. She accepted his fund of information as a second-hand version, exclaiming once, what a splendid memory you have! Then he gave it up as a hopeless case and led the way back into the other room. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Officer666 by Barton W. Currie and Augustine McHugh Chapter 18 Sadie becomes a conspirator. Ah! Be careful! Don't go out there! was the warning that had stopped Sadie Burton in full flight for the treasure room into which her cousin and Travers Gladwin had vanished. She was more than halfway to the door in obedience to Helen's command, when Whitney Barnes spoke. He was sitting in the arm of one of the great upholstered chairs in a gracefully negligent attitude, twirling his gold keychain about his finger. He spoke softly but with a mysterious emphasis that took hold and held the retreating miss fast in her tracks. She turned with a frightened, Why? Because I would be all alone, he said solemnly. Then as Sadie took another hurried step forward, Oh no! You wouldn't desert me! You wouldn't be so cruel! How would you like to have someone desert you? This mystic remark caused Sadie to turn around and take a step toward him. She said timidly, I don't understand. Then I'll tell you, he said, getting on his feet and going toward her. No, no! objected Sadie and began to back away. The young man stopped and said in his most reassuring tones, Fear not! I am quite harmless, I assure you. Now I can see that you are in trouble. Is that not so? Oh yes! Sadie admitted, delighted at this new turn in his attitude. Her first disturbing suspicion had been that he wanted to flirt. You see, I'm right, he pursued. I would like to help you. Would you? she breathed with increasing confidence. Of course I would, he said earnestly, where at Sadie lost all fear. Then we must hurry if we are to stop it, she said in a dramatic whisper. Stop it? Stop what? The air of old grim barns had launched the belief that he was about to start something. There wasn't any stop in the vocabulary of his thoughts at that minute. Why, the allotment! ejaculated Sadie, exploding a little bomb that brought Whitney Barnes down out of the clouds. Yes, of course, to be sure. The allotment. I'd forgotten, he raced on. Let me look at you. No, you must not turn away. I must look at you. That's the only way I can help you. If he had to take a hand in the business of preventing an allotment, he was going to combine that business with pleasure. You are sure you want me to help you? he asked. Yes, so awfully much, she cried. Then I must look at you. Look at you very closely, he said, with the utmost seriousness. I don't understand, murmured Sadie, both pleased and frightened by his intense scrutiny. I'll show you, said Barnes. Stand very still with your arms at your side. There. My, but she's a picture. I found out the first thing I read it in your eyes. What! in a stifled whisper. You don't approve of this allotment. Oh, no! Sadie had yielded her eyes, as if hypnotized. There, I told you so, exalted Barnes. You want to stop the allotment, but you don't know how to do it. Yes, that's perfectly true, confessed the spellbound Sadie. Shall I tell you how to stop it? Yes, please do. Then sit down. He motioned to a chair three feet from where he stood. The victim of this, his first excursion into the fields of mesmerism, tripped with birdlike steps to the chair and sat down. Barnes went easily toward her and sat down on the arm. He was as solemn about it as if his every move were part of a ritual. Now, please take off your glove, the left one, he commanded softly. Sadie obeyed mechanically. Barnes went on. Before deciding upon what you should do, I'd like to know definitely about you, if you don't mind. What do you want me to tell you? asked Sadie, with a brave effort to keep her voice from running off into little tremors. Nothing, replied the seer-faced Barnes. What I want to discover you may not even know yourself. Allow me to look at your hand, please. Sadie yielded her hand with shy reluctance, allowing the young man to hold only the tips of her fingers. Whitney Barnes bent his frowning eyes over the fluttering little hand, studied the palm for a long second, then exclaimed suddenly, By Jove, this is extraordinary! Sadie started, but her curiosity was greater than her fear. What! she asked excitedly. Really wonderful! Barnes kept it up. What! Sadie repeated in the same little gasp. See that line? He had taken possession of the whole hand now, and pointed with a long, ominous forefinger to the center of the palm. Which line, inquired Sadie eagerly, getting her head very close to his, as she pried into the plump, practically lineless palm? That one, said Barnes impressively. No! Don't you see that it starts almost at your wrist? Now I see. Yes! What of it? Why, it runs way round the bump, or that is the bump of Venus. What does that mean? asked Sadie innocently. Oh! a lot! You are very affectionate and extremely shy. Wonderful! exclaimed Sadie, amazed at the young man's stupendous skill. Now here's a cunning little line, he pursued. That shows something too. Does it show how to stop the elopement? asked Sadie ingenuously, but making no effort to withdraw her hand. Yes! and it shows that you and your friend are— he paused to allow Sadie to fill the gap, and she did. Cousins! and we live with Auntie, and we've been in New York a month. And your cousin