The Substitute Millionaire Page #15

Jack Norman had no idea he was Silas Gyde's sole heir—until the multimillionaire was killed by an anarchist's bomb and Jack found himself the richest man in New York. The inheritance included a warning from his benefactor about an elaborate protection scheme promising to protect the wealthy from anarchists, in which Gyde had declined to enroll. Recognizing his own danger, Jack enlists a out-of-work actor to take on his own identity, while he, in the guise of Jack Norman's secretary, works furiously behind the scenes to break up the gang and unmask their leader, the mysterious Mr. B.

• Fiction
• Mystery

								


"What a background for the lovely girls!" said Jack.  "But the black coats and pants are out of place here."

"Oh, I don't know!" said Bobo, strutting a little.

Jack's sharp eyes perceived that the first and lowest row of tables was by a process of judicious selection on the part of the head-waiter, filled with the elite of the "Broadway crowd," the women exquisite with their bare shoulders and jewels, the men looking bored and superior as is expected of super-men.  These people, as the cunning management of the restaurant well knew, formed the real attraction to the soberer folk from out of town, who sat further back drinking it all in with innocent big eyes.  They thought these fine folk must be Astorbilts or Vandergelds, whereas they were more likely Follies of the Circus and Handsome Harries in funds.

The headwaiter with a shrewd glance at the two young men started to lead them to an obscure corner (young men unaccompanied do not spend much) but Jack with a cough attracted his attention and with discreet motion effected a transfer to his ready hand.  Whereupon after heavy study, the majordomo affected to discover a vacant table in the second row.  The rail of the balcony was over their heads.

Bobo seized on the bill-of-fare.  "I'm hungry again!" he cried in the tone of one making an unexpected and delightful discovery.  "Can I order anything I want?"

"Go to it, son!"

"How about champagne?  I never tasted it," he added naïvely.

"What!  Never tasted champagne!"

Bobo blushed painfully.

"Well, I never did either," said Jack, grinning.  "One bottle because this is a party.  But mind you, the limit is always one bottle.  We've got head work to do."

"Sure, that's right," said Bobo, but without any great conviction, and Jack reflected that along with his other pre-occupations he would have to keep an eye on his partner's potations.

Bobo went into conference with the waiter, and in due course a little Lucullan feast was spread before them.  It may be remarked in passing, that where his stomach was concerned Bobo proved to be an astonishingly apt scholar.  Within a week he was a menu-card-sharp, and within a month the intimate friend of every head-waiter on Broadway.

Meanwhile the great curtain was lifted, and enchanting slender-legged damsels, in chiffons and furs, performed amazing and graceful evolutions on the ice.  Between times, the diners danced on the waxed floor.  The teasing music made Jack think of Kate.  He looked across the table with distaste.

"What wouldn't I give to have her there instead of that greedy Bobo," he thought.  "Lord!  I suppose I'm saddled with him now, by day and by night!"

During a pause in the music a small object dropped on their table, bounced and lay still.  It was a piece of paper folded into a pellet.

"A note!" said Bobo excitedly.  "We've made a hit with somebody.  Is it for you or me do you think?"

"You can have my share," said Jack indifferently.

Bobo eagerly opened the paper, while Jack's attention strayed over the crowd.  He wasn't going to allow the writer of the note to see that the receipt of it excited him at all, like the foolish Bobo, whose hands actually were trembling.

Jack's glance was sharply recalled by an odd little sound from his partner.  Bobo's ruddy cheeks had paled, and his mouth was hanging open stupidly.

"Read it," he gasped, handing the note over.

It was not what Jack expected.  There was no salutation.

"We have picked up your trail now, and don't you think we'll ever let it go.  When one of us drops it, there will be another handy to pick it up.  When the time comes we'll strike, and there will be another rotten millionaire the less to sweat the poor.  You will offer a good-size mark.  You needn't think your skinny secretary will be any protection. A hundred like him wouldn't save you.

"The Red Gang."

While the tone of the note was the same as the other, this had been written by an educated hand.  Jack looked sharply around the nearby tables.  No face betrayed any self-consciousness.  Behind them sat an honest couple from the suburbs; in front was a party of eight in evening dress, the men silly from too much champagne, the women bored and listless; at their right was a young couple, wholly and completely absorbed in each other; at their left, across an aisle, a gay old gentleman and a languid lady of the chorus--it seemed hard to credit that the note could have come from any of these.

"What shall we do?" murmured Bobo tremulously.

"Laugh at it, and let the sender see us laughing," said Jack, suiting the action to the word.

"It seemed to drop straight down," thought Bobo.

"The balcony!" thought Jack.  He rose without any appearance of haste and made his way up-stairs.  He had no difficulty in picking out the table that was just over their heads.  It was now empty.  The napkins lay where they had been dropped.  He summoned the waiter.

"Who sat at that table?"

The man cringed to the authoritative air.  "An elderly couple, sir. Never saw them before."

"Describe them."

"Plain people, sir.  Quietly dressed.  But very genteel and liberal."

This seemed to be about the best the waiter could do, even with the stimulus of a generous tip.  He did add that the old gentleman wore a heavy gray mustache and small imperial.

"They have just gone?" said Jack.

"Just took the elevator, sir."

Jack returned to Bobo.

"What shall we do?" said the fat youth again.

"Oh, cheer up!  Everything's going fine!  Don't you see they've swallowed my bait whole.  They think you're the millionaire!"

"That's fine for you," said Bobo, looking around nervously, "but where do I get off at?"

9

Next morning the delights of purchasing automobiles had to be put off a while longer to allow of some necessary business to be transacted. Jack wanted to secure Mr. Delamare's approval for his new plans.  For obvious reasons he did not care to take Bobo to the bank, so he called up the financier, and asked him respectfully if he would mind coming to the hotel.

A laugh answered him over the wire.  "Would I mind!  My dear boy!  A banker would go to Tallapoosa to oblige a customer with an account like yours!"

While they waited for him they breakfasted in the Dutch room.  Bobo's appetite showed no evil effects resulting from his scare of the night before.  During the meal the card of a visitor was brought them.

  H. J. WHIGHAM
  The Eureka Protective Association

"Ha!" cried Jack.  "Exactly according to schedule!"

"What's that?" asked Bobo.

"Last night we got the rough stuff, to-day the smooth."

"I don't understand."

"Keep your ears open, and you'll see.  Just let your little secretary deal with this gent for you."

Jack asked that Mr. Whigham be sent up.  A old-young man was shown into them, a starched and ironed little fellow with an air of self-importance like a cock-sparrow's.

"If this is a dangerous crook," thought Jack, "he's got a dam clever line of comedy.  Looks like a neck-tie clerk."
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