When the Winner Lost/Chapter 10

HEN my parts were being assembled in Storkland prior to my appearance on earth, the chief mechanic of the storks made one mistake. He gave me a bump of curiosity fully as intolerant as that of any woman. Fact is, I've always thought men much more curious than women, anyway; it is only that women have so much more greatly restricted means for the satisfaction of that trait that make them seem prying. While a man can go to a dozen different sources for his information, his wife cannot. If she wants to find out something about him or about some friend of his she has only her eyes and ears plus what her husband will tell her. No wonder she seems persistent at times! Just let a man run into a life-sized mystery, however, and watch him! If he can imagine a score of wires to pull he does so forthwith. If he cannot, he chafes under the restriction and shows just how fiery his curiosity is.

I unlocked the door to my suite, thinking to be alone. I was anxious to get hold of Hoffman and 'J. M.' in order to tell them about the shriek in the tunnel and the actual murder I had witnessed. Imagine my consternation, then, on opening the door, to find Mitsui there before me! He bowed with dignity, and took my wraps. Apparently, he was not in the least perturbed by his adventures.

“Look here!” I exploded. “This monkey work is getting on my nerves. How did you get back here before me?”

His slant eyes narrowed, but he stood waiting, just as if to determine how much I had discovered before taking any chance at enlightening me.

“Go on; tell me all about it!” I urged. “Not more than an hour ago I was gambling with you. Something happened that made me think you wouldn't get back at all to-night, and yet here you are, waiting for me. And my taxi came along at a good clip, too. What's the answer?”

“What has happen?” inquired Mitsui. “You say”

“You know as well as I do!” I replied. “I am not trying to tell you about it. I'm not going to keep explaining myself to you. 'J. M.' is paying me to keep my mouth shut.”

“So for me, too,” retorted Mitsui, bowing. His face was that of a Japanese idol, but I could have sworn that he was grinning at me inwardly.

“Well, Mitsui,” I went on, giving him up as a bad job, “I'm glad to see they didn't kill you, anyway. I thought from the way you yelled that maybe they'd stick a knife into the Norwegian half of you. That tunnel isn't a cheery place at best.” I stopped, fascinated by the odd change which had taken place in his expression.

“You hear—that!” he queried, seizing the whole of my left forearm in one of his great hands.

“Yes,” I admitted, unlocking his grasp with some difficulty. “When 'J. M.' gets here I'm going to report the whole thing. If there's anything you don't know he'll tell it to you if it's right for you to know.”

Mitsui's hands had dropped to his sides. “It cannot be help now,” he said.

“Oh, well, I wouldn't let it worry me,” I retorted, seeing no reason for his seeming resignation. “There's one thing  I would like to hear about, though. When I first came up here Hoffman cuffed you to the radiator in the other room. Why did he do that, and how did you manage to get away?”

Instantly a sheepish look came to his face, and he hunched his shoulders for all the world like a schoolboy caught throwing spitballs. “That not important now,” he said.

“Then I can be informed, doubtless,” I rejoined, with a hint of irony.

“Ye-ah,” he said reluctantly. “Oh, it nothing. I was hungry. No lunch, no dinner that day.”

“So you had some means of unlocking them?”

Mitsui grinned, exhibiting his gold-faced teeth, and picked up the mahogany chair at his side. Holding one of the solid legs in his hands, the weight of the chair itself—at least twenty-five pounds—passing unnoticed, his grip tightened. Slowly I saw the fingers knot and gnarled bunches start up under the skin on the back of his black haired hands. Then a ridge fully three inches in height swelled and stiffened along the backs of his wrists and forearms. The wood snapped as if it had been a toothpick. “I broke them,” he replied simply.

His exhibition had made the story easy to believe. I nodded, and made for my chamber, renewing the vow that I had made on first acquaintance with Mitsui. If ever I came to blows with him I certainly would endeavor to kill or disable him before those hands got near my throat.

I was donning my pajamas and Mitsui was laying out my outfit for the morrow, when the phone rang. Mitsui came back after answering, a grim flash in his eye “For you,” he said tersely. “That Latisse, I think.”

I hurried to take the receiver. The voice at the other end was easily recognizable, though it sounded more agitated than even I had learned to expect from Charles Armand Latisse.

“I have need of seeing you right away, Trask,” he said. “Something of a private nature. I can't explain over the wire, and I don't want to mention my name for fear some one else is listening. You know who I am, don't you?”