hasn't known Gladwin long? Only two weeks! Sadie was really odd. That's right, two weeks, and she met him at the— He said to himself that here was a little game that beat any other known sport to Flinders. At a sale of old pictures and art objects, said Sadie, supremely confident that he was reading her mind. A sale of pictures, of course! Barnes led her on. Yes! she was bidding on a picture, and he whispered to her that it was a copy, a fraud, and not to buy it. That was the way they got acquainted. But he wouldn't let her tell Auntie anything about him. Just a moment! cried Barnes. Here's a bit of good luck. I'd almost overlooked that line. Sadie was on fire with curiosity, and looked eagerly into his eyes. You meet a dark man, and he prevents the allotment. Perhaps that's you! exclaimed the delighted girl, with drawing her hand and jumping to her feet.  Oh! I'm so glad! But wait! said Barnes, going very close to her. Please pay attention to every word I say. Do all you can to get your cousin to change her mind. Then, if she won't, tell your aunt. But don't tell her until the last minute. And—but here's your cousin! End of Chapter 18. Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 19 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 By Barton W. Curry and Augustine McHugh Chapter 19 Helen leaves an important message. Helen Burton and Travers Gladwin were almost at the door leading from the treasure-room when the young man stopped and confronted the girl, whose eyes were still bright with the anger he had kindled in them. He smiled rather sheepishly, as he said. Suppose I were to tell you that I am Travers Gladwin, and that the other Travers Gladwin with whom you think you are in love is not Travers Gladwin at all. Her lip curled, and she regarded him scornfully. But she said nothing. He went on into the other room, holding back the portier for her to follow. Why don't you answer my question? he insisted as she passed him. It is much too silly, she said sharply. Then in a different tone to her cousin, who still stood by Whitney Barnes, with her color coming and going by turns. Oh, Sadie, why didn't you come with us? Travers has the most wonderful things. Then you are not going to answer my question? Travers Gladwin asked again. I said it was much too silly, the girl returned with increasing vehemence. Gladwin came forward and explained to Barnes and Sadie. I have been asking, Miss—uh, I've been asking how she'd take to the idea of my being Travers Gladwin. Helen was now thoroughly aroused as she turned. Why do you persist in asking such a question? I was wondering, he said quickly, whether you were in love with the man or the name. Have I given you the impression—she began hotly, scarcely able to control her anger. Yes you have, he said warmly, and with all the dramatic emphasis he could command, I am afraid you were thinking more of that rescue at Narragansett, and your desire to be free of poor Mr. Hogg than you were of my poor friend. This insult was more than she could endure. She turned her back to address Whitney Barnes. Shall you be here when Travers returns? she said imperiously. I am sure to see him before I leave, responded the young man. And would you be kind enough to give him a message for me? She had gathered up her fur-piece and muff and was moving toward the door. Delighted, said Barnes, with a deferential bow. Thank you so much. I want you to tell him that I cannot avoid the opera tonight, that I have simply got to go. But that I'll get away as soon as I can and come to him directly from there. But you can't do that, interposed Sadie, in a voice that thrilled with alarm.  And now we must go. I had no idea we'd stayed so long. Goodbye and thank you. She had taken a step toward the entrance to the hallway when Gladwin strode forward. You didn't say goodbye to me, he said in an injured tone, then with a sudden vehemence. But I am glad you didn't, for we are going to meet again. I suppose we shall, if you are here when I return, she said coldly and without looking at him. When you return, he said, in quick surprise. Yes, when I come back here to-night, in the same disdainful, snubbing tones. You're going to meet Travers here to-night, he queried, in palpable unbelief. Yes, I am. He wanted me to meet him at the station, but I insisted on coming here. And what time was it Travers wanted you to meet him here? I'd almost forgotten. At half-past ten, answered Helen, taken off her guard and submitting unconsciously to his cross-examination. Oh, yes, at half-past ten, he repeated. That's right. But you, pointedly addressing Barnes, must tell him I may be late. I will, acquiesced Barnes, a trifle bewildered. I hope you'll be very late, cut in Gladwin. What do you mean, she caught him up?  Please, she began icily. Don't be angry, he pleaded. I'm saying this for your good. I don't care to hear it. But you've got to hear it, he cried. To leave your aunt and run off with a man you hardly know, why, you must be mad even to think of it.  If ever a young lady's fur was up, as the saying is, such was the case with the enraged Helen Burton. If her eyes had been weapons to slay, Travers Gladwin would have been annihilated at a glance. But he stuck doggedly to his guns. Well, somebody ought to speak to you, he ran on. Can't you understand that this man is no good, that he must be a scoundrel to ask you to do such a thing, that— Stop! I forbid you to say any more, to say such horrible, cowardly things about him behind his back. You who claim to be his dearest friend. Her anger was suddenly checked by a thought that flashed in her mind. Only a few minutes ago you said you were glad I was going to marry Mr. Gladwin, and that you would do everything in your power to help. And I jolly well meant it, he acquiesced with a low bow. You meant it? Then how could you—oh!—and she started suddenly from him. Why didn't I see it before? You've been drinking. Come, Sadie. Barnes turned away with an uncontrollable snicker. Gladwin was stunned. As he saw her leaving him he made a last desperate effort. But just a moment. Please allow me to explain. I said I wanted you to marry Travers Gladwin because I am— I don't care why you said it, she flung at him, because I don't think you know what you're saying. She fairly sailed through the portiers, leaving the young man staring after her in a state of utter mental collapse. The little cousin had listened to this impassioned dialogue in the attitude of a frightened bird, standing first on one foot and then on the other, struggling with all her small nervous force to hold back the tears. As Helen disappeared, Asab escaped her and she ran forward. Barnes started after her. Oh, Miss Sadie! Just one word! Oh, don't! Please don't! she wailed over her shoulder.  Sadie stopped, gave him one frightened glance, smiled through her tears and burst out. I shall be delighted! Then she was gone, and a moment later the door slammed. She was gone, and a moment later the door slammed. End of chapter 19 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 20 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 by Barton W. Curry and Augustine McHugh Chapter 20 Helen to the Rescue The slamming of the door of the Gladwin mansion struck upon the two young men as a numbing shock. They stood looking at each other with eyes that saw not and with expressions of idiotic vacancy. Within the span of a brief half-hour they had been swept along on a rushing tide of emotions. They had been thrilled and mystified, mystified and thrilled. Nor was there any relief in the reaction. There was more mystery and more thrill ahead that demanded immediate action. Naturally the bulk of the thrill was heaped upon Traverse Gladwin. He was not only fiercely convinced that he had fallen desperately in love, but the unknown beauty who had kindled this passion had revealed that she was coming that night to his home to meet and elope with a villain and an impostor. Here was a situation to scatter the wits of a Napoleon. It was no wonder that for a few moments his thoughts flattened themselves against an impassable barrier. Whitney Barnes was the first to revive and speak. Now, what do you think of that? he drew out with a long breath. I haven't begun to think yet, Gladwin managed to stammer. I'm in no condition to think. I'm stunned. And you've traveled all over the universe in search of a thrill, eh? Now you've got one and you don't know what to do with it. While Gladwin was groping for a reply to this thrust, Batiato breezed in with a swift side-long rush, carrying a bulging portmanteau. Bag all packed, sir, announced the little jab, standing at attention. Take it back. I'm not going now, said Gladwin gruffly. Batiato's entrance had nipped another idea in the bud. You no-go? said the jab in surprise. No-go. Take back. Unpack. Eh, sir, excuse me! And Batiato started off with his usual noiseless rush. Hold on, Gladwin checked him. Wait a minute. Don't unpack it. Leave it in the hall. I may want it at a minute's notice. Eh, sir! and the wandering valet steamed out into the hallway and vanished. What are you going to do now? asked Barnes, lighting a cigarette and offering one to his friend. Gladwin took a turn about the room, puffing nervously at the cigarette. Coming to a sudden stop he faced Barnes and reeled off in a quick volley. I'm going to marry that girl. I've been all over the world, seen all kinds of them, and right here in my own house I find the one, the only one, on the verge of eloping with a bogus me. But I'm going to expose that man, whoever he is, I'm going to rescue her from him. For yourself? Yes, for myself, and I'm going to put him where he can never annoy her any more. How the deuce are you going to do all this? asked Barnes, planking himself down into a chair. I don't know, said the other, but I'm going to move the whole western hemisphere to do it, if necessary. Rather a large contract, drawled Barnes. But I say, Travers, if that fellow is going to steal your pictures it sort of sizes up as a case for the police. Of course! agreed Gladwin. I was just thinking of that. Where's that man of mine? Badiato! Badiato! Badiato responded with the swift obedience of a gin rising from a miraculous bottle. Is there? And the little son of Nippon stood stiffly at attention.  