“Surely,” I replied. “Can't you come up here?”

"No!” he cried with emphasis. “Impossible! I must not be seen with you now. Get a taxi and come, but be sure no one is following you from the hotel!”

My brain tore through the possibilities. It might be a trap. Probably these scoundrels had learned something about me. “Well, I'm all undressed for bed,” I protested. “If you want to see me I'm afraid I'll have to ask you come to the hotel.”

“Oh, no, Trask!” Real distress was in his voice now. “It's—it's about my sister,” he broke out. “You can help, if you will.”

“I'll come,” I replied instantly, visions of all sorts of calamities crossing my mind. “There hasn't been an accident?”

“No, but there may be. Hurry!” With that, he hung up. I realized, in that second, that I would really not be incurring any additional hazard by going to his home. If the men I was employed to watch knew me already, they would have no difficulty knocking me on the head next evening when I attended the club. I hurried down, secured a cab, and started.

It seemed to me, as we were getting out of the Loop, that another taxi started after us, but once out on Michigan Avenue I slipped a ten-dollar bill to the driver. “Make it sixty miles an hour,” I said, “and I'll pay the fine if you are nabbed.” He complied instantly, whirling down the avenue at a rate that made the few cars we passed seem to be standing still. By the time we got to the Latisse home there was a clear stretch of several blocks behind us.

Latisse was waiting for me, evidently, as he opened the door before I had an opportunity to ring. In the light from the street lamps I saw his face was ashen, and his usually immaculate cravat so far awry that his collar gaped in front. Without speaking he clasped drew me inside. His manner, as well as his clammy hand, sent a shiver through me, but I was fairly comforted by the weight of one automatic in each of my coat pockets.

He led the way upstairs to a denlike office adjoining the billiard room. The door was locked, and as he fumbled with the key I noted that his fingers were next to uncontrollable. I did not trust that sort of excitement in him however, so chose my seat near to and facing the door. Here I could cover him,  and at the same time deal with any intruders. Latisse locked the door from the inside, however, and took the chair in front of the desk.

“First there is one relatively unimportant thing I'll speak of now you're here,” he said. “Did you go out to the club last night?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered, wondering what on earth this could have to do with his night call.

“How much did they take away from you?”

“Practically nothing,” I replied “I was five thousand ahead until one chap wanted to deal a cold hand for that amount. Then I was back to even and came home. It's a great place.”

“Yes,” Latisse glanced about him with apparent caution. “I advise you not to speak of it any more to any one, even to me. There is just one detail that I left for settlement until I saw whether or not you like to gamble the way they do at—at the place.”

“You just had better believe I do,” I answered, affecting an enthusiasm I was far from feeling.

“Well,” he said, hesitating, “such a place cannot be run on nothing, and, as I suppose you noticed, there is no charge for anything there the exception of roulette. You may play, drink—up to a certain amount, for they never allow any one to become even partially intoxicated—or have meals there without extra charge. The dues however, as you may well imagine, are high. They are two thousand dollars for each six months, in advance. If you wish you can draw a check to me.”

“Moderate, very moderate,” I agreed, reaching for my check book. “I suppose that includes the taxi hire, eh?”

“Yes, you have no bills to pay except those you incur while gambling, and those are settled in cash on the spot.” He watched me greedily while I made out the payment. My employer had not mentioned the matter of my joining this organization, and I suspected that Charles Latisse took a sizable commission out of each member he brought in, but the details were no affair of mine. Where I could gamble, and was supposed to lose constantly, a matter of two thousand dollars payment for the privilege was a mere drop in the bucket. I becoming decidedly impatient however, to find out just why he had wanted to see me, and I could tell by the heightened nervousness of his expression that he was coming to it.

“Now then, what has occurred to make you get me out of my hotel at this time in the morning?” I asked directly.

“This is an awful thing, Trask,” he said then, without further preamble, “and it's all the worse because I can't explain. It would cost me my life, and even more.”

I said nothing. Up to that second I had doubted that anything in the world could be dearer to Charles Armand Latisse than his own life, and except for his extraordinary agitation I was not yet willing to believe. The man seemed to be holding himself from nervous collapse by a narrow margin, however.

“I want your promise that you won't demand an explanation from me,” he went on. “Promise me that, please!”

“I promise,” I replied quietly; “but not that I won't try to find out for myself.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “You won't be able to find out,” he went on, “so I can talk plainly. I want you to marry my sister to-morrow morning!”