Never mind that, I want you to find a policeman, commanded Gladwin. Policeman, where I find him? asked Badiato in alarm, recalling his uncomfortable experience with Officer 666. Try a saloon, said Gladwin, and when you found him bring him here quick. Lady, steal something? ventured the jap, starting for the door. Oddbill, go fast, like winds. Someone is going to try and steal something, replied the young man. We must see that they don't, hurry now. Is there, excuse me, and Badiato vanished? That's the way to do it, barns enthused, rubbing his hands. Get a policeman in here, and when the other Mr. Gladwin shows up, nab him. Then this marriage can't come off without the aid of a prison chaplain. The excitement that for an instant had transfigured Travers Gladwin suddenly left him. A look of dismay spread over his features. By Jove Barnes, he cried, we can't do this. Why not? asked Barnes. Why? because it would make a tremendous scandal. I'm not going to have my future wife mixed up in any public hurrah for the newspapers. Think of it, her name and the papers coupled with the name of a crook. Her picture on one side and a rogue's gallery photograph on the other. Impossible. The police must know nothing about it. I don't follow you, said Barnes. What are you going to do? Kill him and stuff him in that chest? He probably deserves it, but it would be an awfully unpleasant thing to have around the house.  Then he added with swift inspiration, now I've got it. I'll wait outside for her to come and warn her of her danger. You stay in here and be on the lookout for the man. Whitney Barnes threw up his hands and ejaculated. Good night! he made as if to start for the door. No, no, Whitney! cried Gladwin. We must see this thing through together. You wouldn't want this sweet young innocent girl connected with a sensational robbery, would you? No, Barnes agreed soberly. Neither would I want any robbers' bullets connected with me. We are a coward, blurted Gladwin, hotly. You bet I am, acquiesced Barnes, and I'm alive to tell it. Likewise I may have some marriage plans of my own. But keep your hair on, Travers. Let us do some real thinking, unaccustomed as we are to it, and see if we cannot devise some safer plan. What plan is there, groaned Gladwin? Let us think, concentrate, suggested Barnes, posing himself with his elbow on one hand and his forehead supported on the fingers of the other. Gladwin unconsciously fell into the same pose, and so they stood side by side with their backs to the hallway. Thought of anything? Barnes broke the silence. Not a damn thing, retorted Gladwin, peevishly. A broken-legged minute had crawled by when Barnes spoke again. I've got it! What? Gladwin asked, uninspired. Simplest thing in the world! Why didn't I think of it before? Somehow I don't think it's going to be any good, muttered Gladwin, without relinquishing his thoughtful pose. Listen, said Barnes impressively. Go straight to the aunt and tell her the whole thing. Gladwin whirled around and gripped his friend's hand. By Jove, you're right, Whitney. We can make a lot of excuses for her, youth and innocence and all that. I didn't think you had it in you. Come on, we'll go together. Barnes' face fell, and he stammered. But where does she live? Where does she live, don't you know? No. It was Gladwin's turn to throw up his hands. And you don't even know her name? No. Then how did you know her name? No. Then how in blazes were you going to call on that girl? My thunder! I forgot all about getting her address! admitted the crestfallen Barnes. Gladwin uttered a mirthless laugh and said with a sarcastic scorn, Oh, yes! You had a fine plan. I might have suspected as much. Pile it on! Pile it on! growled Barnes. I guess the painter has me sized up about right. But we must do something the police will know nothing about! urged Gladwin. Let's concentrate again. Maybe a real idea will break out. Again the two young men wrinkled their brows in profound absorption. They succeeded so well in their effort at concentration that neither was aware of the precipitant entry of Batiato and Michael Phelan, both of whom had sprinted a distance of two blocks. Phelan was puffing like a tugboat and stopped at the threshold of the room to catch his breath. He had prepared his mind for all manner of excitement and had burst in upon a tomb-like silence to be greeted by two inscrutable backs. What's this? he panted. Is this a musy or a prayer-meeting? Barnes glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Keep quiet, he said. We're thinking. Gladwin strove to invent an excuse for getting rid of the policeman. What do you want? he bluffed as if amazed at the sudden invasion. What do I want? shrilled officer 666. I come to find out what yous want. I don't want anything, said the young man with exaggerated politeness. Thank you very much, but I don't want anything. Good evening. Good evening, echoed Barnes with another glance over his shoulder. Michael Phelan turned purple. He hadn't indulged in the most exhausting sprint in six months to be made sport of. Which one of yous sent for me? he rasped out. The two young men pointed to each other, which only served to fan the flame of Phelan's wrath. Is one of yous, Mr. Gladwin? he gurgled. They repeated the pantomime until Gladwin caught the fire in Phelan's eye and decided that it would be better to temperize. I am Mr. Gladwin, he bowed. Phelan measured him from the ground up as he filled his lungs for another outburst. Why did you send for me? he demanded savagely. This here little Japanese come running wild-eyed down me beat and says there's two women been robbing the house. What's all this monkey business? Badiotto is mistaken, said Gladwin, forcing a laugh. No, sir, replied the Jap excitedly. Ladies, run off quick in big oddbill. Now wait, that's enough, Gladwin stopped him. You tell me find police, persisted the Jap, who saw the terrible wrath of Michael Phelan about to flash upon him.  You say they steal. I go saloon. Don't talk any more. Don't speak again. Don't speak again. Go back to the hotel and wait for me. I'll send for you when I want you. Stop, not another word. Badiotto gripped his mouth with his fingers and stumbled out of the room. Avoiding the still-glowering eye of Officer 666, Travers Gladwin turned to Barnes and attempted to say casually, When Badiotto gets an idea into his head, there is no use arguing with him. There is only one thing to do. Don't let him speak. The young man started to hum a tune and strolled toward the heavily-curtained window that looked out on Fifth Avenue. End of Chapter 20 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 21 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 by Barton W. Curry and Augustine McHugh Chapter 21 Travers Gladwin goes in search of himself. Policeman Michael Phelan was at first undecided whether to pursue the departing Badiotto and arrest him as a suspicious person or to remain in 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 attention to him than they were to the inanimate sticks of furniture in the room. Well, what did you send for me for? 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. And that's no answer to me question. 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.  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 you trying 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. Nick's on the promotion stuff, shot back Phelan, the consciousness returning that he was being kitted. I'm patrolman, and my name is Michael Phelan, and I'm on to me job, mind that. No offence, officer, Gladwin hurried on. I'm sure you're on to your job. No one could look at you in doubt that, but I'll give you five hundred dollars if you'll lend me your uniform for a while. Five, five, only say what kind of a game you's 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 eastside 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. Yes, or 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 fellers off his dip. Don't he know that if I lent him a 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. Say, stammered Phelan, what's this all about? Well, I've found out that a thief is going to break in here tonight. 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 baddie. 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 yous 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 Yizer offering me five hundred dollars for a joke? Phelan dropped his arms limply at his side, and permitted his eyes to bulge at 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. 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 five hundred 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 knots 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. Suppose 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 fit in snugly. It just happened that the suit he wore was dark blue and his trousers matched accurately. 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 cheerfully. 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 devil 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, girdled Phelan. But the words had scarcely passed his lips when the departmental guys of Officer 666 vanished from sight and the front door slammed with a bang. End of Chapter 21. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 22 of Officer 666. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Officer 666 by Barton W. Currie and Augustine McHugh. Chapter 22. A millionaire policeman on the front door of Officer 666. Chapter 22. A millionaire policeman on patrol.  But fortunately McGinnis had passed on his inspection tour shortly before Michael Phelan had been summoned by Batiato. For three hours, at least, Officer 666 would be supreme on his beat. While the McGinnis contingency had never entered young Gladwin's mind, it did suddenly occur to him, as he strolled gentily along, that he had neglected to ask Phelan to define the circumscribed limits of his post. What if he should happen to butt into another patrolman? Certain exposure and all his plans were fluid. Then there was the danger of being recognized by some of his neighbors and friends. Ah, it came to him in a twinkling. A disguise. Here goes, he said aloud, I'll jump a taxi and see if I can hunt up a hair-store. The time was 7 p.m., with the inky darkness of night blanketing the city so far as inky darkness can blanket a metropolis. The shadowfare in which the young man stood was a long lane of dazzle, wherefore the nocturnal shadows offered no concealment. He cast his eyes up and down the avenue in search of a tramp motor-hack cruising in search of a fare. He had only a moment or two to wait before one of the bright yellow variety came racketing along. He stuck up his hand and waved his baton at the driver. The taxi hoved to and warped into the curb. The chauffeur had the countenance of a pirate, but his grin was rather reassuring. Say, me friend, began the young man in an effort to assume Michael Phelan's brogue, do you know the way to a hair-store? Ah, what? The chauffeur shot back while his grin went inside. A hair-store. I want a bit of a disguise for my features, a false hair or the like. Did you stop to kid me? snarled the chauffeur. You don't need to think, because you've got on a bull's uniform, you can hurl the harpoon into me. Or if it's a drink you're wanting, reach in under the seat and there's a flask. If you meant hair oil, why didn't you say it? Thanks, but tis no drink I'm after, said the young man. Tis a ride to a hair-store, and here's a tin spot for your trouble. It was the way Travers Gladwin handled the skirts of his coat in getting at his money that convinced the wise chauffeur that he had no real policeman to deal with. His grin came back and looped up behind at either ear. I get your, Steve. He broke out, reaching for the bill. If it's disguises you're after, hop inside, and I'll tool you over to Madame Flynn's on Avenue A. To demonstrate to his uniformed fare that speed laws in the greater city of New York failed to impose any manner of hamper upon the charioteering of the motor-driven hack, the chauffeur of this canary-colored taxi scampered across town at a 40-mile-an-hour clip, during which patrolman Gladwin failed to familiarize himself with the quality of the cab's cushions. But it was not a long ride, and there was some breath left in him when the cab came to a crashing stop. The young man was on the point of opening the door when a voice stopped him. Keep inside, you boob, and pull the blinds down. There's coppers on every corner.  You can slip me the chains through the crack. What's the problem with the cab's cushions? You can slip me the chains through the crack. What's the prevailing style? asked Gladwin with a laugh. Are they wearing brown beards? They are not, mumbled the chauffeur.  Fine! cried the young man, poking a $20 bill out through the crack in the door.  The door slammed and a great stillness clapped down broken only by the running of the taximeter which seemed to be equipped with a motor of its own. The millionaire cop sat back luxuriously and inhaled a deep breath. Gad, he exclaimed to himself, I'm really beginning to live. Nothing but thrills for four hours and more and larger ones coming. Presently the chauffeur returned, opened the door a few inches and shoved in a small package. You'll have to paste him on in the dark, he said, or you can light a match. You'll find a wee mirror in the bundle. Now, where'll I drive you? Back to me fixed post, said Gladwin, only take it easy while I put me face on straight. If you don't get it on straighter, know your brogue, chuckled the chauffeur, it'll not deceive a blind man. In another instant the return journey was under way at reduced speed. Travers Gladwin first tried on the wig. It was three sizes too large and he had to discard it. Next he had some trouble in deciding which was the mustache and which the eyebrows. He had burned his fingers pretty badly before he made the selection and likewise he had singed one of the eyebrows. But he managed to plaster them all on before the cab stopped and after one glance in the little mirror he was confident the disguise would answer. When he stepped out of the taxi at almost the very spot where he had boarded it he felt that a big weight had on his shoulders. How do you like me? He asked the chauffeur gaily. Is it an improvement? I wouldn't say yes nor no to that, said the chauffeur, but tis a disguise and that's what you were wanting. Then my brows is grand. Thanks, Laughed Officer 666 and here's a $100 bill which asks you to forget me uniform, me number and me face. Tis done, agreed the chauffeur tucking away the bill. Only take a tip from a wise gink and keep deep in the shatters and when you pinch your friend don't let him holler too loud. The yellow taxi was gone with a rush leaving Gladwin to wonder at the amazingly shrewd guess of its pilot. When I pinched me friend, he murmured, it was just what I said to Phelan. Why? He was gazing after the taxi cab when from the opposite direction there suddenly rolled into view a vast touring car with a familiar figure at the wheel and alongside the familiar figure a very pretty girl. The car was barely rolling along while its two occupants were talking earnestly their heads as close together as was possible under the circumstances. Johnny Parkinson, as I'm alive, uttered Travers Gladwin, me old college chum and as per usual making love. Yes, me grinning chauffeur friend, here's where we make a pinch and test Madame Flynn's eyebrows. Officer, do your duty. Out he stepped into the roadway and raised his night-stick. The big car came to a sudden stop and the two occupants stared angrily at the cause of the interruption. I arrest you as in the name of the law, cried patrolman Gladwin, scowling so fiercely that one of the eyebrows was in danger. What's that? snorted the young aristocrat.  I arrest you for breaking the speed laws, racing on the avenue. It's an outrage, cried the pretty passenger. We were scarcely crawling, Johnny. You must be joking, officer, said Johnny Parkinson, not very belligerently, for he had a bad record for speeding and wasn't sure that some earlier offense was not involved. I'm not joking, replied Gladwin, walking to the door of the tonneau and opening it, and you'll oblige me by driving to the police station. He got in and lulled back causally in the cushions. Johnny Parkinson led in the clutch and rolled northward. This was the strangest pinch of his experience and he didn't know just what to make of it. After he had gone a few blocks, he turned on his captor passenger and said, Which station shall I drive to? I'm sure there must be some mistake. There's no mistake, responded Gladwin, fairly screaming with joy inside at the bewildered and frightened look of his friend. As for police stations, take your pick. I ain't particular. Drive round the block a couple of times and make up your mind. Johnny Parkinson turned the first corner and then turned up again into Madison Avenue. Gladwin could hear the couple in the front seat whispering excitedly, the girl almost in hysterics. You've simply got to do something, Johnny, she was saying. You know if we get our names in the paper, Father will be furious. Remember what he said about the last time you were arrested for speeding? Running along Madison Avenue, Johnny Parkinson slowed down turned again to the uniform in the back seat and said tremulously, Can't we compromise this, officer? I... Not on the avenue, Mr. Parkinson. You've got too bad a record. But if you'll run the machine over into Central Park where there ain't so many sergeants roaming round, we might affect a settlement. A smile of great gladness illuminated the features of Johnny Parkinson. He led in the clutch with a bang and it was only a matter of seconds before the 90 horsepower car glided in through the 72nd Street entrance to Central Park and swung into the dark reaches of the East Drive. Slowing down again the young man at the wheel turned and said anxiously, The smallest I've got is a century and I really need some of that. That's easy, rejoined Gladwin Sure, and I'll change hundred-dollar bills every day. Slip me the paper and here's a fifty, which is letting you off easy seeing you're an old offender. The transfer of bills was made swiftly whereupon Gladwin commanded, Now run me back to the peg post and drop me off. Only take it slow and gradual or I might have to pinch you again. A few minutes later Gladwin heard the young girl say passionately, Oh Johnny, how could you give him the money? He's no better than a thief. I hope you've taken his number. It wouldn't do any good, dearest, said Johnny sadly. They're all in together and I'd only get the worst of it. But did you notice, Phyllis, that he looks a lot like Travers Gladwin? Impossible, retorted the girl. Travers Gladwin is good-looking and this man's nothing but an Irish monster. The girl was about to speak again when she was sure she heard muffled laughter behind her. Then the car sped on into the avenue and just missed colliding with the Fifth Avenue motor-bus. Officer 666 was put down on the left side of the road on the right side of the road. And the young girl said, Oh Johnny, a block from his own home and resumed the patrolling of the immediate precincts of the Gladwin mansion. His only parting salute from Johnny Parkinson's car was a flashing glance of contempt from the girl whose identity he strove in vain to place. End of Chapter 22 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 23 of Officer 666 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Officer 666 by Barton W. Curry and Augustine McHugh Chapter 23 Old Grim Barnes gets a thrill. The precipitated departure of Travers Gladwin left Whitney Barnes and the shirts-leaved Michael Phelan staring blankly at each other. The unfrocked policeman with anything but an imposing figure and the contortions of distress in his Rubicon to countenance were grotesque enough to kindle the sense of humor in a far less volatile mind than that of Whitney Barnes. His smile came to the surface and spread out in full blossom. But it failed to find reflection in the features of Mrs. Phelan's son.  You wouldn't see no fun in it if it meant your job and your pension and your self-respect. Now, what is it all about? There you have me, Officer. Responded the young man, lightly. The riddle is dark on all four sides. You and I are in the same boat, guardians of the castle against the mysterious foe. While you guard the moat from the kitchen, I will operate the portcullis. Talks sense, will ya's? hissed Phelan. What in blazes has moats and portcullis to do with it? Only in a way of speaking, laughed Barnes. But calm yourself, Mr. Phelan. My friend is both wise and discreet.  I am unable to explain further without uttering more confusion, so kindly take yonder tray down into the kitchen. That little door on the extreme right, I believe, opens the way to the lower regions. I am sure Badiato left the lights on. May the Blessed Saints preserve ya if it's a trap you're rigging for Michael Phelan. Breathed that gentleman, shaking his head dubiously. Tis not a step I'll go down into that kitchen till ya's lead me the way. And if there's any more raven maniacs down in them quarters, I warn ya, it's shootin' I'll be after doin'. And Phelan padded the bulge in his hip pocket as he swung around. Barnes led the way through the long narrow corridor to the rear of the house while Phelan followed, muttering and grumbling every inch of the way. He was between them while they investigated the elaborate quarters below stairs and at last Phelan ceased his mutterings and accepted from Barnes an armful of cookbooks with which to regale himself until he was summoned to resume his uniform. Returning to the big silent rooms above, Whitney Barnes was utterly at a loss how to occupy himself. The thundering stillness of the thundering's at once. But as idea pursued idea the image of the shy and winsome Sadie persisted in intervening. So he dropped Traverse Gladwin or rather the two Traverse Gladwins, Phelan, Phelan, and all the others from his mind and gave himself up to the beautific contemplation of the picture that was most soothing to his spirits.  Suddenly he thought of his father and sprang to his feet. By Jove, I'll break the news to the painter, he cried. There's a telephone somewhere in this house and I'll call him up at his club. He fairly danced out into the hallway switching on lights wherever he could have a button to press. Presently he located the phone in a secluded alcove and slumped down on a divan with the instrument in his lap. As a matter of fixed routine it happened that this particular hour found Joshua Barnes, Mustard Magnate, settled down to his cigar and coffee in which he found immense comfort after a hearty meal. To be disturbed at this most luxurious moment of the day was, to a man of his temperament, about as pleasant a sensation as being stung by a rattlesnake. He sent the club attendant back to the phone with a savage growl and the message to his son to call him up in an hour or to come to the club in person. The attendant crept back with the report that Barnes Jr. insisted that there could be no delay, but it was an important matter to report on. Old Grim Barnes flung down a cigar, gulped his coffee till he choked and stamped off to the telephone booth. Well, he bellowed. That you, Pater? Sorry to disturb you, but...  No, I haven't been arrested and am not in a police station. Then what the devil? No devil, nothing of the sort. On the contrary, quite the opposite. I've called you up to report progress. You know better than that, Dad. I've only had two drinks. I'd better take four more and sober up. Now, Father Barnes, will you oblige me by cooling off for an instant? You recall that this afternoon gave me a year within which to find a wife? Well, I've found one already. Now you know I'm intoxicated. Was my voice ever soberer? Now listen. You won't listen? But you must. This is all up to you. You commanded. I obeyed. Say, Dad, she's an angel. I'm madly in love with her. Who is she? Well, I really don't know. That is, her first name is Sadie. I... Sadie what? Sadie Omaha. I mean, she lives in Omaha. What is her last name and who are her people? To tell you the truth, I haven't found that out yet. I...   Just wait till you see her. I met her up at Travers Gladwin's and... Travers is in Egypt? No, yes. Of course he is, but... The final outburst of paternal expletive, fairly hurled Whitney Barnes from the phone. There, by thunder, he's rung off in a rage. There's the ungrateful parent he muttered as he made his way back to Gladwin's drawing-room. Here I've gone and broken my neck to fall in love for him and that's all the thanks I get for it. Well, I'll marry her in spite of him if he doesn't leave me a dollar. I could starve in a garret with her and if I got too dreadfully hungry I could eat her. Hi-ho! But says Mr. Whitney Barnes you had better switch off this house isn't supposed to be occupied. He left just one heavily shaded bronze lamp a beam then he carefully drew all the curtains across the windows and tiptoed about the room with the air of a sinister conspirator. He stopped in front of the great mysterious-looking chest to one side of the entrance to the hallway lifted the heavy lid and looked in. Here's where we will put our dead he said with the legubrious grin let down the lid softly and crossed abruptly to the roomiest and coziest chair beside the curtain window. After another sweeping glance about the room he stretched his arms and yawned. Wreck and I better sleep off that jag the painter presented me over the wire he chuckled and down he slid into the soft commentary raising his long legs upon another chair and sighing with deep contentment. His eyes roved about the room for a moment when he smiled suddenly and quoted Why let the stricken deer go weep the heart-ungulled play for some must watch while some must sleep so runs the world away and upon the suggestion of the immortal bard he chose the sleeper's end of it and passed away. End of Chapter 23 Recording by Roger Maline


Like the Doncaster match, they're going to be here to frustrate. So defensive-wise, Newport have come with five at the back. City building now, Smallwood takes a chance on there! Richie Smallwood with his first goal. Inquirat and Amber have given Bradford City the lead. It's Bradford City-1. Newport counting now. Lee Duxbury, what a strike. Well, I was just looking on your piece of paper, thinking, is he right for it now? Because if it's a left foot, he swung that, and it's just perfect timing. Straight in the top corner from 20 yards out. What a goal that was. The perfect start for Bradford City. And if the atmosphere wasn't already electric, it's just gone up a couple of notches. Newport County look a bit shook. They're taking on some water. So the Bradford City players, actually, we have been told up and down the EFL and the Premier League this weekend that there will be additional water breaks due to the high heat here in West Yorkshire and across the country. If you are just joining us, seven-and-a-half minutes gone here at Ballipuray. Bradford City-1, Newport counting now. Richie Smallwood with his first goal in Bradford City-1 as it was a peach of a goal. His left foot there, outside the D, into that top right corner, Lee Duxbury. And Bradford City, well, the perfect start.